#Flow-volume loop

[medicalequipmentabimed]

Spirometer

A spirometer is a medical device used to measure lung function by assessing the volume and flow rate of air that a patient can inhale and exhale. Low Battery Indication. Bluetooth Transmission.

[kabr0ztrousers]

fem reader finds a mysterious book that summons different monsters or creatures that takes care of human needs and reader chooses to summon the demon and they have sex and make out thats all-

ima be butterfly anon 🦋 so you know that it's me as I will be requesting more in the future.

You can absolutely claim 🦋 if you like, and I do love an opportunity to make another demon. Now without further ado, here's

Kabr0z Writes Episode 33: The book

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Excessive cum; demon summoning; long preamble; monstrous genitalia; butt stuff

A/N: This is the last ask at time of writing, so if you have an idea for something you wanna see, or just want to call me a perv, please reach out! I feed on engagement, after all

##################################

Antiques filled your flat. Mostly worthless tchotchkes, the odd chair or end table missing the rest of some hypothetical set, one particular lamp constructed mostly from a taxidermised heron. You loved them all, but most of all your carefully climate-controlled bookshelf. Your collection wasn't particularly valuable; there weren't many first editions amongst the ranks and what you had were in pretty uniformly terrible condition. The spoils of estate auctions and charity shops.

This time was different. You weren't going to be in Bristol long, so decided to stroll down the alleys of the older parts of the city, far from the university students and the train stations. This shop was barely a hole in the wall. It was only about twice as wide as its own doorway, but it went deeper than made sense. Crowded on all sides with stacks and shelves of books, mostly well-thumbed paperbacks with peeling spines or the odd book of fairy stories from the 60s or 70s, more penguins than you could shake a stick at. One in particular caught your eye. Leather bound, stained a deep royal purple, and with an embossed sigil on the spine. 'The Book of Creatures and Calling' You hadn't heard of this work, and couldn't find any author or attributions on the first few pages. It looked handwritten, a flowing looping hand filling the work in neat, dense rows of text and painstakingly drawn diagrams.

You put it atop the pile of volumes you carried and bought your haul. Vintage copies of Grimm's Fairy Stories, Robin Hood, Tales of Arabian Nights, and that book.

You got home and put away your haul, minus the oddball. That you set about reading, googling passages from it and trying to get some inkling on who wrote it, was it published, or did you just wind up with a random manuscript?

The internet, predictably, produced nothing of use. The book seems never to have been published, or at least nobody had put any parts of it on the web. It was fascinating at any rate. Step by step directions for calling forth all manner of creatures, even organised by difficulty with simpler rituals at the start, and the more daunting ones near the end.

You opted for a simple one to start. A brownie. You drew the circle and left out offerings and a worn-out pair of shoes then went to bed.

When you checked the ritual in the morning, the offerings were gone, and the shoes were as good as new. Better, in fact.

You realised what you had. An honest-to-god grimoire. And you've successfully summoned a faerie.

You checked the book again, making sure to read and re-read every sentence. The compact was simple, the offerings were to pay the faerie back for coming and fixing a broken thing. You didn't owe it anything more, and a pair of shoes was specifically recommended as an example of 'a broken thing'. You sighed in relief. The last thing you needed was to owe something a debt.

Over the next few weeks you tried tougher summons, and got more confident in your abilities. You called forth a dryad who gave you some fruit in return for a song, a walking broom who cleaned your flat, even a golden goose once, though it didn't lay anything for you.

The day you really found the potential of the book came later. You'd been drinking pretty heavily, your boyfriend had just walked out on you. Wine and ice cream wasn't cutting it, you needed something more substantial. You reached for the book and turned to the last summon. An incubus. For the low, low price of a sliver of your soul, you could get the best fuck of your life. You shrugged and finished your wine. Worth it.

The ritual was much more complex. Carefully tracing sigils within sigils, lighting candles and incense, making sure that the protection and binding spells were perfect (It would be disastrous if they failed) before using a kitchen knife to cut a slit into your fingertip.

A single drop of blood welled up from your finger, then lifted off it, drifting to the centre of the ritual. A smell of iron joined the sweet incense and paraffin in the air. The candles flickered for a moment, and he appeared.

He was tall, brass-skinned, and well dressed. He wore a pair of tight black leather trousers and a black silk waistcoat, covered in brocade embroidered in fine gold thread. His feet, each toe tipped with a knifelike black claw, were bare and in a pointe stance about an inch above the floor. The burnished metallic skin of his arms and face reflected the soft candlelight, sending fluid reflections across your walls as he took in his surroundings. Atop his head were a pair of black horns, twisting out, then in, then straight up. His hair was the same metal as his face, a coif of impossibly thin brass wire. His eyes were the only part of him that wasn't polished metal or charred bone, black scleras surrounded glowing red irises and horizontally slitted pupils.

"A professional job, well done young summoner" His features twisted to a smile, revealing silver teeth and a forked silver tongue "I can see you know your craft"

The book had warned you about this, that he would try to beguile you, twist you into agreeing to something you didn't want. You wordlessly proferred a scroll to him. A contract. It was carefully worded: no verbal contracts would be binding for the rest of his time with you, he would give you an evening of carnal delight, and in return he would get a sliver of your soul equivalent to an hour at the end of your lifespan.

The demon read the document, and laughed "I'm not used to you people being so well prepared. Very well. An hour of your life, taken from the very end, in return for my services for the evening. This ought to be fun." He bowed deeply "I am Kamilik, lesser demon in service to Simizel and denizen of the Ashen Pit"

You told him your name, being careful to phrase it as how he could address you, which only made him chuckle further.

Once you had both signed the document, you led him to your bedroom. Your hands shook as you started to undress for the creature you had invited in to your home. He touched your waist, and stroked your hair. He must've been able to smell the wine on your breath as he pulled you towards him, easing off your top and expertly unfastening your bra, casting the garments into the corner of the room. He sat on the bed and pulled you on top of him, one clawed hand on your back, the other cupping your face before he drew you into a kiss.

His breath smelled of metal, and his skin was hot, but his lips were soft as you melted into his arms. Sat on his lap, eyes closed and running your hands through each others hair, feeling one another's bodies. You unfastened his waistcoat and he pulled it off, keeping one hand on you, then the other, never breaking the kiss.

It was like making out with a radiator, if the radiator was soft and receptive to the touch. You pushed your tongue into his mouth and he gently sucked on it, the heat even more intense, but never painful. Then his tongue entered your mouth, the forked muscle flitting in, tasting like how a 9-volt feels. You gasped with surprise at the sensation, but relaxed into it as his needle-sharp claws drew intricate patterns on your back. You pressed yourself against him, feeling your tits flatten on his burnished chest and enjoying the warm wetness spreading between your legs.

You pulled away, and knelt off the side of the bed. You yanked his waistband down, before he cut a slit down his trousers and they burned away, leaving him nude on the bed in front of you. His cock was fleshy and vascular, red veins criss-crossed pale flesh, coming to a gentle point at the end. You admired it for a moment, before taking it in one hand and jerking it. You heard him sigh as your hand pumped his shaft, even more so when you started to lick and suck on his balls. You felt a drop of precum start to leak from him, getting on your hand. You pressed a fingertip against his brass asshole, intending to gently work it in, but his eager butt swallowed it up to your knuckle with no resistance. You curled it up and touched his prostate.

You heard him groan and felt his cock pulse in your hand. He was cumming already. You felt drops of hot liquid on your face and pulled away, watching him pump a fountain of golden cum into the air. Eventually the pulsing stopped, your hand was coated in the hot, sticky gold liquid. He wasn't going soft

"I'm a demon. We're done when you say we are"

You smiled, this is going to be fun. You reached into your bedside drawer and produced a toy, long and curved, designed to seek out a man's prostate and press against it mercilessly. You pushed it up the demon. As soon as it found its mark, he started spurting again. This time you were ready.

You pushed the cock into your mouth, gripping his pulsating balls in one hand and rattling the toy inside him with the other. He filled your mouth almost immediately, and you gulped him down.

Your cunt was starting to tingle in anticipation, but you wanted to indulge yourself a little more like this. You bobbed your head, taking in the warming cum and the demon's moans and gasps as pleasure turned to pain and back to pleasure. Every few dips you'd push his tip into your throat, causing him to spurt harder and cry out louder.

You eased up on the toy, the flow slowed but didn't stop as you pulled his cock, twitching and leaking, out of your mouth. The demon was already lying flat on his back, hands either side of him, clenching his fists against the shaking. You straddled his cock and started rocking back and forth on it, adding his cum to the lubrication on your pussy before pushing him in.

He felt bigger on the inside, the pulsing mass of flesh pumping cum into you already. You started to ride him. Every rock of your hips spilled cum out of you. You leant forwards to work his frenulum inside you. His face screwed up as he grabbed you. The sharp nails on his hands marking your skin, but not cutting. You couldn't reach the toy pressed against his orgasm button, but that wasn't stopping him now. Every thrust into you, every roll of your hips, every touch of your hands on his skin made him spurt more and more into you until it was flowing out of you and onto the bedsheets. You pushed a hand between your distended belly and his twitching one, pressing against your clit for only a moment before you gasped and realised your oen climax.

You bucked harder against him, your abs pushing and pussy clenching. He came even harder, cum squirting out of you. He released you and you leant back. His cock was against your g-spot now and still spraying that hot cum into you. You grabbed the toy and fucked his ass with it. He screamed as you punished his rear, riding his cock into you and you orgasmic clenching redoubled as you came again. Your belly bounced on him almost comically, full of the golden semen he seemed to have an endless supply of.

You pulled out the toy and slumped forwards onto him, spent.

He kissed your lips again, and you kissed him back.

You grinned "Give me ten minutes, then round 2?"

He chucked "Whatever you want"

#####################################

Post script: Once again, my ask box runneth dry! Please, oh reader, toss an idea to your Kabr0z and something will likely come of it!

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ just to sit outside your door

( oliver aiku x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — I REVIVED THE LOST OLIVER FIC!!

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, nicknames 'angel' and 'princess' , roommate! oliver, playboy! oliver, mutual pining, mention of drinking & clubs ( not explicit ), i really dont know what else, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — mints and closed doors. that's what separated you and oliver aiku from being a couple. well, that and the fact you two swear there's nothing going on.

── .✦ i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

The hallway always smelled like cologne and someone else's perfume. You could tell if she wore floral or fruity before you even turned the key. 

Tonight, it was jasmine and vanilla, and the second you stepped inside, you spotted stilettos tossed carelessly by the door.

"You're an angel, you know that?" Oliver's voice rang out from the couch.

He was lounging like a king, shirt half-unbuttoned, lips slightly swollen, hair messed in a way that said he didn't care enough to fix it—but still looked unfairly good. 

There was a glint in his eye, casual and amused, like he already knew you’d brought the mints again.

You held up the fresh pack and dropped them on the console. "You're a menace."

He gave a half-smile, tossing a lazy glance over his shoulder. "You love me."

You didn't answer. You just walked past him, caught a glimpse of a red bra hanging off the back of the couch, and sighed.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you a second later.

It wasn’t always like this. 

When you first moved in, you thought the roommate thing might be a disaster. Oliver was… well, Oliver. 

Star athlete. Incorrigible flirt. The kind of guy who flirted with bartenders, professors...

and probably someone’s grandmother if he was bored enough.

But you two clicked.

Fast.

You had the same favorite ramen spot. You both hated doing dishes. 

You shared late-night ramen on the floor when the fridge broke, binge-watched entire series in one weekend, and somehow, somewhere along the way, your routines became entwined. 

You didn’t mean to get this close.

But now?

Now you were his best friend.

And he was yours.

Even if your parents didn’t believe you. 

Even if his teammates kept raising eyebrows every time they caught you two curled up on the couch together.

Even if you had to answer the same questions over and over:

“No, we’re not dating.”

“He’s like my brother. Except less annoying.”

“Yeah, we cuddle. It’s not weird.”

It was domestic. It was comfortable. It was safe.

But it was also dangerous, in a way you didn’t let yourself think about too often.

The first time someone caught you dancing together, it was slow.

You were at a team party, someone’s birthday. Music was low, drinks were flowing, and the lights were warm and golden. 

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping something sugary, when Oliver appeared in front of you, hand extended.

“Dance with me,” he said simply.

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stalling.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He just tugged you into the center of the room where the couples had started swaying. 

You let him. Of course you did. 

How could you say no when he looked at you like that?

His hand settled on your waist. Yours looped around his neck. 

Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, as they always did. 

The music was slow, but your heart was racing.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You scoffed, tried to look away, but he leaned closer. You felt his breath on your cheek.

“I like this,” he said softly.

You pretended not to hear him.

Later, the music picked up. Someone cranked the volume. 

The beat dropped, and suddenly the living room turned into a makeshift dance floor. Your drink was cold in your hand, and your body was warm from the wine and the way Oliver’s hand slid around your waist like it belonged there.

He pulled you into him, moving in sync with the music. You danced like you’d done it a thousand times. Like you knew each other’s rhythms.

 Every touch was casual—except it wasn’t. Every brush of his fingers felt electric.

At some point, someone shouted over the music:

“Just kiss already!”

You and Oliver burst out laughing.

You didn’t kiss.

You went home together.

And, like always, you said goodnight.

And, like always, your doors shut behind you.

The date was your friend’s idea.

“You need to get out,” she said. “With someone who doesn’t leave bras on your couch.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed. The guy was nice. He wore cologne that wasn’t too strong. He had a nice smile.

But he wasn’t funny like Oliver. He didn’t know how to tease you without making you feel small. His laugh didn’t echo in your chest. His eyes didn’t make you forget what you were saying.

You picked at your food. Smiled when you were supposed to. But all you could think was:

He’s not him.

Oliver was at a club.

Loud. Crowded. Familiar. But something was off.

He leaned against the bar, drink untouched in his hand, staring out at the dance floor.

Someone touched his shoulder. “You look lonely, Aiku.”

He forced a smirk. “Just tired.”

A girl leaned in. Her perfume was heavy. Sweet. She touched his arm.

“Dance with me?”

He hesitated. Looked down at his phone.

No new messages.

Just a blank screen.

“I should go,” he said, more to himself than to her.

And he did.

He got home just before midnight. The apartment was too quiet without you. He paced for a bit. Changed into sweats. Brushed his teeth.

And then he heard the key.

He stood there as you opened the door, still in your dress, shoes in your hand. You looked surprised to see him standing so close. Neither of you spoke.

Then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough. It was honest.

You dropped your heels with a soft thud and gripped the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the way his hands cradled your face like you were something precious.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together.

Breathing heavy. Eyes locked.

“…Hi.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against yours. “Hey.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Neither of you did.

Because something had changed.

Something had always been there.

And now it was real.

You stood there with his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air, heart racing in your chest. His hands were still on your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Then—like someone flipped a switch—he took a step back. Scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna, uh… brush my teeth again. You still smell like that overpriced wine you love.”

You blinked. “And you still smell like desperation and club sweat.”

He grinned. There it was—his usual defense: banter.

“Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Night, princess.”

And just like that, the hallway was empty again. 

Two doors closed. 

One kiss hanging in the space between.

You didn’t sleep.

You tried. 

You lay there with the blanket kicked off, staring at the ceiling, arms folded across your chest like if you stayed still enough, your brain would follow.

It didn’t.

Because—holy sh*t. He kissed you. And you let him. You kissed him back. It wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a "what if."

It happened.

You sat up in bed, eyes wide in the dark.

“Did I actually…?”

You buried your face in your hands.

Oh my god. He kissed me. I kissed him. Oliver kissed me.

You got up.

His door opened before you knocked.

He looked like he’d been pacing. No shirt, just sweats slung low on his hips. His hair was all over the place. And he definitely hadn’t brushed his teeth again.

You stared at him.

“Were you waiting for me?”

He scoffed. “What? No. I just—heard your meltdown through the wall.”

Your stomach dropped. “You heard that?”

He smirked, leaning on the doorframe. “Word for word.”

You shoved past him into his room. “Okay. No. We’re talking about this.”

He closed the door behind you. “Didn’t know we needed to. You kissed me back.”

Your head whipped around. “You kissed me first!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem mad about it.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, arms braced behind him. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Just don’t act like I ambushed you.”

You folded your arms. “So that’s what it was? Just... a heat of the moment thing?”

His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t crack a joke. He just shrugged, almost tired.

“No. It was a ‘you walked in, and I realized I didn’t wanna keep pretending I don’t want you’ thing.”

You went still.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this is. I just know I missed you tonight. And not in the roommate way. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when you got home, I didn’t think. I just… yeah.”

Silence settled between you. Not heavy. Just real.

“…Okay,” you finally said.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You took a breath. “So what now?”

He gave a half-laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’ve never done this before. 

You know—wanting to be with someone and not immediately screwing it up.”

You walked over, standing between his knees. His hands naturally found your hips, and your fingers rested at the nape of his neck.

“Then let’s figure it out,” you said.

He looked up at you, smirked softly.

“So… are you gonna sleep in your room or mine tonight?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Aiku.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

this came to me in a dream (jk i was just thinking abt him)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[menelausblues]

endless vow.

꒰ even if xavier abandons his knighthood, his loyalty to you remains. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 3.4k. no evol, royalty au. princess mc/reader x knight xavier. secret/forbidden relationship. fluff. implied angst. ❀ ݁ there's a cameo of my moon @avatarofstars here :3

mdni.

xavier thinks you look beautiful tonight. 

breathtaking as the ivory silk of your ballgown flows around you. the gold, ornate embellishments that cover it gleam under the light that dances from the chandeliers above you. the volume of your dress explodes at the waist.

your hair is styled just as you like, out of your face so your features aren’t hidden away and high on your head so the details of your gown are easily displayed. 

you’re the pride of philos, after all. you’re regarded as its shining beauty, an example of the way time favors the blood of your people.

as much as you’re a person in your own right, you’re also a walking display for the honor of your citizens. you were born to be their extension.

even the crown of a perfect princess is heavy on the head, he knows.

but tonight, the kingdom of philos is lively with celebration. 

music floods the halls, the delicate and diligently practiced sounds of the orchestra reverberate off of the walls and consume every part of the room. the scent of honeyed wax candles burning and bundles of floral arrangements linger sweetly in the air.

the grand ballroom has become a sea of mingling nobles, heirs and consorts gathered from all over to swim along freshly polished, parquet flooring, dancing in studied synchronization and feigning civilized relations while their leaders quietly congregate and make plans to trade their children for generations of power and temporary peace.

xavier notices the way your father leans over and speaks quietly to the king of lemuria, the source of all his aggravation and the reason for his endless antagonization against their kingdom.

it would scare xavier, but as long as you’re you, he has no concerns that your father will be able to marry you off so easily. a prideful and greedy man, the king of philos has created friction with nearly all the surrounding kingdoms. this ball is nothing more than a political venture, a ploy for peace without the necessity of apology.

as your knight, xavier remains on the outskirts near the exit, standing dutifully as his eyes routinely scan the room for any signs of abnormality or danger. it’s his job to see anything that may harm you and extinguish the threat before it reaches. he takes it quite seriously. but as he watches you pirouette around with that tender smile on your face, the plucks of heavenly harps dripping into his ears, he sees the crown prince of lemuria, rafayel, place his hands so delicately on your waist. and he’s reminded that he’s also a lover.  a dedicated and jealous one, at that. it may just become the biggest threat of all to you, but he can’t bring himself to sever his ties despite blurring the lines of his oath. it’s more than the sword he draws that fights for your honor. it’s the cadence of his heart that beats in precise pulsations for you, too.

‘i’m her knight first and lover last.’

this is what xavier tells himself on an endless loop when the dark thing starts to lurch in his gut, when the urges start to erode his resolve. it’s a mantra that forces his hands to clench and unclench.  when the song ends and you both separate, bowing politely, he thinks he’s never been so grateful.  the way rafayel smiles at you, the way his plum tresses fall into his face, the way he’s blessed with the perfect beauty of a lemurian, the way you seem too shy to even look directly into his eyes, all of it kills xavier inside. all of it reminds of him of his place, of his true position.  he’ll only ever be by your side as a shield but never as a man with a position deserving of holding you in love for all eternity. “princess!” xavier watches your attention be pulled away from the lemurian by your best friend, a duchess named michelle that you seem to only be capable of calling ‘mimi’ or ‘moon’, and he huffs in amusement. rafayel seems shocked, eyes widening at how easily your attention was stolen from him.

‘good job, mimi.’

you giggle as she approaches you excitedly. “well hello, my moon. you’re rather…excitable.” “of course i am! did you see? prince sylus from the kingdom of onychinus is here tonight!” xavier watches rafayel’s eyes roll at the mention of the other prince and he excuses himself quickly, almost entirely unnoticed by you. though a knight is to remain neutral in their expressions so as to not be compromised or perceived as distracted, he can’t stop the way his lips quirk at the sight of the exchange. “i should have anticipated that you’d have your eyes on him and that ridiculous crow trinket he drags to all his affairs.” mimi’s mouth falls open in offense. “excuse me, that trinket is named mephisto, and…it’s actually quite adorable. it can complete tasks at his request.” “is that so?” you ask with mild disinterest. “of course you’d think so.” mimi’s brows furrow. “and just what is that supposed to mean?” a small laugh bubbles out of you. “well…you do love your little creatures. so i’m not surprised that you like his little creature.” you smile, and a saccharine sweetness teems in his chest at the sight of it. supple and curved with grace is your playful smile, just like all of you. xavier watches you talk, watches you sink into comfortable body language around someone you’re familiar with.

mimi loops her arm through yours and unknowingly drags you closer toward him, causing you both to briefly lock eyes.  “what do you think of us?” mimi asks you in a daze, her gaze travelling across the room to land on the prince of onychinus. “he smiled at me earlier.” her giggle causes you to grin, fond of the way her elation is too strong to hide. “did he? my father did say he’s got his eyes on a potential partner. maybe it’s you.” you say it teasingly but mimi gasps lightly, turning to you. “do you really think he would?” “well, considering you’re a dazzling lover of creatures with an intellect inspired by greats of the humanities, and you’re undeniably beautiful, i would say it’s not outside of the realm of possibility.” as if he can hear he’s being spoken of, prince sylus’s gaze meets hers and he spares her a nod, one that carries an invitation, and she looks down shyly in response. you push her lightly and quietly encourage her, “go talk to him.” “what if he tells me to go away?” she asks in a panic. you snort. “ignore it and say you like his silly little crow. now, go on.” he listens to you encourage her to go talk to him, to properly introduce herself, and with a bit of coercion, she does go. xavier watches quietly, fighting the curve of his lips that wants to break. it’s much harder when you’re close to him like this. it’s hard when your cuteness seems endless.

“if they get married, i suppose she will have you to thank.” xavier says gently, causing you to face him. you beam. “i’m quite good at matchmaking, aren’t i?” “of course,” he nods. “the princess of philos is good at everything.” undeniably bashful, you look down at your fidgeting fingers before murmuring out, “oh, hush.” “you appear to be enjoying yourself.” he notes, fondness drenching his tone.  though he wishes it to be himself with his hands on your waist, guiding your poised movements and graceful spins, he’s always delighted to see you be admired for all that you are. a somber look contorts your face. tentatively, you ask, “are you enjoying the ball?” xavier chuckles, breathy and amused. “standing here is riveting.” “but watching me?” you ask, smiling and tilting your head up flirtatiously. if he had you alone, he would tuck a finger under your chin before leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. perhaps, in an effort to dote on you, he’d tell you just how beautiful you look before kissing the tip of your nose, the center of your head, the ball of both your cheeks. if he could be the one to openly adore you, perhaps he would cup your cheeks in loving palms and tell you that gold looks so good contrasted against your skin, that ivory and silk are fighting for which deserves you most. instead, in a hushed tone, he utters out, “it’s the best part of the night, princess.”

as if you can read the need for you in his eyes, you ask him, “take me for a walk in the garden?” and he wants to. of course he does. he wants to go everywhere with you. the only place he’s certain he’s meant to be is by your side. he spent his life dedicating himself to knighthood for the sole purpose of doing so. but as a knight, there’s only so much he can reasonably get away with without raising brows. “don’t you think you ought to stay where your father can see you?”

‘especially since he aims to use your friendly ties to your peers from other kingdoms as talking points for peace treaties.’

it’s not that it’s abnormal for you to want time away from the crowd or even to go for a stroll in the garden when the night is young and the moon is high, but this ball is not a simple celebration. your father was very clear about that much. you wave an uncaring hand. “nonsense, i’ve fulfilled my duties. i’ve talked to all the princes, said hello to their mothers and fathers, danced with them…” “trust me, i’m well aware.” xavier grumbles under his breath. “jealous?” “yes,” he has no need to lie. you know where his heart lives: right inside your chest nestled warmly against your own. of course he’s jealous he’s not good enough to be seen as more than a protective vow to you. of course he’s jealous that one day he’ll have to watch you walk away from him and into the arms of another. and they’ll never love you like he does, but they’ll be the one to keep you. the thought keeps him wide awake some nights. your voice is soft, apologetic even. “take me for a walk in the garden. there’s many guests and assailants could be hanging around any corner. i’d like to get air, but it isn’t safe to go alone.” “of course, princess. you know i’ll go anywhere with you.”

while still within the castle walls, you both follow your usual formation. you wander in front of him with your hands tied behind your back. he trails behind you dutifully, always attentive of your surroundings but still focused on you. you hum along to the music steadily fading into the distant background the further you get away from the hall. he can’t help the way his heart stirs at the comfort it derives from witnessing you so closely. guards stand at the large, double doors and greet you both with respectful bows before opening them for you to pass through. xavier pauses, turning to them. “no one else should pass through the doors, do you understand?” of course, they nod. xavier holds a certain level of authority as the head of your personal guard. the only ones that will supercede his command is the head of the king’s guard or the king himself. this is for your protection and for his own, too. if anyone were to see the way the two of you will become once you’re past the potential range of sight of any onlookers, it would spell his certain death. a knight engaging in romantic affairs is strictly forbidden. worldly desires cloud one’s judgement, impair one’s decision-making. knights are to remain dedicated to the vow and romantic interests, sexual desires, and whimsical affairs distract them from such things. his vows are strengthened, but not the ones that ought to be. “you know you have nothing to worry about, right?” you ask, your hand finally slipping into his as you both become hidden amongst the tall, winding slews of yew hedges. he laces your fingers together, adoration bursting to life in every way. “what do you mean, love?” an exasperated sigh. “my father will make me play nice and smile for these sea of princes, but i’ll never take any of their hands in marriage.”

xavier chuckles and brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth, placing kisses along your knuckles one-by-one. “no one is discussing marriage, princess.” you smile at the sight of him adorning you in his love. “i’m just saying. i’m equally loyal to you as you are to me.” this must be about his admitted jealousy, your attempt to reassure him that your interactions with other men mean nothing. they do mean something. they do hint at an inevitable outcome you’ll both be forced to face in one way or another, but right now, it’s nothing more than niceties inspired by your royal duties. after a moment of walking, you both arrive at the gazebo you’re so familiar with hiding away in. this little sanctuary, hidden deep in the recesses of the garden, holds a secret history of stolen kisses and quiet declarations, years of shared poems between lips and fervent grasps. xavier cups your cheeks in his palms, an act he’s been dying to indulge in since the day began. right now, he willfully abandons his position as your knight. looking into your wondering eyes, he sinks into the plights of a simple man who loves someone to the point of his own detriment. “i have no doubts about your devotions, princess. but, it’s difficult to watch them do the things i wish i could do with you. dancing, holding your waist, enjoying the music, standing so close, talking to you openly, making you smile and laugh…” a tender smile shapes your lips, your voice full of ardor. “well, we’re alone now. far away from wandering eyes.”

“this much is true.” a murmur as thumbs caress warm flesh. you take a step back, offering a curtesy, a gesture reserved for only those of respected name. “may i have a dance with my prince?” “i’m no prince, but you can have anything you so desire.” xavier takes an honoring bow. “my love,”

and so you dance together to the tune of a quiet night, kissed by the shimmering moon and celebrated by the flickering lights of fireflies. the forget-me-nots sway along through the gentle winds. they may be just as thrilled as xavier to witness the two of you so hopelessly in love. it’s what they live for, love to remember; it’s what xavier lives for, remembering to love you. your head rests against his chest, one hand interlinked with his as you move in languid steps and the other wrapped around his waist. he holds you close to him, as close as one can keep a precious thing they never want to lose, as close as one can keep a secret they might have to die for. “if it were up to me, we would live a normal life together.” you confess. there’s no shame in your words, but you speak as if you know you're committing a sin. “if it were up to me, we would run far away from here.” his chin rests atop your head and he simpers, that shameless smile claiming his lips as he lets himself drown in the comfort of the moment.  “is that so?” “yes,”

a breathy chuckle. “and where might we go, princess?” you hum, considering his question while your bodies move almost unconsciously. “hmmm, a place just like the gardens, because i’ll miss it here the most. somewhere littered in flowers and wide open space. where we can see all of the sky. somewhere that feels like nowhere at all. it’ll be like hiding, but we’ll be free.” in his mind, he pictures it perfectly. he knows just the place he would want to make a home with you. he remembers it on his worst days. it’s the only glimpse of true serenity he’s ever seen and the only true liberation he’s felt. he remembers sleeping peacefully in a wasteland of flowers and open air. he remembers wishing he could stay. “the land of uluru,” he breathes. “it’s far away. further than anywhere your precious soles have touched. but it’s lovely. so lovely it made me lie. so much open land that the sky seems to stretch on endlessly and you can see it all. the wildflowers are everywhere. there’s no large castles or artificial lights to steal the shine of the sun and so the flowers grow almost helplessly.” “you’ve been?” “once, when your father was war-driven and nearly insane with power. he sent a team of us looking for undiscovered land.” you freeze and gasp softly, pulling back to look at him in shock. “did you lead him there?” xavier shakes his head. “i wasn’t a knight then, only a lonely soldier trying to make his way back home intentionally empty-handed.” “you lied on purpose?” your eyes are widened with surprise and curiosity. “to save it from my father?” he has never felt guilty for his treason. he has loyalty to his country, but his integrity wouldn’t let him lay waste to anything so senselessly. the king wanted to conquer from the comfort of his throne.

he wouldn’t claim what he couldn’t see and he couldn’t see what he was ignorant of existing. xavier sees his omissions as forms of benevolence. the people scattered throughout those mostly barren lands had never pledged their freedom to a monarch. why should they? he saw no reason to raise his blade to their throats and force them to bend the knee to a king they would likely never know even if he did. ‘it’s inconsequential.’ that’s what he told himself.  “indeed, many of us told lies to spare innocent lives back then.” you look down for a moment before you nod in understanding. though you’ve always been shielded from the results of your father’s greed and endless need for stretching the length of his rule, you know who he is. you know his heart. you love him because it’s in your blood, but you’ve never lied to yourself about the truth of his nature. and, deep down, you know you’re no less a liar than he. you accept his suggestion easily. “then, so be it. that’s where we’ll go. if we ever decide to elope from this life, we’ll live out the rest of our days there. in uluru. together. deal?” “deal,” silence passes and you find yourself resting against him again, trusting him with your life and your love, but the love he feels swells inside him like the center of a raging sea. wave after wave of uncontrolled ardor rises and crashes into themselves. he feels like he’s drowning but he’s just here lingering with you.  “princess,”  there’s a crack in his voice, a threat that the dam will break any moment. he’s never desired something as much as he desires the freedom to love you. the thought of it, a dream that whispers endlessly in the back of his mind finding its way into fruition, it makes him want to crumble in gratitude. you don’t see the tears well in his eyes, but perhaps you hear it in the fragility of his voice. soft and honeyed, halcyon and sweet. “yes?” “there’s no one…” he pauses, relinquishing a shaky breath. “no one and nothing i love more than you. whatever you choose in this life, i’ll remain by your side. each day, i’ll be more dedicated than the last. i am helplessly devoted to you in all ways. for all of the time i’m given the privilege of life, every breath will be a promise to you. i swear it.” “oh,” you murmur, and he can tell you know he’s in tears from the way your arms tighten around him, the way your voice sinks into a hushed oath. “i love you, too. more than anything. more than anyone. i’ll always choose you, choose us.” nothing would change even if he lost his knighthood to loving you. his freedom would expand, but the pledge would remain.  yes, you both know death is the only thing that can take him from you.

[pearynice]

Inspired by this beautiful piece of art by @little-annie!!!

Read on Ao3

The sea is choppy. 

Some would say it’s an omen. A harbinger of Steve’s life to come, and yet Steve has never felt more sure of anything in his short twenty years.

He follows the same line of stars as he does every night, as he has every night for months, now. 

To see him. 

Steve would brave far worse than the sea, for him. 

He heaves his oars, overcoming the waves that try to veer him off course, managing to keep the nose of his little rowboat pointed towards that line of stars.

He’s brought nothing with him. He left it all: his home, his clothes, his bed and his every earthly possession to be taken by whomever finds it first. He won’t need it. Not any of it, because Eddie has everything they need, below these waves. 

Steve heaves again, the tiny boat just barely cresting over another wave, salt water drenching him, pooling at his feet, but these are the last moments he’ll ever wear these clothes. 

The moon is full above him. A harvest moon, illuminating the choppy waves and—

And then Steve sees him. His hair is dark, even against the night’s water, inky and long, and Steve watches as it spirals out in long, looping curls, flowing along currents of their own. His skin of ivory is luminous and glowing, like he himself is reflecting the moonlight. He is, as always, ethereal. 

Steve is in awe of him. 

Another wave crests, one he is unprepared for, and his little boat tips dangerously, and he remembers himself only just in time to keep it righted. 

Eddie is gone when his boat stills, and Steve drops his oars in favor of looking over her sides.

He feels giddy, like a child before Christmas, before their birthday, all he has ever wanted now within his grasp.

“Eddie!” He calls, breathless, knowing his love is near, “I’ve come!”

Another wave crests, and Steve uses his own weight to battle against it, pitching himself forward.

But this wave brings Eddie, riding the water to clasp Steve’s offered hand, his love’s cool palm cupping his jaw.

The water stills at once. 

“Steve.” His voice is the ocean’s foam on the shore, soft and sweet and only for him. “You should have waited,” Eddie chastises, his large eyes full of worry, “tonight was not safe for you.”

Steve leans into Eddie’s touch. “I have done enough waiting.” He tilts his head, kissing Eddie’s slick palm. “Besides,” he argues, his lips now salty, “you would have saved me if I’d fallen.”

“You are stubborn,” Eddie admonishes, soft, full of reverence, “what am I to do with you?”

Steve tilts closer, brushing their noses. “Kiss me,” he breathes, “kiss me, Eddie, please.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and presses their foreheads together in lieu of their lips. “Steve…” He whispers, his tone hesitant, “I do not want you to commit to something you will regret.” Eddie’s rough thumb runs across his cheek. “To something you cannot come back from.”

Steve clasps his hand over Eddie’s. The night now silent, the water still. “I could never regret you.” 

Eddie’s dark eyes open, his irises flashing orange, reflecting the moon. “Do you promise?” He asks, his tone the same, tinged with worry.

Steve pulls away, just enough to kiss Eddie’s nose. His cheeks. His forehead and over each of his eyelids, until he can hear Eddie’s soft giggles like the bubbling of a current.

“I promise.” He holds out his little finger, offering it with a wiggle. 

Eddie’s dark eyebrows knit. “What is this?” But he mirrors Steve’s pose, holding out one long, slender finger. There’s webbing near the knuckles, purple and translucent.

“A pinky promise,” he explains, and he curls his finger around Eddie’s, squeezing tight. “It is a promise you cannot break.”

Eddie smiles, sharp and delighted, the gills on his neck flaring as his long, full tail flicks up water behind them, muttering something that sounds an awful like humans. 

“Then I pinky promise as well,” Eddie says, full volume, and pulls himself closer, until they’re nearly chest to chest, Steve now leaning so far out of the boat he has to grip the rim to keep his balance. “I will love you for as long as there is water for me to breathe.” He brushes his nose against Steve’s. “And even then, I fear you could not be rid of me.”

“That is nothing to fear,” Steve whispers back.

Eddie stares at him for one long second, his dark eyes searching, before, finally, he closes the space between them.

Steve has dreamt of this moment. Wondered what Eddie would feel like against him. How he would taste. If Steve could feel, just from kissing him, how different they are.

Eddie’s mouth is cool. His lips are wet, his mouth tastes of salt and something deeper, more earthy, and Steve, at once, needs more. 

He parts his lips, lets that salty, earthy taste fill his mouth as Eddie’s tongue slides inside, and suddenly Eddie’s touch doesn’t feel quite so cold. 

He feels warm. His hands, his palm against Steve’s jaw, his lips and his tongue feel a match to Steve’s own, he can already feel himself growing hard and—

And then it’s hard to breathe. He breaks away, inhaling, feels air and breath expand his lungs and yet he’s only growing more lightheaded, and he clutches at his throat only to find two sets of gills on either side.

Eddie tugs at his arm. “You must breathe water before you can breathe air again, my love.” Eddie smiles, soft and sure. “Come here.”

Steve’s legs feel wobbly, like the muscles and bones have turned to gelatin, like a caterpillar before it changes, and he feels the waves rock again, knows it’s Eddie helping him, trying to spill him from the boat, and the last thing Steve sees before he plunges, before his gills fill with water, is the great harvest moon, pulling the tides. 

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters' Favorite Body Part of Yours

This sounds dirtier than it is, I swear 😂

Aragorn

He shows much love to your hips as moons pass over your relationship. Securely holding them as he protects you, running a hand over the curve of them as you lie side by side. They are truly beautiful to him as well as being a place of natural connection; he adores when you pull him closer by the beat loops, colliding as you do into affection.

Legolas

Very specific, but he loves your cheekbones, the curves that outline your face whether they are sharp or soft. Perfect are they to trace along with kisses, the precious companions beneath your beautiful eyes. Legolas also loves to caress them with the back of his hand, silently admiring your beauty as he takes in every inch of your face. He needs not speak a word, his fond touch speaks volumes.

Boromir

Boromir loves your shoulders. He loves sneaking up behind you and placing kisses there or else just holding you by the shoulders to gain access to your neck or cheek. If you have long hair, the feeling of sweeping it off your shoulder is very romantic to him, especially if he can tuck it behind your ear to reveal your face, too. If you expose the skin of your upper back, it is certain you will soon find Boromir watching the ripple of your shoulder muscles as you move. When your activity is particularly strenuous you can expect him to offer a massage as well!

Gimli

Does your hair count as a body part? Because of course Gimli loves your hair! If it’s long, he’s going to be obsessed with braiding it, the feel of it flowing between his fingers and all the ways he can form it. He’s the best partner to someone with high-maintenance hair or a long care routine because he legitimately wants to learn the whole thing and take care of it for you, even if it means learning a lot. If you prefer to keep yours short, he may ask why and tease you a bit, but it also allows him more access to your beautiful face to grab for kisses and he can’t argue with that!

Frodo

Your eyes are his favorite by far. Windows to the soul as they say, your eyes betray the sincerity Frodo is always searching for and can consistently find there. He loves watching your lashes flutter as you read or look upon new sights with confusion, curiosity, whatever it be. The feeling of those lashes fluttering against his cheek as you nuzzle against him is enough to bring a smile to his face and a blush to his face. Eye contact is a must with Frodo as much as possible- it just feels so intimate and powerful to him in a way he hopes to be able to articulate with words.

Sam

Honestly? Your entire face! Sam’s pure love radiates at nearly every expression, whether he sees the light of joy illuminating your smile or the heartbreaking sight of pain he’ll do anything to cure. Being able to read your emotions is vital to empathetic Sam- his greatest desire is to know what you need from a single glance and be there with it as soon as he can! One of his favorite things to do it hold you gently, hands caressing your cheeks, and peer into your eyes before guiding you into a kiss.

Merry

There’s no good way to sugarcoat this- Merry’s an ass man hobbit. He can’t help stealing glances when he is granted the opportunity to admire the shape of it. Absolutely he is the type to give it a playful squeeze every now and again as he pulls you in for a kiss, too! No matter how you feel about it, no matter what shape you are in, he loves it and, if you are comfortable, that is, will pay you compliments about it when your attire is especially flattering.

Pippin

Trite as it may sound, Pippin loves your lips. He truly could kiss them all day if you let him, the incomprehensible joy he gets every time washing over his heart. Of course he also loves the sight of your lips curving into a smile when he gets a laugh out of you, the sly way they tease upward when you’ve formulated a particularly ridiculous pun. His habit is pulling you in to deepen almost any kiss you give him; you may have just leaned in for a peck, but you’ll get much more than you bargained for!

Faramir

Beloved are your hands to Faramir; his security, his gentle hold upon you and grounding connection. A squeeze to your hand is the perfect little reminder in his mind that he is here for you, present and at the ready to comfort you. The feeling of your intertwined fingers during the most intimate of moments is pure bliss to him, so much so that it never really comes as a surprise when you feel him reach for you.

Eomer

He loves your legs, the sight of them as you throw them over your saddle when the two of you take a sunlit ride, the peeps of skin he is granted when you tug up your garments to wade in the stream. The carefree way you lay them across his lap in your alone time, reading to him or singing together or just enjoying each other’s company by the fire. If you grant him leave to massage the stress from them, the feeling of muscle relaxing beneath his hands.

Haldir

There’s something infinitely alluring about your collarbones, the little nooks and hollows therein. Haldir can hardly keep his eyes off them, barely restrain himself from tracing them with his gaze whenever you dress in a way that exposes them. When your company is naught but the moonlight, it is a gift from above to ravish them with his lips, his gaze drifting back up to meet your eyes with a smile of deep satisfaction as he does so.

Eowyn

Eowyn loves your arms. The strength of them betrayed by the motions of muscles, the way they hold her, the unbreakable security of them. It's a bit of a habit of hers to run her hand up and down your arm as you stand side by side, sending little shivers of warmth along the skin. She also adores intertwining them as you walk, the both of you serving as each other's anchor to the earth's gifts of comfort. If you're able to lift her, give her a surprise by pulling her up when she holds your bicep!

Arwen

Your thighs, definitely. Some of Arwen’s favorite moments are spent laying with her head resting gently upon your lap, the plush of your thighs the perfect pillow. No matter the size she just loves them. When your kisses overflow with passion, it really sends her over the edge when you wrap your legs around her; her hands almost instantly go to your thighs.

[redsugarx]

青白之魅 3: Hair & Makeup Styling

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

If you thought there was gonna be less nerd from here on out you are deeply mistaken.

I was responsible for the hair styling for both the white and green snake, which was super fun. I’ve been doing hanfu hair styling for a year or two now (thank you to everyone who let me practice on them!!!) and have gradually gotten better at it, even though I still struggle with some parts of it. I certainly have the equipment collection to show for it now at least! I have so many fake hair pieces I can’t keep track.

As with any hanfu hair styling, the process involved a lot of fake hair, pins, and hairspray—but of course before the actual styling started, which was mostly only on the day of, I had to spend some time thinking about how I wanted the hair to look on each character.

元 衛九鼎 洛神圖, Taiwan National Palace Museum, 她：女性形象與才藝，2020

As far as snake-like hairstyles go, the first thing that comes to mind is the 靈蛇髻/灵蛇髻/ling2 she2 ji4/Spirited Snake hairstyle, shown above on Luoshen, a women’s hairstyle that went through a lot of changes through the dynasties but generally involved a tall, twisting bun leaning slightly to the side on the top of the head, resembling the body of a rearing snake. It’s a very popular style both historically and among hanfu enthusiasts today, because it looks very unique and ethereal. Often, female spirits or goddesses are depicted with this hairstyle.

That was the style I was originally planning on using, but it came with some limitations: one, it’s kind of… in unstable equilibrium? We’d essentially be walking around with the leaning tower of Pisa around on top of our heads. I had to style both of our heads BEFORE setting up the set design, so there was too high of a risk that something would get knocked out of place, since I knew I would have to be running around doing things. Also, because Yulan has brightly colored dyed hair, she had to wear a black base wig under all the fake hair pieces, which is a bit more difficult to pin things to than your actual scalp.

So instead I went with a different design. I knew I still wanted a lot of serpentine loops and strands, and I wanted there to be a significant amount of volume going on—they are ‘spirits’ and ‘goddesses’ after all, they deserve to be fancy!—so I went from there.

The Poetry Vibes

I stumbled upon a few poems last year while looking for names for Cloud9 Hanfu’s Year of the Dragon collection, and a few of them ended up becoming inspirations for this project.

This is the first part of 張可久 (Zhang Kejiu)’s Yuan Dynasty verse, 醉太平·春情 (Drunken Peace · Spring Romance). It’s a bittersweet poem describing a speaker that is longing for a lost love, likening her beauty to the imagery of the evening spring showers outside his home. I’ll do a slightly more faithful line-by-line translation of the poem’s actual words, then a paragraph-form translation with more stylization that gets at the meaning a little more (poetry is really hard to translate).

This is mostly just my interpretation though, and my Classical Chinese is... extremely questionable, so like... take it with a grain of salt.

張可久 Zhang Kejiu, 百度��科

Line-By-Line

烏雲髻鬆，金鳳釵橫。<- “Storm cloud hair is soft and loose, the golden phoenix hairpin is horizontal.”

伯勞飛燕自西東，惱離愁萬種。<- “The shrikes and swallows fly their ways to the West and the East, causing ten thousand kinds of sorrowful goodbyes.”

碧溶溶满溪綠水桃源洞，淡濛濛半窗白月梨雲夢，恨匆匆一簾紅雨杏花風。<- “Jade stream water flows to the Peach Blossom Grotto, moonlight is cast cloudily through the pear blossoms to my half-open window as if through a dream; the wind is unforgiving, felling apricot petals like a red curtain of rain.”

把青春斷送。<- “It ruins the spring.”

Stylized

Storm clouds gather loosely outside my window. I can almost imagine that they are strands of her soft hair; I can almost see where her golden phoenix hairpin would have laid, nestled in her black locks.

It’s springtime now—the orioles should be migrating, flying to their summer homes in the west, and the swallows to the east. Imagining their inevitable parting stirs a complicated sorrow in my chest.

As it storms, clear rainwater collects on the ground in rivulets, streaming away like liquid jade. I wonder where the water is going—is it to some forgotten, untouchable paradise? Is that where she is now? I can see through my half-open window where moonlight drizzles through the petals of the pear-blossom trees, misty and clouded as if I’m dreaming. Suddenly, a curtain of red petals fall across my vision like rain: it’s my flowering apricot tree, struck by the wind.

My trance is broken—spring is over.

//

As Chinese poetry tends to be, it’s very romantic with lots of natural imagery, tinged with sadness. When I reread it with this project in mind, it made me think of Xu Xian after the events of the Legend of the White Snake. While it’s commonly accepted that Bai Suzhen later ends up getting freed and there’s some kind of happy ending, the actual legend itself ends with the White Snake being imprisoned under the Leifeng Pagoda. Many years, if not centuries, pass before she gets out. So as many Chinese romances tend to be, the Legend of the White Snake is, by itself, a great tragedy. I can see the Xu Xian as the speaker of the poem.

Bearing this in mind, I imagine that the beauty of the Snake Spirits are much like the scene described in this poem—soft and ethereal like mist, hiding enough power to bend nature to their will.  I decided to lean into the ‘clouds’ theme, especially for Bai Suzhen.

傳 五代 周文矩 仕女圖, Taiwan National Palace Museum, 她：女性形象與才藝，2020 (ft fucked up fat cat)

The comparison of women‘s hairstyles to rainclouds is actually very widespread in Chinese literature, so it was perfect for hairstyle inspiration—in poetry, women are often represented by their features, ex. a poem might say "moth brows" or "cloud hair" to refer to a beautiful lady. Cloud hair and cultivated appearance is integral to the allure of a woman, so much so that the act of putting on makeup can be considered a transformation of identity.

In the linked instance the transformation of identity is supposed to be in the sense of gender identity, but you could also see it (in the context of this project) as the transformation from snakes to women.

This connection is strengthened by another poem, 好事近·夢中作 by 秦觀/Qin Guan from the Song Dynasty.

清宫殿藏画本. 北京: 故宫博物馆出版社. 1994, Wikimedia Commons

Line-By-Line

春路雨添花，花動一山春色。<- “Rain has filled the road with flowers, swaying in the breeze, filling the mountain with the feel of spring.”

行到小溪深處，有黃鸝千百。<- “I walked far along the mountain stream, where there were hundreds and thousands of yellow orioles.”

飛雲當面化龍蛇，夭矯轉空碧。<- “The flying clouds turned into dragons and snakes before me, stretching across the vast jade expanse.”

醉臥古藤陰下，了不知南北。<- “I lay down, drunk in the shade of the vines, not knowing which way is North or South.”

Stylized

I see where the spring showers have filled the mountainside with flowers. They sway in the breeze, bringing with them the rejuvenating scent of spring as I walk deeper and deeper into nature, following the bubbling mountain spring and the crowds of yellow orioles that have come out to celebrate the season as well. As I look up at the sky, I see dragons and snakes form in the midst of the roiling clouds above, leaping and coiling across the expanse of the clear blue sky. Intoxicated, I stop to rest underneath some vines, lost in the beauty of springtime.

//

So I am aware that it kind of sounds like this guy miiiiight be on acid but I'm pretty sure it doesn’t mean he’s hallucinating snakes in the clouds, it’s just like when you look at a cloud and say “that one looks like an elephant!”

Then again there is an interpretation that says his "walking further and further into nature" means he's just getting more and more drunk to escape his problems, so like... make of that what you will. Art is more often than not subjective.

Anyway, dragons also have power over rain and weather, and snakes are often called the ‘little dragon,’ often also associated with flowing water. All this is to say—clouds & coils are good representations of snakes! Also, you’ll notice that both of these poems are about springtime (though the second one is noticeably happier), fitting in with using this project to welcome the Spring Festival :)

Moving onto individual hairstyles. Keeping in mind the shapes of clouds, I wanted Bai Suzhen’s hair to be very tall, voluminous and ethereal to represent her spiritual prowess and strong will. A bunch of loops fan out at the top center of the hairstyle, adding ‘rays’ pointing outwards like a halo. I made sure there were a lot of round, circular elements to ‘fluff out’ the shape like a cloud. There are two strands of circles kind of peeking out at the bottom behind her neck/ears area, which were achieved by pinning a braid to each side and then pulling the outermost hair strands of each ‘loop’ outwards to create little flat circles.

Going back to the first poem, if I imagine that the speaker is Xu Xian thinking of Bai Suzhen, it makes sense for the mentioned ‘gold hairpin’ to appear in her hairstyle, doesn’t it? So I also added a few gold hair accessories—U-shaped pins for the most part, plus a small guan in the center to tie things together—to point outwards above her head. 

For Xiaoqing's hair, I wanted something that was a little more youthful, but still resplendent enough to do her justice. Xiaoqing is a younger spirit than Bai Suzhen, but still accomplished in her own right. Her hairstyle don’t extend as far outwards as the White Snake’s, but she has two ‘loop’ buns on each side rather than one peak in the middle. It’s kind of evocative of the double bun look often styled on younger girls, but with more fancy loops and swirls added to represent her high spiritual abilities. Each of the two main buns has two strands of hair looping up from the back of the head to the top. The strands are very loose, so depending on how I moved, they separated into several visible strands/just one thicker lock of hair.

The hair accessories I chose for Xiaoqing don’t have as much metal in them, to distinguish her from her sister, as I wanted to emphasize her connection to nature—because she has less experience than Bai Suzhen, she is often portrayed in media (Green Snake 1993 especially) as not yet reaching full human form, still closer to her serpentine origins. She has a white flower with green leaves on each side, standing for spring, youthfulness, and her dedication to the White Snake. There are a couple strands of pearls ‘dripping’ down from the flowers like raindrops, matching with the pearl accessories in the makeup, as well as with the white markings on Dragun’s back.

傳 唐 周昉 內人雙陸圖 , Taiwan National Palace Museum, 她：女性形象與才藝，2020

I also chose to include a pair of green half-moon combs, made to imitate jade (they’re acrylic, I’m working on a budget here ;-;). These were often worn several at a time, inserted into different layers of hair (as seen in the image above). Jade accessories are carved from nature—they are often subject to the colorings and properties of the natural base material they are made from, and they are often used to describe natural imagery. This can sometimes be a limitation, but for those who look further it can be an inspiration (see the Jadeite Cabbage, my favorite thing ever, Taiwan Numba One).

Peking Opera Hairstyles

京劇旦角，百度百科

Peking opera influenced the hairstyle design a lot. Dan roles (旦角）in opera have very specific hairstyle protocols. They wear a lot of fake hair pieces and hair accessories just like modern hanfu hairstyles have. One of the base hair silhouettes shared by almost all dan is the traditional 大頭/大头/da4 tou2/'big head,' with most of the hair wound into a large oval bun on the back of the head, and small pieces added at the edges for decoration. To imitate this look, the back of both of the hairstyles are padded with a large, flat, and round hairpiece (known in the hanfu hairstyling community as the 西瓜包/xi1 gua1 bao1/'watermelon bun'). This helps to add volume onto the back of the head, creating the illusion of very long hair that has been neatly wrapped and pinned up.

Another one of the key parts of these hairstyles is the round loop of hair in the center of the forehead. It’s an important feature that I included to tie the two styles together, to make sure it was clear that it was a ‘matched set’ so to speak, and was inspired by the hair loops seen in Chinese Opera styling.

戏曲旦角化妆、梳大头全过程，新浪博客，2011

Traditionally, a solution made from elm tree sap and/or kelp was used as hair gel to glue the little contouring base pieces (貼片子/tie1 pian4 zi0) down to the face. Seven loops called 小灣/小湾/xiao3 wan1/'little curves' line the hairline, one in the center and three off to the sides. I think they look kind of similar to the hairstyle that ballroom dancers have.

This was an artsy hanfu concept shoot, so I didn’t want to necessarily copy the operatic hairstyles—not to mention I don't know how, the motion of making one hair loop alone can take 3-5 years to train—but I did want to include some elements of the opera characters as a nod to their role in popularizing the legend! So each hair design has that central loop. It’s a separate hair piece that I bought for this shoot, whose base I covered with some of the other hair. It isn't glued down like it would be traditionally. I was going to have a few more loops coming down on the sides too, but I found that it looked kind of awkward so I took them off.

There are also two thin strands of hair trailing down each shoulder, another element partially inspired by Chinese opera styling, but it’s very common nowadays to have those there just for the Vibes so it’s not as unique. Most dan roles have a section of long unbound hair trailing down their backs, with two small strands separated out to stream down the front. This is called 線尾/线尾/xian4 yi3/'thread tail' or 線簾/线帘/xian4 lian2/'thread curtain.'

Makeup

Okay so this mostly ended up being about hair rather than makeup because I know a lot more about hair than makeup, but I'll talk a bit about the makeup too lol. I can't speak for the White Snake's makeup—Yulan was in charge of that and she did a marvelous job!—but I did do my own makeup.

The makeup for the green snake came with a great challenge: how do you make my face, arguably the roundest and most nonthreatening thing you’ve ever seen, into something resembling a snake demoness? Also, flamboyant makeup in cool colors can be tricky—too little and it’ll all disappear on camera, too much and it’ll look like a muddy green mess.

Both my sister and I are fairly warm-toned; green has to be very concentrated in a very small area to look interesting, otherwise it just looks like a bruise (I tried it). So I tried to use a lot of long thin lines of color and angles in the eyeshadow to avoid that, and to kind of draw out the snakey vibes. The meager selection of green eyeshadows that I had weren't the most pigmented, so we made a stop at Sephora (my first time in Sephora believe it or not) on the way from LAX to Riverside and bought some supplies. They turned out to be super super useful.

One of my favorite makeup features was a my sister’s suggestion—fake pearl ‘snake bite’ piercings under the bottom lip! It’s a fun little linguistic easter egg that I’m super happy to have been able to incorporate into her styling. 

宋人 宋高宗后坐像，Taiwan National Palace Museum, 她：女性形象與才藝，2020 Look closely and you'll see dozens of tiny women depicted in pointillism on her guan headdress!

Pearl makeup （珍珠花鈿/珍珠花钿/zhen1 zhu1 hua1 dian4）was really popular throughout several dynasties, but especially the Song Dynasty, where it became a huge trend among nobles. Today it mostly appears in hanfu circles, but I believe some Southern Chinese opera styles use them too.

As far as I know, the position that we put them in under the bottom lip is anachronistic, but they did often appear at the corners of the mouth/the dimples (面靨/面靥/mian4 ye4), so if you stretched it a little and imagine they've just been moved slightly, I could probably claim that it's at least historically inspired.

元人 畫梅花仕女, Taiwan National Palace Museum, 她：女性形象與才藝，2020

Other places that pearl makeup often appeared was on the temples, cheeks, or forehead. I also put a pair under my eyes just for funsies (I find that using smaller-sized pearls looks better to me, even though the ones shown in paintings are usually fairly large).

//

Okay that ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. I am so tired wow. The next one might take a while to come out too, but hope this one was enjoyable :)

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

[sorrowdart]

Scarian modern AU fic!

Hey, this is my first Tumblr post! I am currently writing a fic about Scarian, here is one of the moments they interact in the story. Lots of gay pining (:<

Scar/grian

Teen&up

Fluff, SFW

Taking a deep breath, the crowd finally fades to a quiet ringing in his ears.  

In the corner of the room, a staircase leads somewhere upstairs. In hopes of searching for a bathroom, Grian quickly climbed the stairs.

He was met with a short hallway and dim lights, a half opened door leading to a washroom. Grian sighs in relief, turning on the faucet. The water ran cold, and Grian happily splashed it into his face. 

As the drops of cool water ran down his face, the sound of rushing water almost distracted himself from hearing a sudden creak in the floor boards. Grian switched off the water, the sound definitely wasn’t coming from inside the small bathroom. He pushed open the wooden door to further investigate.

As the light poured out of the room, Scar’s face came into view. He was climbing up the stairs before the shine hit him. Slightly blinded, he used his hand to cast a shadow under his eyes.

“Scar?” Grian asked quietly, feeling his heart thump again. Suddenly realizing something, he flipped the light switch to spare Scar some dignity.

Grian could see the moment Scar realized it was him. Scar’s face brightened instantly, and a wide grin spread across his face. “Grian! I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaimed, his cheerful tone lifting the entire room. He finally reached the top of the staircase, balancing himself on his forearm crutches.

“Scott mentioned you were around, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” Scar paused, considering if his words sounded too awkward. “So… hi!”

Grian’s cheeks flushed, his grin growing wider as he mumbled, “Hi, Scar.” The words came out a little breathless, like he hadn’t quite expected to sound so eager.

Scar was looking effortlessly attractive tonight, his long green flannel hanging casually over his frame like it was made just for him. Grian couldn't help but get lost in the sight of his defined shoulders— until Scar’s voice cut through the air, pulling him out of his trance. 

“Did I dress too fancy?” Scar asks nervously, assuming Grian was staring at him for a reason. He fidgeted with his belt loops, curling his thumb around the fabric.

“No, no. It looks good.” Grian reassured quickly, and he truly did mean it. He glanced over his shirt once again, noticing that his collar had gotten a bit ruffled.

Without thinking, Grian reached over and adjusted the fabric, folding it over until the collar was faced correctly. For extra measure, he smoothed out the wrinkles the best he could. 

It was only then that Grian realized the proximity between them was unnecessarily close.

Suddenly very hyper aware of the breath on Grian’s face, he quickly backed away to put some space between them. His gaze drifted off to the staircase railing, he couldn’t bear to meet Scar’s gaze after that.

“It was just a bit uneven, is all.” Grian struggled to explain, scratching at his neck awkwardly. 

After a silent pause on the other end, Grian finally found the courage to catch his eye. Thankfully, Scar didn’t seem to look bothered. Maybe a bit taken aback, but not uncomfortable.

Scar swallowed, forcing his mouth to form a sentence to keep the conversation flowing. “Ah, thanks for fixing it.” He stammered. “Now I won’t look like a fool.”

Grian raised an eyebrow and gave him a funny look. “You always look like a fool.” He replied, a sly smile plastered on his face.

Scar returned the look, a smile on his face even after being playfully insulted. “Thanks.” He said, putting on a sarcastic voice.

The noise coming from downstairs had now increased in volume by sheer amounts. They both listened as Skizz shouted Chappell Roan into the amplified microphone.

“Sounds like fun, downstairs.” Scar commented with a snicker.

“Sounds like I’m gonna pop an eardrum if I get any closer," Grian muttered. Somehow, Skizz had mastered the art of ruining every good song with just his voice.

“You know," Scar said, with a tentative glance, "we were both invited to karaoke."

“Are you trying to convince me to go socialize downstairs?”

“Maybe?” Scar said with a small laugh.

Grian crossed his arms, grinning. “Yeah right, I would need to get totally drunk to even consider it.”

“Alright, alright. No karaoke.” Scar sighed. “But… maybe a drink?” 

It would be nice to feel a bit looser, Grian thought. “Sure, why not?”

The two began to descend the staircase, Grian trailing not too far behind. The kitchen was empty now, most people were gathered around for karaoke. 

Opening the cooler, Grian grabbed a small canned beer from the back. He cracked it open and raised it to his lips. Even though the can was frigid to the touch, sipping it caused a warm feeling to settle in his gut.

Putting the drink down, he glanced at what Scar was drinking. “Never took you for a cocktail kind of guy.” Grian mumbled as he leaned into the counter.

“Never judge a book by its cover!” Scar said with a shrug, “Besides, I only like it because it’s not too bitter.”

Grian hummed in acknowledgment. He trusted Scar’s judgment— he wasn’t much of a drinker himself, anyway. House parties and the occasional Friday bar night were the only times he let himself loosen up.

“So, what are you gonna do for Fall break?” Grian eventually asked, taking another swig at his drink.

Scar paused, a concentrated look on his face as he thought. “Nothing, really. I don’t hang around much. But I might take some extra shifts at work.” 

Grian blinked, clearly thrown off, and turned a bewildered gaze his way. “Really? You’re the most social person I know!”

“Yeah, well, once break hits I’ll enjoy the silence a little too much and then never make any plans!” Scar complained, clearly having experienced this problem before.

“So you're saying I should invade your home and drag you outside when I want to hangout?” Grian said in a softer voice, sporting a playful smile.

“Hah, sure. You better follow up on that offer.” Scar said, returning the smile.

[beauty-and-passion]

Why you should listen to Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium

I didn't expect to truly write a post about this album.

Anons introduced me to its genesis, production and themes and they seemed interesting... but was there enough food for thought?

I had no idea. My expectations were positive, so I imagined I would listen to something good: I just didn't know if this album had enough for me to talk about and say something new - considering that the CCCC fans already did a great job analyzing every detail of the songs.

But when I listened to them (and read more theories/explanations), I noticed some interesting things. Things that stirred my brain and made me think. Things I wanted to talk about.

So here I am, writing a post about Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium Volume 1. I am not pretending to explain the lore or the songs in detail and I don't want to bother you with an extremely long post. All I want is to give you some material to decide if CCCC is worth a try.

And, if you've never heard about it before, I hope my words will spark your interest, because this album deserves more attention.

One last thing: please be aware I will talk about all sorts of themes, from love to suicide, because those are also the themes of the album.

_______________________________

A simple plot

I can hear you, fans who have listened to the whole album: simple story?! It's complicated! It's open to interpretations!

And yes, you're right. But if we consider the core foundation on which the songs are built... well, that's quite straightforward. With this album, Chonny Jash is telling us about his struggles and how they led to a psychological split inside him into Mind, Heart and Soul. Then these three parts start fighting, until they find a way to reunite again.

And yes, we can also add that this is a time loop and things are destined to repeat themselves, but the structure is still simple, clear and concise. As clear as the tripartition of the album into Calamity, Cacophony and Concord, three parts that correspond to the story's three main points: the split, the fight, the reunion.

And this simplicity isn't a bad thing, oh absolutely not. This is perfect.

There's a common misconception that a good story should be complicated. The plot should be complex and convoluted and the more complex and convoluted it is, the better the story will be. I made this conceptual mistake too and it took me years to realize how wrong it was: the better stories are not the most complicated ones, but the simpler ones.

Why?, you may ask. Isn't a simple story proof of amateur writing - or even worse, lack of creativity?

Actually, it's quite the opposite and there are four reasons why:

If a story has a simple, clear foundation, it will be easier to build on it: a simple foundation is stable and strong, it won't break down too easily. You can add layers and metaphors and hide your plot points behind different interpretations, but your public won't get lost, because the foundation would still be clear: there are three figures, they fight, they reunite. Everyone can understand it.

If everyone can understand your foundation, your story is universal. Everyone can approach and experience it, from an old person to a child, and everyone will find something inside: a message, a feeling, a piece of advice, anything.

If your story is universal and the foundation clear, your vision is also clear. And if your vision is clear, you know what you're doing. And if you know what you're doing, your story will be much more organized too: there won't be dull/useless parts, filler, or moments in which you're just dilly-dallying, waiting for the right idea to strike.

Since your story will be more organized, the flow will be better too and the events will make sense, the public will be more prone to welcome the suspension of disbelief and immerse themselves in the story. People aren't stupid, they can subconsciously feel when an artist is confident and the story is strong. And once they feel it, you win. The public is yours now, you can guide it into your world and show your vision as you intended. And people will let you do it, because they know they're in good hands.

This is what I experienced too, the more I progressed with my listening. There was a lot of care behind every word, the lyrics kept explaining and expanding the plot and everything showed the confidence of an author who knows what he is doing and how to do it.

And there's nothing better for a story, than a confident author.

_______________________________

Clear elements despite the ambiguity

Even if the foundation of CCCC is very simple, the story is enriched by a ton of ambiguities and things purposely left very vague. They may be better explained when/if Volume 2 comes out in the future, they may be left open to interpretation forever. It doesn't really matter: having a full understanding is good, but leaving everything behind a veil of mystery is a good choice as well. It depends on Mr. Jash's choice - and if my previous point wasn't clear enough, I trust this guy's choices.

However, despite the ambiguity, I also really appreciated how there are a lot of extremely clear elements in this story, starting from some events, to specific details of the main characters involved.

Some examples?

Heart tried to shoot/kill/destroy Mind

Heart's breakdown is due to something love-related

The whole series of events is stuck in a loop

Mr. Jash threatens suicide if the parts of himself don't reconcile

Mr. Jash frequently talks about how he keeps making covers of songs others made before him

And what about the details? For example, we know that every character has a specific set of elements associated with them:

an object: a blindfold (Heart), a crown (Mind), a trident (Soul)

a name: Artemis/the moon/Juno (Heart), Apollo/the sun (Mind), Atlas (Soul)

a color: black+purple (Heart), blue+white (Mind), gray+red (Soul)

And those are all elements we get from the songs and they get stuck with you, while you progress with your listening.

Again, this is a very clever choice: considering everything is open to interpretation, having some clear elements serves as "anchor points" in a sea of ambiguities. By doing that, the listeners won't get lost in a maelstrom of possibilities, but they will keep being guided down a clear path - the one traced by the main points of the album (breakdown, fight, reunion).

Also, having some fixed elements keeps everyone's attention too: some people might like to get lost in pure ambiguity, but most lose interest in a too-vague story. Even if the author had a clear plan, if everything is too obscure, people will inevitably think: "It's incomprehensible, so the author had no idea what they were doing" and ditch the story entirely.

Mr. Jash handled the ambiguity aspect very well, by balancing the obscurities with the clear elements. And this proved, once again, how clear, strong and detailed his vision is.

_______________________________

Favorite character?

Ooof, that's hard.

Each character has a specific personality and that alone proves how carefully Mr. Jash planned every element related to them.

Heart is sad, desperate, apathetic, prone to self-pity, sick and tired of everything. But he's also strong enough to try and oppose Mind out of fear of what he could do. He tried to attack someone as powerful as him and take him down, just to preserve the Soul and save their vessel.

And that proves he's not weak at all: he's a lot more powerful than he seems. And, as he said, he's not a child: he felt Mind could've been a threat, so he took the matter into his own hands and tried to find a solution.

And it makes sense his solution was so drastic, because it was dictated by feelings. Because the Heart is influenced by feelings. It's perfectly coherent with the kind of character he is.

Same goes for Mind: he's cold, harsh, a threatening figure because of his design/nature. He takes control of the situation, he appoints himself as the new leader, he wants to react, do something, move forward and ignore the element he sees as the weak link.

And he definitely doesn't hold a grudge towards Heart, nope nope: my bro spent a whole song saying "Look at Heart, he's an idiot". And then, if this isn't enough, he ended his song, by calling Heart "akaryocyte": which is a cell without a nucleus. Hence, a virus.

I'll admit it: this sick burn is the sickest burn that ever burned and probably the most clever insult I've ever read and that made Mind top #1 best character of the album - sorry Heart, but Mind is too sick. (Also, I am a cold logical person too, so I ended up thinking the guy wasn't so bad after all.)

Last but not least, we have Soul. And Soul is basically shut down all the time by these two motherfuckers arguing, to the point he looks more like a shadow, rather than a real character... until he decides that you know what, time to show how confident he actually is:

You must be so arrogant to think that either of you Can control The Soul so wholly When to be one whole you can't hold solely

One song was enough to show Soul's true colors. He's stronger than the other two, he's more in control than them and he's the only one able to draw a line and make an actual threat: if they do not find a way to reunite, he will kill them both.

A couple words and Soul's picture got flipped: he's not just a background voice anymore, he's the leading figure now. And if he is sick and tired, then these three are facing the real shit.

But just like the other two, Soul isn't just that and we see it in The Bidding.

Here happens something incredibly beautiful: once Heart and Mind find a way to harmonize, Soul immediately rejoices: with the impatience of a child, he asks them to do it again, "One more time, go again/No, this can't be the end". Soul, this powerful figure who threatened suicide one second ago, begs them to try again, to do it "for me", because they can finally harmonize, because "I don't know how much more I can take".

Once again, with a couple sentences, we learn how heavy this whole situation has been on Soul and how eager he is to try again, once the other two find a possible harmony.

This doesn't just show how deeply Soul has been affected by the whole situation, but also (on a higher level) how strong hope is.

Soul was ready to commit suicide: a few verses before he said this was the day "we'll tie the rope". But one small step in the right direction, despite being flawed and made out of spite and resentment, was all he needed to change his mind and drop the idea of suicide entirely.

That also proves how human Soul is. Because this is what humans feel too, especially when they play with the idea of suicide. Most of the time, this idea is the result of desperation and inability to find a way out of a situation that seems impossible to overcome. But once these people find even a teeny tiny fragment of hope, the will to live overcomes desperation and people latch to said hope, no matter how small it is. And, just like Soul did here, they try to have it again, to repeat it, to feel that spark again.

Because the will to live is always much, much stronger than the desperation that leads to suicide.

_______________________________

The choice of a time loop

These three characters are stuck in a time loop: things are destined to repeat themselves. And believe it or not, but this is extremely human too - and a clever choice as well.

From a psychological perspective, Mr. Jash can "break" again anytime. Life is full of stuff and events, so... who knows? Maybe in the future, he will face another heartbreak and his Whole will break down into three once more. Or maybe it won't be because of a heartbreak: maybe something else will happen and lead to a new split, a new fight and a new reconciliation. Maybe even the lack of confidence that starts to shine in Concord is proof of a future split.

But if we think about it, the time loop works from another perspective too: a meta one.

Every time you listen to the whole album, every time to replay the songs, you are relieving the split. Every time you listen to them, Whole splits into Heart, Mind and Soul. Every time you trace their history, they split, fight and reconcile.

In other words: every replay is a new loop, a loop in which these characters are stuck - not just because of their humanity, but because they're characters and this is their story. They cannot escape from it, because that's their entire world.

I don't know if Mr. Jash thought about that while making this album... but he gave me this thought and that's just another proof of what I said at the beginning of this post: if a story is very well made, everyone can find a message inside it. And I'm sure you will find something too.

EDIT: You will find the whole analysis of CCCC Vol. 1 starting from HERE

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

@royalprinceroman @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders​  @idontreallyknow24​  @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake​  @hereissananxiousmess​  @purplebronzeandblue​  @cynicalandsarcastic​ ​@lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire​ 

@riseofthewerewolf​ @rosesandlove44​​  @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan​ @arya-skywalker  @csi-baker-street-babes @queen-of-all-things-snuggly @reesiereads @dracayd-universe​ @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite​ @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

@thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella  @boopypastaissalty @nevenastark @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @coldbookworm @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter  @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 50

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 50: | DINNER DATE |

That evening, Rafe spent extra time getting ready, buttoning up a clean, tailored suit and running a hand through his hair one last time. He hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in a long time, and it surprised him. As he adjusted his tie, he heard the front door open, and his pulse quickened. He took a slow breath, preparing himself for the moment he saw you.

When you finally came into view, Rafe’s eyes widened slightly as he took you in, a quiet smile spreading across his face. You looked stunning, somehow brighter than ever in a deep burgundy satin dress that flowed gracefully around you. Your makeup was soft, highlighting your natural beauty, and your hair cascaded in soft curls that framed your face perfectly.

“Wow, you look…amazing,” he murmured as he walked closer, his gaze warm and appreciative, barely hiding the admiration he felt.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” you replied, smiling as you placed a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but strong, beneath your fingers.

Rafe’s hand found your waist, pulling you gently toward him as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was slow and tender, holding a warmth and softness that made your heart flutter. This wasn’t like other kisses. It felt like a promise.

As he broke the kiss, he looped your arm through his, leading you out to his car. In the car, the two of you didn’t talk much about the events with Sofia or the past few days. Instead, you focused on each other, letting the comfort of each other’s presence speak volumes.

Once you arrived at the restaurant, a waitress guided you both toward the reserved table. The lighting was soft, the atmosphere intimate, and as you walked through, your gaze suddenly landed on a familiar pair: your parents. They were seated close to your table, and your heart stuttered with a mix of irritation and anxiety.

“Oh shit. My parents are here,” you muttered to Rafe, keeping your voice low.

flickered down to you, a calm reassurance in his gaze. “We can go somewhere else,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine. They already saw me,” you replied, forcing a small smile as you settled into your seat.

Dinner went smoothly, the conversation between you and Rafe flowing effortlessly. You shared laughs, stories, and glances that held an intimacy that felt refreshingly honest. With each word and gesture, the tension of your parents being nearby faded into the background. By the time dessert arrived, the evening felt almost perfect. But as you were waiting, you felt a familiar presence behind you, a feeling that made your shoulders tense.

“Were you at our house?” your mother’s voice cut through the quiet ambiance. Her tone was sharp, tinged with accusation, and the way she said “our house” stung as if you were no longer a part of it.

You swallowed hard and turned to look at her. “No, why would I be at your house?” You couldn’t keep the edge out of your voice, emphasizing “your” with deliberate distance.

“Don’t lie. We have you on camera,” she replied coldly. “You were outside the front door checking if it was unlocked, and then it cuts to the other camera showing you sneaking in through a window like a thief.” Her voice was laced with bitterness. “You’re lucky we didn’t report you.”

“It would be a shame to report your own daughter,” you shot back, the sting of her words settling deep in your chest.

There was a painful silence before she continued, “And the spare keys you took…I want you to return them. Tomorrow.”

The demand hurt more than you expected. “When are you going to stop being mad at me?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and quiet pleading, but she only looked away.

“Return them tomorrow.” Her final words hung in the air as she turned and left without another word, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappeared out of the restaurant.

You exhaled deeply, running a hand over your face, letting the hurt sink in. It was one thing to face the rift between you and your family, but it was another to feel so detached, like you didn’t belong anywhere.

“I knew it was serious, but this…” Rafe murmured, his face a mix of sympathy and anger. He couldn’t believe your parents treated you like this, like you were some kind of stranger in their lives.

“Yeah,” you said softly, taking a long sip of your wine. “I guess they’ll never forgive me.”

Rafe reached across the table and took your hand, his fingers warm and steady against yours. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, you come to me,” he said softly. His voice held a quiet intensity. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

You looked at him, feeling a grateful smile tug at your lips. “Thank you, Rafe. I don’t know what I’d do without you or Sarah... and everyone else. I wouldn’t even have a place to live.”

“Don’t say that. You could’ve always come to me,” he replied gently.

“But we weren’t even talking back then,” you reminded him, giving a small shrug. “You pushed me away… and if it weren’t for the Pogues, I’d have been on the street.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened slightly, and he looked down, nodding as he took in your words. “I know. But I could never stay away from you forever.” He met your gaze, sincerity shining in his eyes. “Just like you can’t stay away from me.”

You held his gaze, letting his words sink in, feeling that familiar warmth and understanding return as he looked at you with a rare vulnerability.

When the dessert arrived, you pierced your fork into the chocolate cake, savoring the rich taste as it melted on your tongue. But the sensation was only half the distraction; across the table, Rafe’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that made you shiver. The intensity of his stare sent a flutter down your spine, his desire for you unmistakable.

“What?” you chuckled, trying to feign nonchalance under the weight of his heated gaze.

Rafe leaned in slightly, his voice low and only for your ears. “I can’t wait to take that dress off you tonight.”

You let out a playful laugh, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I like it. You look sexy as hell.” His voice was deep, filled with a craving that bordered on impatience. “But you dress up like that and expect me to control myself. Do you even know me?”

“Oh, I do,” you teased, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And I also know that whatever I wear, you’d still act like this.”

Rafe let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He dipped his fork into his dessert, though it was clear his thoughts were far from food.

You leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Rafe…”

“What?” he asked, eyes darkening as they flicked down to your lips.

“If you keep talking like this, I won’t be able to wait until we get home.” Your voice was barely above a murmur, your body responding as you shifted, crossing and uncrossing your legs just enough to catch his attention.

A flicker of a smirk danced across his face as he licked his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

You held his gaze, savoring the moment before taking the last bite of your cake. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you replied, letting the words linger as you finished your dessert with a deliberate, slow movement.

Rafe didn’t need any more hints. “Let’s go.” He stood up immediately, his eyes full of purpose.

“You didn’t even finish your dessert,” you noted, biting back a smile.

He shot you a smoldering look, grabbing your hand to lead you outside. “I’m craving a different kind of dessert right now.”

Once outside by the car, he wasted no time. Rafe pressed you against the passenger door, his hand slipping up your thigh, lifting the hem of your dress as his fingers found the thin lace of your panties. The heat of his touch sent sparks shooting through you.

“Dripping wet,” he murmured with a dark chuckle as you gasped at the sensation. “Get in the backseat.”

In a swift movement, he opened the back door and nudged you inside, following close behind. He barely had the door closed before his hands were on you, pulling the dress over your head. You were grateful for the car’s tinted windows, but in that moment, all you could focus on was the way he looked at you like you were his entire world, wrapped in the delicate lace you’d worn just for him.

Rafe hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, slipping them down as you worked to unbutton his shirt, your fingers fumbling slightly with impatience. You tugged the shirt off his shoulders, taking in the sight of him, the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

Without another word, you pulled him down, meeting him in a hungry kiss, your mouths colliding with a need that had been building since dinner. Your tongues moved in a heated rhythm, and Rafe slid two fingers inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit. You gasped into his mouth, a moan slipping out as he pumped his fingers, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“I like how desperate you are for me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Getting this wet before I even touched you.”

You managed a shaky laugh, catching your breath between his ministrations. “You’re the one who’s desperate,” you teased.

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted, his free hand guiding yours down to the bulge in his pants. “Do you feel how hard I am? I’m gonna fuck you all night, baby.”

Your moan was loud, echoing in the confined space as he quickened the pace of his fingers, your body arching as you felt yourself close to release. He moved with expert precision, and with one final thrust, you shattered under him, your body shaking as you clung to him, the intense pleasure leaving you breathless.

Rafe didn’t give you a moment to recover. Your legs parted instinctively, inviting him closer as your fingers fumbled with his zipper, pulling it down and freeing him. He groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, feeling his hard length beneath your fingers. His breathing hitched, and he quickly grabbed your legs, hooking them around his waist as he positioned himself.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he slid into you, filling you completely, his eyes locked on yours. He moved with a torturous pace at first, each thrust controlled, his gaze heavy with passion as he watched the way you melted under his touch. You moaned, gripping his shoulders as he plunged deeper, the building intensity between you leaving you dizzy.

Rafe leaned forward, his mouth finding your throat as he increased his pace, his hips snapping against you with a force that left you breathless. He didn’t relent, his mouth and hands roaming, his touch igniting every sensitive spot he’d learned over time, your neck, the delicate skin beneath your ear, your lower lip. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he pounded into you, each movement bringing you both closer to the edge.

Your heels dug into his back as you clung to him, the desperation growing with each thrust. A wave of pleasure crashed over him, his grip tightening as he gave one last, powerful thrust, his release hitting as he buried himself deep within you. The sensation was enough to push you over the edge, your own release following as you moaned in ecstasy, your fingers clutching his shoulders as the pleasure swept through you in waves.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence filled only by your ragged breaths as you both came down from the high, bodies entwined in the aftermath. The intimacy of the moment lingered, and you could see the satisfaction, the raw, unguarded look in his eyes as he met your gaze.

Rafe leaned back, pulling on his clothes with that familiar, confident ease before slipping into the driver’s seat. He shot you a knowing look, his gaze flicking down to where you sat in the backseat. “Leave the underwear off,” he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. “I’m not done with you yet. As soon as we get back to my place, I’m giving you exactly what you deserve.”

A thrill ran through you as you adjusted your dress, feeling the warmth of his promise lingering in the air as he started the car. The ride back was filled with a thick, electric silence, your pulse quickening every time you caught him glancing at you through the rearview mirror, the fire in his gaze burning just as fiercely as it had in the backseat.

When you finally reached his place, he wasted no time, leading you inside, his hands on you the second the door closed. It was as if the world faded away; there was only him, his touch, and the steady build of pleasure that followed. True to his word, he didn’t stop, not for hours. Every moment felt charged, each touch an unspoken promise as he explored every inch of you with a dedication that left you breathless.

You lost count of the times he made you come undone, each climax building on the last until your body felt spent, exhausted, and perfectly content. By the time dawn crept through the window, you lay tangled in the sheets beside him, your skin warm and tingling, a satisfied smile playing on both your lips as sleep finally claimed you in his arms.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin @wtfdudesblog @davinashifts333 @pvyden @charchartumb-lr

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fem!Reader, shibari

Synopsis: Douma initiates you into the world of shibari

Author: @dumadono

A/N: Welcome to another day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration Today's prompt: shibari

Masterlist

Douma's heart is captivated by artistry, and what greater embodiment of artistic expression is there than the ancient Japanese art of bondage, known as shibari or, in its traditional form, kinbaku? 

_________________

That day, he embarks on a journey from mere admiration to active engagement and beyond. This is why the two of you find yourselves strolling along this quiet, desolate dirt path, burdened with an array of tools and paraphernalia, ready to delve into the world of bound passion and creative intimacy.

"Have you ever ventured into the art of shibari?" you inquire, your voice hesitant like a gentle breeze.

"A few times, yet I never fully mastered it, lotus," he responds, his words flowing like a tranquil stream.

"How so, Douma-sama?" you question, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

"Shibari, my little lotus, is an art of intricate knots and delicate ties," he answers, his voice a seductive whisper. "It requires patience, precision, and a deep connection between the one tying and the one being bound. I believe we share such a connection."

You blush at his words.

You now find yourself at a single-room wooden dwelling. Douma has frequented this place, studying its secrets, delivering various items, and readying the weathered edifice you now encounter for its current purpose. For several months, no soul has ventured here, and this aligns perfectly with Douma's intentions. Silence reigns, a tranquility he diligently maintains.

Now that you are both inside, and you undress completely.

In complete silence, Douma's actions speak volumes. His kisses and tender caresses trace your body with affection, focusing on your breasts and ass. As you sit on a small stool, he carefully unravels coils of rope. One end is guided through the first of the eye bolts, draping down to your shoulders. The length is matched with the other end, and a secure knot is tied at the eye bolt. With your arms extended, Douma has you hold a sturdy bamboo rod behind your head, spanning from one hand to the other.

Methodically, deliberately, and with deep affection, Douma begins to weave the ropes around you, starting at your underarms and winding them around until they reach your hands. Ornamental knots adorn each hand, and then the ropes are guided back up, securing them to the same eye bolt. Your upper body is now firmly bound, your arms suspended about three feet above the floor. Despite only four points of suspension, the bamboo and the rope's intricate threading ensure your weight is evenly distributed.

Next, another rope passes through the far eye bolt, and it's employed to secure your ankles to another bamboo rod intended to maintain your legs apart. A third rope descends, slipping beneath the small of your back, alleviating most of the weight from your ankle restraints. Two additional ropes loop under your back, the first just below your breasts, and the second halfway between the first and the rope near your hips. All of this consumes a substantial amount of time due to the meticulous knot work being executed.

At this juncture, you are suspended from the eye bolts with only your head left unsupported. Douma brushes your hair, "You're such a good lotus, so obedient to me."

You're now completely bound. 

“How are you feeling, my precious lotus?” Douma asks, his tone lacing with sweetness.

“I’m good, master,” you reply, offering him a smile. “Keep going.”

Removing the stool, Douma stands back to assess his handiwork. To a casual observer, it might appear as if you are being tortured, but the reality is quite the opposite. In truth, you are utterly comfortable and at peace. You feel more liberated than you have ever felt before. You have surrendered yourself completely to Douma and have no decisions to worry about.

The height at which you are suspended is carefully selected to grant Douma ideal access to your pussy while he occupies the stool. His eyes remain closed as he skillfully employs his mouth and tongue, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm while you hover weightlessly in the air. He possesses an innate sense of timing, allowing just enough respite before resuming his attention. Overwhelmed by ecstasy and a profound sensation of boundless pleasure, your passionate cries fill the space. This experience is unlike any you've ever encountered, an unprecedented expression of love and desire.

Douma's skilled tongue dances slowly on your clitoris, occasionally gliding down the slit to your sweet entrance, which emits juices he adores so much. He places tender licks here and there, occasionally applying a gentle suction to your lips, all while humming with delight.

You inquire about him, expressing your desire to please him in return.

Douma responds, breaking his silence for the first time since your arrival, stating that this experience is for your satisfaction, and you need not worry about his release at this moment. It's also unlikely that you'd be in a condition to attend to his needs after this intense scene.

After a few hours, you are lowered from your suspended position. You're tired. Exhaustion has taken its toll, and Douma gently carries you along the deserted dirt road back to his shrine while weariness overcomes you, and you eventually fall asleep in his comforting embrace.

"I love you so much, little lotus," Douma whispers, placing a tiny kiss on your temple.

[ruru195]

Just a Day by the River

With the circus on break and Felix finally in town for a few weeks, Oswald had practically demanded a proper getaway—nothing big or fancy. Just the four of them, some fresh air, and peace. They chose the Mississippi River, where the water flowed slow and calm, birds chirped freely, and the sun warmed the earth just enough to make you feel like everything was alright.

Felix led the small group along a forested path, holding Oswald’s hand, swinging it gently with every step. He wore a wide-brimmed hat Oswald insisted he bring, already slathered in sunscreen after a mini fuss session. At every stop, Oswald double-checked Felix's cheeks and arms for sunburns like a protective hawk, even though Felix kept insisting he was fine.

“Felix, the sun is mean out here,” Oswald huffed, smearing more sunscreen on his husband’s nose.

“You just like poking my face,” Felix laughed, nuzzling him lightly.

At every bench or patch of grass, Oswald made himself comfortable—on Felix’s lap. He always rested his head on Felix’s chest or shoulder, Felix quietly laying his own head atop Oswald's, their arms gently looped around each other. They looked like an elderly couple who had spent decades together. But they'd only been married for two years. Still, every soft kiss Oswald gave to Felix’s temple, and every time Felix whispered “I love you” in return, it felt like the love had already spanned lifetimes.

A little ahead of them, Mickey was bouncing like an excited toddler.

“Trip trip trip triiiiiip~!” he sang, hopping on rocks and twirling like he was on a stage. “It’s trip day! River day! We’re outta the tent and I’m NOT getting shot out of a cannon!”

Alex trailed beside him, carrying their packed lunch, his expression already straining from Mickey’s volume.

“I still don’t know why you singing ‘trip’ like it’s real song,” he muttered in his thick Russian accent.

“It is now! C’mon, say it! 'Trip day!’”

“...Treep deh,” Alex said flatly.

“No no no! Not ‘treep deh,’ it’s more like—'TRIP. DAY.' With the bounce. Try again.”

“...I vill drop you into river.”

“You wouldn’t! It’s cold!”

Felix chuckled softly from the back of the group, watching the two bicker with amusement. Oswald, still snuggled in his lap, mumbled, “They’re gonna be like this all day, huh.”

“Probably,” Felix replied, brushing Oswald’s ears back. “Kinda makes me glad we’re the quiet ones.”

“I dunno, you snore louder than a circus cannon sometimes.”

Felix gasped, “Do not!”

“Do too.”

More laughter.

When they finally reached the riverbank, they laid out a blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, and the scent of wildflowers and pine floated through the air. The water sparkled as the sun danced on it.

Lunch was simple: sandwiches, fruit, cold drinks, and some sweets Alex had baked. Mickey tried to feed the ducks (with limited success), and Felix took far too many photos of Oswald leaning against him like a sleepy cat.

No magic. No drama. No circus chaos.

Just love, nature, and Mickey still trying to teach Alex to say "Mississippi" without getting mish-messipy every time.

And Oswald, resting in Felix’s arms, whispered with a smile, “Best trip ever.”

[somerandomauthorrr]

Pas De Deux Preview-Chapter 14

enjoy, tumblr loyalists. this chapter will be posted at 4:30 CDT on Friday!

By the time his suit jacket was pulled tight against his ribs, the voices in the room dwindled. He didn’t seem to connect the loss of volume to a loss of occupancy, sending shock through his cheeks when he looked up to see the room empty.

Well, almost empty.

“It’s just us.” Caesar shot the words across the room like a dart, landing a few inches to his left. Joseph turned to face him before he could shoot another.

“You always take too long to get dressed.” Joseph nodded to the door. “Remember last season? Nearly missed your entrance during the matinee.”

Caesar scoffed with a lightness that danced across Joseph’s shoulders. “Hardly. You’re still in here, and you got here before me.” He dared to step closer as he belittled him. The soft golden jacket remained unbuttoned, showcasing Caesar’s skin-clad undershirt and sharp collarbones that taunted his wandering eyes.

Joseph reached out once he was close enough to. His fingers ghosted over the buttons, waiting for Caesar to pull away and tell him to put his greedy hands elsewhere.

Caesar let out a heavy breath as Joseph began slipping the buttons into the loops with delicate fingers.

“Do you think Lisa Lisa will let us stop after the full run?” Joseph’s voice, though loud enough to be heard, was dangerously and uncharacteristically soft. Soft enough to fall into, or at least that’s what he hoped.

“I sure hope so. My head still hurts.” Caesar carded a hand through unstyled blonde strands. Joseph watched his busy hands to keep himself from abandoning his task in favor of sliding his fingers into his hair to test its tensile strength. He mumbled out a soft, “Yeah, I bet.”

The silence that followed their exchange was oddly comfortable. Neither of them spoke a word but there was nothing more to say. Joseph didn’t need to run his mouth, and Caesar had nothing to scold him for. The thick fabric scratched against his nails and stamped his fingerprints onto its decorated surface. Beneath the jacket, Joseph swore he could feel each breath he took swell in his chest before flowing out in a soft stream. He took a breath in an attempt to feel Caesar’s lungs in his own.

Caesar’s jacket was fastened much too soon. He pulled away from Joseph once it was, huffing out a laugh. “Did you button everyone up, or am I just special?”

His hand moved before he had a chance to stop it, sliding up his side and curling around his arm. “You’ve never been-”

Caesar pulled away.

[oblivions-dawn]

Terribly Executed WIP Word Game

✑ Rules: You get a word and share a sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word. Thank you @silly-little-diary and @umbracirrus for the tags!! I tried to do THIEF, but found it too difficult and tackled DAWN instead. Not sure who has or hasn't been tagged so, uh . . . if you want to try this with the word VEIL you certainly can take a stab at it! And so without further ado . . . .

Breathless, Chapter XVI: Apricity

...Drops of rain tapped against the canvas of the tent, mingled in the symphony of their shallow pants. A dark rosy hue painted Vigdis’ cheeks, the red ichor from her wound smeared all over her thin, pouty pink lips. Thousands upon thousands of freckles were splattered across her shoulders and chest like stars, broken only by the glints of scars that littered her skin. Entranced, Serana lightly grazed her fingertips over every faint line that she had merely traced with her persimmon gaze before from afar. How many nights had she spent longing just for this—just to touch her? She didn’t know; she didn’t care. The mortal warmth bloomed—almost burned—beneath her cold immortal touch, the sensation as addictive as the blood that coursed beneath the blemished planes.

Carrion Bones; Raeyla'szah

...A frail old woman in torn, withered robes stood at the entryway. Thin, silky white hair draped from her head beneath her hood, the ends split, tangled, frayed. Her hands were folded, her knuckles gnarled and knobby, her nails caked with dirt. Her papery, wrinkled skin was pulled taut over her bones, riddled with sunspots, vitiligo, eczema, psoriasis. Empty eyes bore into voided ones, and crooked teeth split her dry lips into a smile. Mistress of Decay. Goddess of the Dark. Daedric Prince of Hunger. “Lady Namira,” the hag uttered, her head bowed in respect.

Softly, Nightshade; Valerica

...Words glared at her, the rest of its contents summoning an endless cacophony of unanswered questions. How frustrating it was, to be unable to argue or reason with her incorrigible daughter! What was she thinking, making such a foolish decision—and such a delusional request? A deep sigh flowed from her lavender lips for what must have been the thousandth time in the past hour alone. Alas, all of her irritated pondering and pouting had gotten her nowhere, helplessly trapped in the same infinite loop of thought. The familiar scent of cardamom, cinnamon, and orchid wafted to her nostrils. It was a gentle but welcome tug out of her thoughts, grounded once more in the reality around her. The corner of her lavender lip twitched. “You always seem to know where to find me.”

Heart of Gold; Rulve

...Nothing answered. Robes swished uncertainly. Something dripped onto the floor. “Come out!” Silence. Then— A scream rang out, followed by a dull thud. Incoherent whines rasped out of the body, a knife glinting from its side. The hall tilted up; rivers of blood swelled from the corpse and flowed down, down, down— -[<>]- Rulve jolted awake with a gasp. Papers and books were haphazardly spread across her desk, one tome in particular—Dwarves, The Lost Race of Tamriel, Volume I: Architecture and Designs by Calcelmo—splayed open before her. A tired groan rumbled from her throat as she rubbed at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Book must be pretty boring if it made you fall asleep.”

[snowball-doie]

could you give more info/backstory on the dream polycule

jaemin and jeno started it...... they were hooking up for a little bit (a long time but they'll never admit that ok), and one night...... after a lot of soju........ haechan slept with them. they thought it would be just a one time thing. it wasn't. one night turned into two, then a whole week... then multiple times throughout a single month... when haechan met sooah, he stopped getting with nomin in order to chase her, but unfortunately for hyuck, the second sooah met renjun, her eyes were on him. he did what he could to shoot his shot-- he inevitably offered the idea of a threesome. sooah was down, but renjun was a bit hesitant, so he watched for the first few minutes until he got into it, and suddenly the three of them were an item for as long as he'd been fucking around with nomin-- only, this time it wasn't just sexual, there were feelings there, between all three of them.

one night, while out for dinner and drinks, chenji brought up the throuple because they were confused and a bit... weirded out? honestly, they didn't know what to think of it. so they asked nomin what they thought about hyuck and renjun being together-- "nothing wrong with it," jeno says. "yeah, we've been fuc--" "nana..." jaemin gulps then chuckles nervously because his volume was slightly too loud in the resturant when he was about to announce that he and jeno were together too. but chenji caught it. the understood what was going on, and suddenly they felt even more confused because it wasn't just hyuck and renjun sleeping together? jeno and jaemin were also................. were the maknaes that out of the loop? that inexperienced? "do you want to try it?" chenle asked while they sat in his living room later that night. jisung turned a bright shade of red, but he wasn't necessarily opposed to it. they tried. not all the way, but little things to figure out if they liked it or not, and what was even MORE confusing was that they didn't hate it... but they didn't know how to admit that to each other or anyone else.

in the meantime, mark was having a sleepover with hyuck and renjun, and being his usual, clingy self in private, the wandering hands and lingering glances among all of them didn't really mean anything until suddenly they were playing truth or dare and mark found himself kissing haechan. what was the trouble with adding another person to their relationship? renjun was fine with it-- and he was always the shy one-- and ofc hyuck was over the moon excited to finally be able to kiss mark whenever he wanted, and sooah enjoyed starting slow with mark so that she could get to know him first before jumping in head-first into a relationship with him.

on the flip side, jisung confided in the other 2 members of the triple j unit about what happened with chenle. "are you okay?" jeno asked worriedly. "yeah, i am. it was fine, hyung, i just... i suppose im just confused......" for jeno and jaemin, they were never really confused about their feelings because they figured fuck it, and they just went with the flow (and their hormones). but when jisung asked if he could try things with them too, that caught them off guard- jeno was the one who held back just slightly, meanwhile jaemin grabbed the back of jisung's neck and brought him in for a passionate kiss. still, jisung found himself enjoying it, which he figured he shouldn't be, but how was he supposed to convince himself to stop when it felt so, so good, especially when jeno cornered him from behind and started kissing his neck--

"wait, you guys are all fucking each other?" chenle asked in the middle of a water break at practice. jeno, jaemin, and haechan all casually nodded with shrugs; mark, renjun, and jisung shyly nodded while averting their gaze. "and no one invited me????" chenle just wanted to be part of the fun, so he practically invited himself into the fold, which they didn't mind. but the "cliques" weren't going to work for them anymore. if they were going to keep this up, they might as well go balls to the wall... and once sooah agreed too, it was a done deal.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.213 thoughts

[The End of the Beginning of the End]

(Contents: Criticism - pacing, praise - Fuuko's speech)

I'm so tempted to just say that this chapter should have been what I predicted last week, hit post, and never say anything again to anyone ever, but I feel like that would be doing a disservice to everyone involved, most notably myself, so I'm going to try to give this chapter a fair and partial evaluation to the best of my ability

As other readers have said over the course of this week, I feel that this chapter was, in and of itself, fine, it's just mistimed. What the Unchaste Arc (if you can even call it that...) needed was a capstone focusing on Kururu. I won't go over how that would have looked since I went into detail on it last week, but it's extremely evident that that's the missing piece here on the basis that she's still clearly an antagonist in this chapter

Kururu does not have a single line, but she spends the entire chapter picking a fight with Julia and baring her fangs (which I'm glad she still has, to be clear), so Fuuko's entire speech about how all of the Negators used to be enemies but are now friends rings somewhat hollow

Fuuko mentions that Kururu told her Soul was the actual villain for this arc, but a) we didn't see that conversation, and b) that doesn't mean that she's on friendly terms with the team now. And if she is on friendly terms, then why a) weren't we shown that? and b) is she attacking Julia???

It's one thing for background events to be handwaved by omake on twitter or the collected volumes, but in my opinion this is central to not only the themes of the current arc, but the story as a whole. And I know Tozuka knows that. I've said it many times, Tozuka has earned my trust that he knows how to tell this story, all of my expectations for future events come from precedents that he's established, so when something like this happens, I have to wonder what's going on behind the scenes

Shonen Jump just got a new editor-in-chief, so it's possible that someone higher up the chain wasn't happy with the flow of this arc either and just wanted the slate cleaned, but that's entirely speculation. If I'm right though, that could also explain why the Bunny arc got wrapped up in a single panel, as it likely wasn't going to be "action-focused enough" for whoever wasn't vibing with the idol battle

In my opinion, this should have been a three-event chapter, like when Yusai, Isshin XII and Sean were recruited, with a third being about wrapping up Kururu's arc, a third being about Bunny's adoption (a lighthearted bit of cutesy comedy) and finally Fuuko's speech about Remember

Nico crying over Fuuko accepting this new version of himself as the same man was easily the highlight of the chapter, as it drives home what value using Remember has. We already saw from Nico regaining and perfecting Unforgettable that the memories don't overwrite the current self, they integrate and inform a more completed self. I've talked about the Looping mechanic introducing a sort of "reverse character development," but that development is still half-baked without the cast fully understanding the lies that they've overcome

I doubt we'll get a full scene dedicated to every single character reconciling with their memories, but even just a few of them remembering what they've lost rather than just understanding that they were supposed to lose anything will really change the flavor of their interactions going forward. There's a world of difference between Rip hearing that he's killed people and knowing who he killed, and the ability to strive to be something more comes from experience, not hearsay

All of the bonds that Fuuko has now are strong, but Nico knows firsthand just how much there was for those bonds to overcome. He's not simply her friend who doesn't remember her, he's someone who has helped and hurt her more than he could ever atone for, and she still forgave him. The weight of their friendship as it is now is all the more apparent after Nico could recall the actions that put that friendship to the test. For Fuuko to come see him when he was essentially a new man, think to herself "yes, this is the same man who put me through that," and then decide that that man was, after all was said and done, her friend...well, I'd cry too in Nico's position

And I imagine that everyone else will be much the same. For Shen to remember he sacrificed Gina, for Mui to remember she personally killed Shen, for Billy to remember betraying the Union only to be forgiven...everyone has a past that has informed who they are now, they just don't realize how much of an impact that it's had

And that's why it's so important that Fuuko waited until everyone had joined up to use it. Juiz once said that Remember was meant to reunite old allies, but that's not what Fuuko is using it for. If she did, she wouldn't be teaming up with the friends she "doesn't know yet does know," she'd only be teaming up with the friends she knows, invalidating the lives and choices of those she doesn't

If she simply revived their memories right off the bat, they'd pick up exactly where they left off, for better or worse. Billy and Rip may still hold everyone at arm's length, Sean may still resent everyone for being more important than him, Shen may still be motivated by revenge, etc. And worst of all, not everyone would be friends. Everyone was on mostly good terms by the end of L100, but Under was still Under and the Union was still the Union, separate entities for all intents and purposes

Now? It's just the Union. Everyone knows everyone, everyone is friends with everyone, and everyone knows more about themselves than they did before. The selves they know yet don't know are important tools for becoming better than they've ever been, lessons that they wouldn't have been willing to learn the first time around but are now retroactively open to

Fuuko is no longer turning complete strangers back into her friends, she's reminding her friends where they came from, and showing them how important their decision to be her friends truly is

No one is fighting God because of what he did to them anymore. They're fighting God because they believe it's the right thing to do, because they believe in Fuuko's vision of a better world. That's not an opinion they would have if she had used Remember on them, as their past ego would likely subsume their present, like Victor trying to erase Andy to resume control of their shared body, but now Fuuko has allowed them a strong enough sense of self to unify past and present into one complete future

The sentiment behind this chapter really can't be understated, which unfortunately is what makes its timing all the more frustrating. The fact that the Union isn't even all together means that this speech isn't actually hyping up how major it will be when Remember finally does get used, we already got that when Fuuko shared her vision of a 25-seat Roundtable, and instead it feels like it's priming her to fail. Like we're so close to seeing that vision fulfilled, how's it going to go wrong?

And if that's not what happens, then the timing is still wrong for one very simple reason: KURURU'S STILL NOT ONBOARD!!!

Everyone agreed to using Remember all at once, except for Kururu, who was still throwing an oddly silent fit in the background! "The friends I don't know yet do know"??? Kururu doesn't have any god damn clue who any of you are!!! She's the one person here who hasn't had that rapport built up, the one who doesn't have a reason to help Fuuko achieve anything, and the one who's motivations could still end up being overwritten simply because she hasn't developed a firmly established and differentiated ego! Granted, it doesn't seem like this one is too different from the last one anyway, but that's exactly the problem!!! We don't know the difference between the two Kururus because she's the only character who hasn't been given the opportunity to explain herself to the audience!!!

I mean, I guess Bunny hasn't either, but again, she at least has the naivete and optimism of a child who was freshly adopted, so we can at least somewhat justify her lack of characterization

I really, truly, deeply hope that Kururu gets the Feng treatment, that her development is just being put off for a more opportune moment, because if she's just going to be reduced to a background gag, then I will be sorely disappointed

That said, my love for Kururu ironically skyrocketed after this chapter, because now the Kururu I created in my mind, the Kururu I don't know yet do know, has much less chance of being replaced by the "true" Kururu from Tozuka's. While obviously I'd prefer to know authorial intent, Tozuka has inadvertently set Kururu aside and left me the opportunity to say "my character now," which is an oddly powerful way to form an attachment between character and reader

I should know, it's exactly what Oda did with Monet

Anyway, I think that's enough venting for this week. Here's hoping that next week's chapter will leave a better taste in my mouth

Until next time, let's enjoy life!