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storiesoflilies · 7 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - What is it with these Zenin boys, huh? They’re just too beautiful hehe. All the big players are finally making their appearances, enjoy!! Ko-Fi.

Next part - interlude (ii)

-•-

Chapter 6

The twins had fussed over her far too long, and it was starting to make Y/N jittery.

“Nanako, you’ve styled her hair too flashy!” Mimiko exclaimed, giving her sister a pointed look.

Nanako dismissed her with a wave of her hand, engrossed in meticulously placing sparkling diamond clips in her hair. “Y/N is practically our queen,” she retorted. “We need to dress her properly!”

“Girls, let’s not fight,” Y/N interjected softly but firmly. “You’ve dressed me perfectly. Thank you.”

On the other hand, it was a blessing that the twins took charge of dressing her, as Y/N doubted her ability to chose something suitable herself. Nothing she could have come up with would have been appropriate for such an occasion – a gathering among the Kings of Hell; convened to strategize and pool resources for the war against Heaven. So far, it seems she would have been underdressed if left to her own devices, as the twins – Nanako – adorned her with even more of Geto’s diamonds. Y/N understood the necessity of this opulence, as did the twins. She and Geto were two pillars of strength, preserving and upholding their dignity with their own hands, against others who would surely seek to bury them in filth and squalor.

Of course, the prospect of seeing Toji again would only have added to her indecisiveness.

Several weeks had passed since her and Miguel’s bloody execution of justice against the traitors, and Y/N had hoped Toji would have paid her another secret visit to her balcony, wanting more than just fleeting whispers of him through their bond. Yet, he had remained almost silent, and her patience had dwindled like a fire burning its last embers. What was the point of a soulmate who never bothered to see her? While the rational part of her understood his need for distance, to protect their bond and keep her safe, another part of her just didn’t care. If anybody dared to come for either of them, then let them cast their own dice in the gamble of death.

The twins nodded and stepped back, allowing Y/N the space to stand and walk over to admire herself in the long mirror. They had chosen an elegant black silk kimono, its fabric elegantly draping over her body. Diamonds decorated her wrists, hair, and neck like stars in the midnight sky of Heaven. She felt luxurious, unable to resist indulging in a moment of vanity, as she savored her almost holy reflection.

“This is perfect,” she complimented, and they both beamed. “Would you girls mind seeing us off?”

They nodded eagerly and trailed behind her as she made her way from the bedroom to the throne room. Gone were the days when Y/N would get lost like a child in her brother’s palace; every corridor, doorway, and secret passageways was committed to memory, each one as familiar as treasured gold. She especially loved the courtyard she had designed with Geto, her own personal sanctuary, where she could find solace and tranquility whenever she wanted to.

It was eerily beautiful; trees with ebony bark and velvety-black blossoms lined the perimeter of the stone pathway, their gnarled branches adorned with swinging lanterns. Nearly trimmed bushes with blood-red blossoms were dotted throughout the courtyard, particularly around the gazebo standing at its center. There were ponds of stagnant opaque water, where koi fish lazily swam, yet these were no ordinary fish – they were Curses, created by Geto himself to dwell there for purely aesthetic purposes.

Her brother was already waiting for her, seated on his throne with legs crossed over. It struck Y/N just how perfectly he belonged here, to be a King of Hell and ruthlessly pursue his ideal world.

And now, she was a part of that ideal too.

Suguru raised an eyebrow at her, amusement twinkling in his warm eyes as he judged her appearance. “Took you long enough,” he teased. “Should I expect a wedding by the end of the day?”

Y/N barked a laugh and snorted, “Surely not. He hasn’t seen me for so long.”

Geto’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flitting over to the twins. “Thank you, girls. You may leave us now.”

They nodded, and Y/N smiled softly at them as they left. Her brother’s eyes remained fixed on her with an unreadable expression, but Y/N knew Suguru was analyzing her, contemplating every scenario and outcomes of the impending meeting. She shifted on her feet, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable warnings he was about to impart to her like age old wisdom.

“I trust I don’t need to tell you to keep your emotions in check with Fushiguro around,” Geto said lowly, almost threateningly, as if he was the one she really needed to be wary of.

She almost rolled her eyes at that and muttered, “I won’t even look at him.”

“Good,” Geto said, voice raising an octave. “We have no allies to fall back on, not even him. No matter what the others say or do, you do not react to anything. Because of who we are, the others will look for any excuse to pounce on us. So stay quiet, and try to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

He sighed. “Although, I’m sure Naoya will have something to say, given the way you look.”

Y/N stuck her chin up, and declared defiantly. “I’m not changing.”

Geto’s gaze softened considerably, and within a second, he stood beside her, looping their arms together. “And why should you, sweet sister? We’re both beautiful, and there’s no shame in that.”

A portal sprung to life in front of them, revealing a dimly lit, oppressive corridor beyond. Without waiting another moment, her brother strode through it, and Y/N almost stumbled as he pulled her with him.

Choso’s palace served as the standard meeting place between all the Kings – a neutral ground, as the half-Curse chose no sides in the wars within Hell. It was nowhere near as grand as Geto’s, exuding an air of shabbiness with walls once vibrant now dulled with time and neglect. There was a distinct lack of refinement or class; the sparse decoration left the place stark and devoid of life. It certainly wasn’t what Y/N had expected for a gathering of the Kings of Hell, simply because it lacked the grandeur she would have associated with such an important meeting. She would have thought that the Kings of Hell would demand only the finest and most grand of places to gather. However, she supposed it served its purpose well enough.

Y/N couldn’t deny her growing curiosity about Choso. Geto had told her that the lowly King was born while his mother was still an Angel, and Y/N wondered how she hadn’t been immediately turned into a Curse following her sin. She guessed that Choso’s conception wasn’t in accordance with the Holy Principles, and the resilience his mother must have possessed to avoid turning against God, given her circumstances, astounded Y/N more than anything. She hoped that perhaps she might have the chance to speak with him, although Geto had warned her the half-Curse was elusive and prone to melancholic moods.

Geto led her down the corridor, their footsteps softly thudding against the faded carpet. He stepped forward to open the twin doors of a chamber lit by orange-flamed torches; a pit of vipers they had willingly walked straight into.

In the center stood a large round stone table in the center of the room, where three Curses were already seated. One, a handsome blonde, had his head leaning casually on his hand, smirking at them as if he was privy to all their secrets. To his right sat Jogo himself, his unmistakable volcano head towering over them like a domineering crown. Almost directly across them sat a dark-haired Curse with his hair scraped into two messy high-ponytails, a curious black line across the bridge of his nose extending to both sides of his face – Choso Kamo himself.

“Ah, the Fallen is finally here,” sneered the blonde Curse. “I thought you seraphim were supposed to be punctual.”

“I see you’re early, Zenin,” Geto retorted smoothly, taking a seat beside Choso, and motioned for Y/N to sit beside him.

She couldn’t help but notice the segregation already taking shape. Jogo and Naoya were seated together, scrutinizing Geto with a mixture of disdain and haughtiness. Choso sat with a hauntingly empty look, his purple orbs fixated on the table as if lost in thought. Y/N ignored the unease settling in her stomach as he met her gaze, exhaustion evident deep within his eyes, and focused on maintaining her composure as she took her seat.

Naoya grinned at her, and purred with words dipped in honey and sugar, “And who might you be?”

“My sister,” Geto stated firmly, his tone protective.

Naoya’s interest seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had appeared, and his lip curled slightly in disgust, while steam started to hiss out of Jogo’s head.

“Oh, another Fallen at this table,” the Zenin sighed, observing her with a bored expression. “How… quaint.”

Y/N didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended, but remained passive, as Geto remained unaffected by his comment. Choso also remained quiet beside them; he must be so used to their insults and remarks over the centuries.

“Where is the rest of your retinue, Jogo?” Geto asked, swiftly changing the subject, and redirecting their attention from Y/N to him instead.

“On their way. You needn’t worry, little King,” the mountain hissed, his voice as sharp and painful like a spitting fire, his charcoal-black teeth flashing as he smiled darkly.

Her brother’s lips fell into a thin line, refraining from biting back at the insult. As if on cue, a portal appeared, and from it stepped a tiny figure with snow-like hair, which instantly reminded Y/N of Gojo until she saw the red strip of hair running through the back of their head. An uncomfortable chill settled in the room as the Curse raised their head to observe them, moving into the corner of the chamber and blending into the shadows as if it were their natural home.

This had to be Uraume – the only direct connection anybody had to the King of Hell and all Curses. Was it wrong to be so twistedly fascinated by them? Y/N struggled to tear her gaze away, captivated by the mystery and legend that they were attached to. None of the other Kings seemed outwardly perturbed by their presence, as if being watched over by Uraume was the most normal thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

And then, the doors swung open with enough force to command attention. A giant Curse strode into the room, with long thick branches in place where its eyes should have been, and a blooming red rose growing from its left shoulder – decidedly feminine, and grotesquely beautiful. It reminded Y/N of how beautiful the gardens in Heaven were.

And emerging from the shadow of the colossal Curse was Mahito, his face lit up with a delightful expression.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Dread crashed over her like an avalanche.

How?

Geto stiffened beside her, his hands flexing beneath the table.

Mahito locked eyes with her, his grin stretching wider and eyes gleaming madly. Jogo smirked at them both, clearly relishing in their discomfort and the fact he had the upper hand over them. He stared Geto down, daring him to buckle and show weakness.

He knows… they all know.

Her heart raced so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. Desperation clawed at her like a trapped animal, and Y/N’s fought the urge to reach over the table and slice them all into shreds before they had the chance to hurt her or Suguru.

The two Curses took their seats next to Jogo, who cleared his throat before speaking. “Some interesting information has recently been shared with me, Zenin.”

Naoya stopped inspecting his nails, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Oh?”

“This little Fallen King has been hiding a secret from all of us. Mahito here has been imprisoned for having knowledge of it,” Jogo said, tapping his fingers against each other, tilting his head towards the silver haired Curse.

Mahito sighed wistfully, feigning a look of pain on his face. “Yes, it was a horrible situation to be in,” he said, his tone dripping with insincerity.

“I don’t care what happened to you,” snapped Naoya, narrowing his eyes at Mahito. “Spit it out.”

“Y/N here…,” Mahito whispered, ignoring Naoya as his eyes sparkled with the thrill of holding everyone’s attention. “Is Fushiguro’s mate.”

It was silent, and then Naoya started to howl with laughter. Y/N shrank into herself, despising her helplessness in this situation. Geto remained silent beside her, likely questioning how Mahito had managed to escape and just how many of the secrets within his kingdom’s secrets were now public knowledge to their enemies. Meanwhile, Uraume stood like a statue in the shadows, unmoved by the events unfolding before them.

Toji… where are you?

“I said you were special,” Mahito murmured to her, his eyes dulled and sad as his mood shifted like the wind. “Why didn’t you save me like I saved you?”

“And so you betrayed us?” Y/N whispered, barely audible amidst the booming of voices, but he heard her words falling from her lips like it was his salvation.

“Not you,” he answered, just as quiet, and it almost felt like they were the only two people in the room. “But your brother just isn’t like us.”

Naoya stopped laughing, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “Now, Geto, how could you keep such a secret from us? Are we not all allies here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Absolutely not.

“Fushiguro and I decided it was best to keep it between ourselves,” Geto stated lowly, his voice dangerously thin. “My sister had just Fallen, and was still vulnerable.”

“Hmm, she still seems ripe for the taking to me,” Naoya smirked, his interest in her renewed as he gazed at her with hunger. “My cousin obviously hasn’t claimed her if she isn’t with him.”

“Why would Fushiguro taint himself with the likes of her?” Jogo sneered, venom lacing his words, reducing her to nothing.

“They are mates; they are one and the same. But, she is just as pure as me,” Mahito whispered, as if he had a say in the matter, his eyes still locked on Y/N as he defended her in his own way. Naoya looked at him sharply, a strange glint in his piercing eyes.

“So you say,” Jogo said dismissively, as if the notion of soulmates was something foul and he didn’t believe in. “My question to you, Geto, is how do I know you won’t exploit Fushiguro’s power to invade my kingdom?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Jogo, as long as you refrain from stealing from me again,” Geto replied, eyes flashing. “I have no need for his strength.”

“Tch, it’s not my fault if my soldiers happen across an opportunity. You should have better control over your own people,” he hissed, flames spurring from his head.

Y/N tuned out as the both of them went back and forth in a heated exchange, choosing to avoid Mahito and Naoya’s heavy stares by staring at her lap instead. She was disgusted with how much fear had gripped her, but with their secret out, she was no longer safe. Her and Geto needed to get out of here and fortify their defenses, and time seemed to be stretching out agonizingly slow.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Naoya started, sickly sweet sugar words returning, and she reluctantly looked up at him. “What does Toji feel like?”

She wouldn’t answer; she refused. Any form of a reply would be a betrayal to herself and to Toji.

His smile faltered, replaced by a dangerous glint of annoyance. “Did Geto not teach you that you cannot refuse to answer a King?”

“He taught me I always have a choice,” she finally spoke, against her better judgment, her voice as cold as ice.

Naoya hummed thoughtfully, but she knew he was really toying with her. “It seems my old cousin shares the same sentiment. If I was him, I would have taken you with me by force.”

“It’s a good thing you can never be me then, cousin.”

Toji.

He stood beside her as if he had been there the whole time. How had she not felt his approach? Was it his unnatural speed? It didn’t matter, she could feel his emotions clearly now – pure white-hot rage emanating from him like the rays of the sun burning against the Earth. And yet, his demeanor remained level-headed, calm, and almost bored. Naoya pulled back in surprise, and the rest of the room fell silent as they all registered his presence.

“Good, we can begin now,” Geto said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as Toji took his seat beside Y/N.

Her arm closest to him tingled with anticipation at their proximity, and Y/N craved his skin to brush against hers just a little. She could feel his warmth radiating from him in a delicious caress, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of writhing snakes, and his nearness stirred a potent cocktail of restraint and desire within her. She couldn’t look at him – she mustn’t look at him.

A chair scraped beside him, and Y/N glanced over him to look at a female Curse who had taken a seat beside Toji. She had ice-blue hair braided in two intricate twists, with one long braid cascading over her face like a veil. Y/N didn’t need to see her face to know she was beautiful. The way she sat with her legs elegantly crossed, her skin-tight black dress accentuating her slim build, and the rhythmic drumming of her long red nails against the table all added to her allure. Yet, her beauty was unsettling, for it seemed to mask something as equally dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Who is she? How come she’s with Toji?

Y/N’s mind began to race, an unfamiliar sting of jealousy prickling at her senses, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

“You think we’re finished with this conversation?” snapped Jogo, glaring daggers at her brother. “Fushiguro, tell me that I don’t need to worry about you turning on us for these Fallen.”

He said it so disgustingly, as if the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Y/N clenched her jaw.

“You don’t,” Toji agreed simply, his green eyes narrowed.

Both Naoya and Jogo looked at him with just a hint of surprise, as if they were expecting a completely different response. Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think the same – Toji’s unexpected stance felt like abandonment, leaving her and Geto to completely fend for themselves in this precarious situation.

Naoya cleared his throat, resuming his air of arrogance. “Of course not. Now, let us discuss how we exterminate these seraphim once and for all,” he declared with bone-chilling casualness.

-•-

Y/N trailed her fingers back and forth through the water, watching the black and white fish swimming curiously towards the ripples she created. Even as she sat in front of the pond, she couldnt shake the sensation of Toji’s rage pulsating through their bond. He was in Geto’s throne room, presumably letting out his grievances, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her brother, knowing he was Toji’s prime target.

“King Fushiguro expects you to be ready for him,” the ethereal woman had announced without a care in the world, as she strolled through Geto’s court like they were all beneath her.

Y/N bristled at her presence, feeling a surge of tension ripple through Miguel and the others as they seemed to instantly become defensive. Geto sat atop his throne, his anger simmering quietly and deadly; like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He had been unnervingly quiet on their way back from the meeting, and she knew he was ready to blow and unleash his fury at the slightest inconvenience.

“Careful, Mei-Mei,” Geto hissed. “Even crows need to show respect, especially when showing up unannounced.”

Mei-Mei, that was her name, Toji’s second-in-command. Was she considered his queen the way Y/N was Suguru’s? Y/N didn’t bother to ask anyone, instead opting to ignore and walk straight past her on the way outside towards the courtyard. Y/N didn’t want to be in her presence, or anybody else’s – not even Toji’s for that matter. Being in quiet solitude was safe; nobody could hurt her if she ensured she alone. Besides, her soulmate had made it clear that her and Geto were alone in the coming war against their enemies.

Did he really think just a little bit less of Geto and her – because they were Fallen?

Y/N felt so very stupid and naive, realizing how cocky she had been just that morning, about not caring if the others discovered their bond. Reality proved starkly different to fantasies, but it was always be a shock to discover that notion. She’d been too caught up in her newfound power as Geto’s second and her ability to command and rule – a mistake she wouldn’t be repeating again.

A crow cawed loudly from a tree in front of her, and Y/N almost jumped out of her skin. She didn’t know why, maybe it was Geto’s comment echoing in her mind, but she was certain that the crow had everything to do with Mei-Mei, and she resented its presence. Y/N struggled to articulate why she already harbored such a strong dislike towards Mei-Mei, and she didn’t really care to explain it either. The bird continued to watch her closely with its beady eyes, and she glowered darkly in response. It had shattered her sense of solitary safety.

Footsteps tapped against the stone pathway behind her, prompting Y/N to instinctively grab the hilt of her katanas and leap to her feet.

Toji stood there, his usual attire abandoned for a dark blue haori instead. His expression was inscrutable as he regarded her, not saying a word. The crow flitted about in the tree, and his sharp gaze locked onto it. A faint twitch played at the corner of his lip.

“Nosy bitch,” Toji muttered, and within a flash, he flung a small, deadly knife at the bird. It made no sound as it landed lifelessly on the ground.

Y/N said nothing, unfazed by the bird’s death, and ignored Toji as she resumed her previous sitting position, gazing at the koi. She heard him sigh, and a shiver trickled down her spine like water running down a tree. His robes rustled as moved and crouched beside her, his warmth palpable as their shoulders almost touched.

How could he be so dangerous and so intoxicating at the same time?

“Your brother make these?” Toji grumbled, his words still tinged with anger like flint sparking against steel, nodding his head towards the koi.

She nodded wordlessly, and Toji grunted in response. They fell into an uneasy silence, and Y/N felt the urge to break it, even if she didn’t really know what to say to him. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t risk angering him further? And yet, she deserved an answer to the question nagging at the forefront of her mind; would he would ever see them as equals? After all, it was his fault that she had become a Fallen – a fake Curse in the eyes of many.

She just didn’t think his eyes were among those.

“Are you… alright?” Toji asked suddenly, uncertainty lacing his words, and Y/N frowned in response. Her resolve slightly softened when she glanced at the genuine look of concern on his face.

“Not really,” she whispered, her head hanging low.

Toji shifted, as he settled into a reclined position, leaning his weight against his hand. Their fingertips hovered near each other, almost touching, a tantalizing and forbidden electric charge crackling between them.

Y/N swallowed nervously.

“They’re going to come for you, you know?” he said, his voice deep and solemn. “You’re the only thing that could unify me and Geto, so they’ll do anything to stop that.”

A flash of annoyance coursed through her, and she sighed exasperatedly, “I know that.”

Toji exhaled heavily, head thrown back to look at the dark sky as he huffed, “I can’t stop a war that’s inevitable.”

Frustration… at himself?

“I never asked you to,” Y/N murmured, adding perhaps somewhat childishly. “You made it very clear that you wouldn’t stoop so low and help the likes of us.”

“I’m not putting my people at risk for someone else’s war. I’ve said that from the very beginning – me and your brother are not united. I’ve only agreed to leave his kingdom alone, but it has nothing to do with you both being Fallen.”

Someone else.

So she was just someone else then, even if she was the root of all the ensuing violence and death.

Y/N suddenly felt quite foolish.

“I see,” was all she could manage to say, as her face flushed with the heat of embarrassment.

He grunted, “I don’t give a shit about all that you know?”

“You seemed to before,” Y/N snapped, her anger surprising even herself.

Toji rolled his eyes, and droned, “Have you ever heard of lying, little angel?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She felt such crippling shame for being a massive burden on her brother, and for being the cause of the war creeping menacingly closer towards them. Why had he even come if he was just going to be an ass?

A flash of hurt…

A small part of her felt guilty, but it paled in comparison to what she was already feeling, and to how he had added to her turmoil. They sat beside each other in uncomfortable silence, but Toji’s hand remained stubbornly where it was beside hers. Y/N felt only slightly more at ease, finding solace in his silence, until she was abruptly reminded of the crow lying beneath the tree. A gnawing question clawed its way out of her throat, disrupting the fragile peace between them.

“What do the crows have to do with Mei-Mei?” she blurted out, torn between wanting to know nothing about the sly Curse and her insatiable curiosity.

Toji’s brow furrowed as he replied slowly, “She controls them; they’re her eyes and ears.”

“Her spies, then.”

“Hers, mine, same thing. Why do you ask?”

“I just… want to know who she is to you.”

“She’s my second in command, just like you are to Geto. Her crows go anywhere I tell her to send them, and in return, I pay her in gold, diamonds, whatever else she wants.”

“Whatever she wants?”

“Intelligence is everything. I keep her in my pocket so she’s not in anyone else’s. What are you trying to imply?”

Y/N knew Toji was fully aware of what she was really asking, yet she still asked anyways. “Is she anything more?”

Toji gave her a sharp and pointed look as he growled, “Are you sure you want to know if I’ve fucked her or not?”

Y/N blushed furiously at his brash language, feeling so exposed by how easily he was able to pick her apart and read her like a book.

Toji smirked, but it was cruel and cold, and snorted dismissively, “I didn’t think so. Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. My past is no-one’s business, and don’t think for a second I owe it to you.”

Oh.

She moved her hand away from him as his words stung her deeply as if he’d actually bitten her. Y/N realized Toji’s anger never truly dissipated; it lingered beneath the surface, always ready to strike and unleash itself like a viper in the shadows. He was a stormy sea, untamable and unpredictable, and she realized he had absolutely no desire to be anything other than exactly that.

This is who I nearly died for.

Nanami died for me to have him.

Gojo died because of him.

“What’s the point of this, then?” Y/N said softly, almost to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as the waves of loneliness and shame washed over and completely drowned her. “I think you should go.”

Toji’s expression turned inscrutable, and his eyes dulled from their usual intensity. Wordlessly, he rose from her side, the loss of his heat causing prickling goosebumps to appear on her arm. Without so much as any sort of a goodbye, he disappeared straight into a portal, leaving Y/N alone once more.

He never even looked at her.

Her solitary haven didn’t feel so safe anymore.

-•-

Geto came to visit her later that night.

He had immediately noticed her glossy and tired eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should have checked on you first.”

“It’s ok Suguru,” Y/N assured, as convincingly as she could manage. “There are things that need to be done.”

“May I come in?” he asked politely, offering her a small, yet tight, smile. Y/N moved over to to the side to let him in.

Geto took a seat in the padded chair in front of the crackling blue fire, and sighed deeply. “He came to see you then?”

She took a seat in the chair beside him, and nodded. “Yes, not for very long though.”

“I assume it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation.”

Y/N shook her head, and Geto seemed genuinely saddened by this. “I’m sorry to hear that, I thought perhaps I’d bore the brunt of his anger before he met with you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. What did he discuss with you?”

“Well, that I should have been more careful with ensuring Mahito could never escape, and he was right.”

“We all underestimated him.”

“So it seems, and we’re paying a heavy price for that now. I should also mention that he demanded I convince you to stay with him.”

“What, really?”

“Oh? He didn’t ask you himself?”

“He… well, no.”

“How interesting, so what happened then?”

“I asked questions I shouldn’t have, let’s just leave it at that.”

Suguru leaned forward in his seat, his eyes comforting and warm, urging her to continue. “Tell me anyways, sweet sister.”

“It’s not worth it Suguru, none of it is anymore,” Y/N huffed, tears prickling her eyes, embarrassed at repeating the incident out loud. “But, I… I did ask him if he and Mei-Mei ever…”

“Oh, Y/N. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know, Suguru. I just… I don’t know what I was looking for exactly.”

“I don’t know either. But I do know that Fushiguro is definitely not still a virgin after eight-hundred years of living in Hell.”

Y/N’s face burned, and she looked away from Geto, who softly chuckled. “I’m not that naive, brother,” she snapped.

“Good. I’d be worried if you were,” he said, still chuckling.

As her brothers laughter faded away, the atmosphere turned serious, and Y/N tensed as Geto asked gravely. “Do you need me to stay here while you sleep?”

“What? No, Suguru.”

“I’d understand. I’m not going to be sleeping much for the foreseeable future.”

“Neither am I, so there’s no need for you to hover.”

“As you wish.”

Geto stood up from his chair and leaned over to softly kiss her hair. “I’m sorry for not protecting you better,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“There’s no need, because I wouldn’t have gone with him even if he’d asked me to,” Y/N said firmly, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Geto appeared visibly gladdened at this and bade her goodnight as he gently closed her door. Y/N wasted no time in moving to quickly to lock it and then ensuring the balcony doors were also secured. She checked to see if her katanas were within reach beside the bed, placing a hand over her hip to make sure the hidden dagger buried beneath her robe was still there. The paranoia threatened to consume her alive, like maggots buried deep within her bones, burrowing out from within to devour her flesh, and she felt powerless to stop it.

But now wasn’t the time for weakness; she had to steel herself for battle, as she had done a thousand times before. Despite the comforting inner mantra that she repeated to herself, reminding her of past fights and the resilience she knew she had within her, Y/N couldn’t shake the jarring thought that she had at least gone to bed knowing that she was safe. Nothing could have harmed her in Heaven, under God’s protection, and Y/N was so acutely aware of how vulnerable one was when they were dreaming.

God…

Would it be… wrong?

And yet, there couldn’t be anything that felt more right. Despite the paradoxical nature of it, Y/N knelt at the foot of her bed and clasped her hands together.

And prayed to God.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

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slaybestieslay946 · 2 months

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i was just reading some 1 star reviews of the secret history (because i was curious lmao) and it got me thinking about some of the points people raised so heres my two cents that have probably been repeated to death already but who cares.

First of all, I think it’s interesting just how many people took issue with the characters being ‘snobby and one dimensional’ when that is precisely the point. In the first ‘book’ or section, Richard specifically tells us how he views these people with a sort of admiration or ‘gloss’ that stops him from seeing any and all flaws they may have.

He idolises them from the very moment they’re introduced, going on long ramblings about they’re beauty and intellect and the like. He doesn’t notice things like Charles’ abusive tendencies or Henry’s manipulation or Francis’ constant anxieties because he doesn't view them as human, and instead as godlike.

This of course is his fatal flaw, his ‘morbid longing for the picturesque’ that he describes in the first chapter. He is willing to overlook these flaws and instead focus only on the aesthetic of their lives and interactions. He is even willing to go to extreme lengths to preserve this idealism, such a participate in the murder of Bunny when he in fact should’ve had no part in it.

Therefore I think it’s illogical to suggest that the members of the greek class had no personality and development, when that is in fact untrue and precisely the point. They remain, in Richard’s memory, almost like beautiful statues, that have no real depth and substance.

Even when he discovers the truth about them, he still struggles to reconcile this knowledge with his desire to preserve their aesthetic beauty.

This leads me on to another point I often see raised in critical reviews of this book, in which people refer to Donna Tartt as being the one to admire these qualities, rather than the character of Richard.

It is something I often see in spaces online, in which people struggle to discern and distinguish between the opinions of the author and the opinions of the protagonist (more like narrator in Richards case).

I believe it has something to do with an obsession with moral purity in online spaces, where people struggle to understand the nuance that, while Richard is the main character, we are not necessarily supposed to agree with his beliefs, and he is not some kind of self insert for the author herself.

Instead he is written as a critique of elitism and obsession with aesthetics. From the beginning he idolises these people who do not deserve that kind of praise and worship. He is desperate to win their love and approval, but remains an outsider until the very end, no matter what he deludes himself into believing.

Tartt is warning us against the dangers of putting other people upon a pedestal, a sort of unconquerable moral high ground, as Richard did with the Greek class, and as the Greek class did with Julian.

In the end both of these relationships crumble, because they are entirely founded upon fantasy, in particular aesthetic fantasy.

feel free to disagree with me, these are just my inital understandings as ive still not completed my second read of this book and there may be some things i havent considered. if you have anything to add, please let me know!

#the secret history #yapping #tsh #tsh donna tartt #donna tartt #henry winter #richard papen #professional yapper #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #i love this book sm #still i thought the 1 star reviews were really interesting even if i didnt agree haha

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merakiui · 2 years

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If you thought bodyguard!Floyd would be insufferable with ido!darling, imagine gravure model!darling then absbdbjfjfj

Omg gravure model darling with stalker fan Jade…… gross, slimy, creepy Jade with his gross, slimy, creepy views!!!! >_< he closely follows the magazine in which you’re often featured, buying two copies of each new issue (one to frame as a precious collectible) and the other meant to sustain…damages (i.e. cum stains, sweat, drool, other bodily fluids). He’s found your social media and he also follows that, going through your posts and printing out each tasteful image to string up on his walls.

He’s even bought a few of the swimsuits and lingerie you’ve modeled, and when he fucks into his hand or the onahole (which he pretends is you) he imagines peeling those skimpy outfits from off of your pretty body with skilled fingers. You would look so lovely beneath him, skin hot with desire and arousal, chest heaving with hitched breaths and moans, hands curled into the bedsheets, when he traces his fingertips up your thighs, prying them apart to get a proper look at your pussy. Thoughts of you burying your hands in teal locks to hold him there while he eats you out always send him tipping over the edge. It’s a terrible shame it’s only a fantasy. Oh, the things he’d do if you were really here with him…

Lately, ever since he’s started cyber-stalking and obsessing over you, Jade’s wanted to get into photography. He buys the best camera, but then he also gets a vintage one just for the sake of aesthetics. It would be nice to develop these photos the old way: in a dark room where he must be precise and careful with handling every fragile photograph. Jade photographs a lot of nature, often things he comes across on his walks and hikes. Mushrooms. Trees. Leaves. Flowers. Unique stones or moss growing contrary. He photographs insects: a line of ants leading to an anthill, butterflies swarming blossoms, a caterpillar coming free from its cocoon. He likes the familiar weight of a camera in his hands. He likes being the one behind the lens, peering through at what’s seen with the camera, as if the world that lies beyond it is merely a portrait someone’s painted.

He wants to learn where you live, the places you frequent, what building the company you’re signed to works out of so that he may hopefully have a chance to capture candid photographs of you—things that no one but him will ever see. Intimate sides he will preserve within a picture.

Jade photographs potential locations deep within the forest. He captures the stages of death in permanence: the horrified countenance of your lover when they realize he’s holding a knife in his hand, the aftermath of a brutal slaughter, the perfectly, methodically dismembered corpse with all of its parts packaged in plastic and aligned in a grave dug deep, the mound of soil that soon covers the evidence, and the beautifully rare flowers or tree saplings he plants directly above the body.

Jade develops these photos in the makeshift dark room in his apartment. They’re well-done, but that’s how all of his work is. Eerily flawless. Recently, he learned where you live. It took some digging and lots of patience, but he’s good at uncovering forbidden things. When the time comes to take you, he’ll have to bring his camera along. He’d love to see what expressions he can photograph when he catches you by surprise. And he anticipates every photo will be far better than any of the previous ones he’s taken. After all, they’ll contain you and the raw, beautiful emotions you’ll show him. That’s something he’ll never be able to find in the average magazine.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #depraved jade is such a good flavor of jade #average uni student jade who falls obsessively for gravure model darling #and he wears glasses because it’s cute but also because moray eyesight is horrible #and he lost his contact lenses long ago and can’t be bothered to get new ones!!!!#i feel like there are two sides of jade #the side that wants to love you forever and knock you up and keep you as his cute housewife #and the side that wants to see you within an inch of your life covered in blood or expression contorting in pain #or ankles and calves bruised and twisted and shattered from the wooden bat he took to your legs so you couldn’t escape #aaaa yes it wouldn’t be an obsession from jade leech if there wasn’t a hint of very brutal violence

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katzkinder · 1 month

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Yeah when I read that part of the fic I kinda just had to take a break for a moment to scream into my pillow lol

Okay but not to toot my own horn this much but this part as well

“Black like bile. White like snow. Red like the camellia, which dies so gracefully. Without a single complaint. Without any inconvenient ugliness.”

The italicized part?? Isn’t that exactly the kind of people Tsubaki takes in

The people who quietly, time and again, swallowed down injustice, swallowed their own pain, making themselves presentable. Beautiful. A perfect centerpiece for others to enjoy then discard.

One of the unique things about the camellia flower is its propensity for the flower to drop, whole and intact, from the stem once its become old. This trait is part of what gained it its symbolism for the death of a samurai. A beautiful, graceful end which preserves the flower’s pride. It also carries strong aesthetic symbolism for beheadings or a sudden and tragic end. Beautiful flowers, not recommended as hospital gifts lol

Anyway I’m more proud of that fic than everrrr

#servamp #asks #kat’s katerwauling #rwbypro

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therizino-ao3 · 11 months

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Hermit Horror Week 2023

Day six: Flesh

Summary: Interior decorating used to be the part of base building Gem dreaded the most. Now, she thinks it might just be her favourite.

Read on ao3

Contains: murder, permanent character death, imprisonment, taxidermy, disfiguring dead bodies, wearing body parts. There's nothing too graphic but it is quite dark subject matter, and the reason my ao3 work is rated M.

Gem has just finished preparing her final piece for the collection and she is incredibly excited. As she makes her way down the spiral staircase, she hops and skips and twirls in her long dress, caught up in the euphoria of accomplishing her mission. Who can blame her? Wels can’t! His glass eyes stare back at her, blankly.

Prancing through her basement, she arrives at her head room. And oh, the sight looks amazing already. The heads of the other 23 hermits great them, standing proudly on their pedestals, all looking as they did in life. Gem found taxidermy a little rough at first, but with some tips from Cleo (under the guise of asking for help preserving a dead pet), she got the hang of it. She’s rather proud of herself! Comparing Wels to some of her first attempts, she’s definitely come a far way. Once she adds him, everything will be perfect.

Finding the pedestal she prepared ahead of time, she affixes his head to it. From there, it’s a lot of playing with his hair and the positioning of his helmet until she gets something she likes. There! She smiles; he looks so beautiful and serene now, a far cry from how he did before he died.

She had been waiting for him for a long time, with him being off-world and such. When he did come back, he was fairly happy to see her, but did start to get a little suspicious when they came across nobody else on Gem’s welcome-back tour. When he eventually clued together the reason why Gem was the only one here and the lack of messages from other hermits for months, he attacked. And it was a good attempt too! Gem nearly died. Fighting him was hard, not only because of his skill, but the suit of armour too. It would be tough enough just trying to kill him, but she also needed to kill him in a way that kept his neck and face intact. She did it though; her dodging eventually tired him out.

Her saving grace was Wels’ honour. He could’ve stabbed her in the back the moment he figured the whole thing out. But he didn’t. He chose to ask her if she killed them, and on the admittance she did, allowed her a chance to draw her sword and fight. Even when trying to avenge his friends, Wels kept it fair. She had to respect that. And when she killed him, she would never forget the look of rage and horror in his eyes.

She still wasn’t forgetting, as she giggled and flicked the tip of his nose, but it mattered a lot less to her now. Surveying her collection, she moves to fix a few things up and add some final touches here and there before she’s done. Dusting some of the shelves, she takes the time to reminisce. It’s funny to think about how this all began, as her thinking it might be fun to have a room with darker aesthetics, just to contrast with her base. Then, designing a full dungeon and trophy room, loving how naturally the dark designs came to her, and becoming enthralled with the idea of imprisoning her friends there or even displaying them as trophies. Now, that wasn’t all she ended up doing – she can’t forget the lovely little Riftie friends that she keeps in the cells – but collecting the hermits’ heads has been her main task.

And wow, it was hard at some points! Even excluding Wels, she had some near misses. Cub was a good fighter and she beat him by an inch. Fighting Hypno in a cave was not a good idea, with her hooves being unfit for the rocky terrain, and with him dealing some rough hits. The hardest was False, though, who Gem had to retreat from fighting two separate times, once with a sword and once with a bow. She only got her in the end because she did a very good combo, and even then, she had to take a lot of golden apples and potions afterwards.

Other hermits were… not so hard to take down. Gem likes to try and make sure everyone she fights against can fight back, making sure they have a weapon and know she is rearing for the kill. What is the point if there wasn’t a challenge for Gem? She could’ve poisoned all the drinks at a server-wide meeting if she wanted to kill everyone fast and easily. Her trophies had to be earnt. Most hermits fought back in defence, but some opted to run away without trying a single hit. Zedaph, the second he saw her, ran away, before Gem even gave a hint she was going to attack! Keralis wasn’t much better, dodging through the catacombs of his shanty town.

There were some good moments, like keeping Bdubs locked in her dungeon for months before she killed him – he was a fun prisoner! And some disappointments, Etho certainly wasn’t the brilliant fighter legends painted him as, and Gem overestimated his ability and killed him near instantly, missing out on a fun spar with plenty of dramatic one-liners. And she couldn’t forget the challenges she had to overcome, like finding a solution to make Jevin’s slime keep it’s shape and colour. It was a journey, for sure.

And heads weren’t all she could use, either! She got the idea after killing Zedaph - with his soft, sheep fur – and thought that it would be a shame to throw it away. So, she didn’t, and instead made an extremely cosy winter cloak. From there, she made all sorts of cute accessories, typically with hybrid features, mainly utilising spikes, claws, feathers, fur, and scales, but some other parts too. Her favourite pieces are her mega wings – a modified elytra with aspects of parrot, demon, and weird alien wings – and her tail belt – a thick, leather belt attached with all the tails her friends had; a beautiful, rainbow mismatch of features. She loves them. It’s nice to have something to carry around to remember your friends by.

Finally completed, she stands away and admires at her work. The head display looks wonderful. It’s probably her new favourite room in her base. She smiles. Her friends smile back.

#this is probably my favourite work of the week!#geminislay! (she is evil)#therizino writes #hermithorrorweek2023 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #geminitay #character death #fanfic #murder

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good-chimes · 1 year

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The Locked Tomb is not mcyt (I'm sorry to both asker and OP) but this can be fixed with

ETERNAL LIFE

Second House: the might of the Imperial Cohort is represented by necromancer Impulse and his long-time best friend and cavalier Skizz, who arrive at the lyctor trials determined to make the best of things. Skizz has only a few days to encourage the gathered company with Teamwork! and Positive Thinking! before he is murdered very early on by Bdubs, who claims he was possessed, and Scott, who didn’t bother with an excuse.

Third House: Bdubs, the scion of the third house, arrives at the trials with renowned cavalier Etho the Third. On landing, Bdubs pronounces the heirs, the cavaliers, and the assembled skeletons GORGEOUS and BEAUTIFUL and immediately gets into three romantic entanglements simultaneously (not with the skeletons). Etho, another of Bdubs’ romantic entanglements, spends his time beating everyone else in duels and adding to the relationship drama so quietly it takes everyone else several weeks to work out that’s what he’s doing.

Fourth House: Anyone who knew shock troop necromancer Joel and battle cavalier Jimmy the Fourth would have put their life expectance ‘somewhere around the mid-teens’ due to Joel’s lust for murder, Jimmy’s self-proclaimed curse, and both of them radiating a disaster field larger than your average space station, but to everyone’s surprise they’re still here. “Jimmy keeps turning up late to every battle airdrop, is what it is,” Joel claims, to which Jimmy’s reply is recorded as “It’s tactical. I’m doing tactics.” Either way they seem in equal amounts of danger boiling an egg as rappelling into the bowels of Canaan House, so it’s anyone’s guess how long they’ll last.

Fifth House: Gregarious cavalier Ren and upbeat necromancer Tango lead a House who are the cheerful curators of the Nine Planets’ most important cultural heritage, which in Tango-and-Ren’s joint opinion is a set of fragments from an ancient text called Throne of Games(?) and a glass case of preserved tabletop manuals. Tango uses the contraptions in the basement of Canaan House to set up a LARP dungeon and Ren declares himself king of it. General agreement among the gathered pairs that they’re probably going to die but everyone will be sad about it.

Sixth House: Necromancer Pearl and BigB the Sixth turn up already deep in each other’s pockets and in everyone else’s business. They’re both writing theses on ‘interpersonal relationships among elite House Society’, which they claim is not just an excuse to eavesdrop on the extended Bdubs polycule drama. To their credit they solve at least one murder. This might be ethically cancelled out by Pearl’s later murder spree; but at least they tried.

Seventh House: The long tradition of the Heir to the Seventh House winsomely fading away at the brink of death was spoiled when their heir Cleo actually died and then—this part was the problem—sat up thirty minutes later and asked for breakfast. As useful as the stability of an undead heir is, nobody can quite figure out how she did it, so the House eventually shipped her off to the lyctor trials with some relief. This also caused a problem for the seventh house artists who take their aesthetic motto (Joy of the Emperor, the Rose Unblown) very seriously; suddenly deprived of their picturesquely dying muse, they were forced to paint sexy pictures of Cleo doing aerobics for a while before her cavalier Scott volunteered to model for sexy rose-draped pictures instead. Cleo and Scott are at the lyctor trials to succeed or to die, but since Cleo probably can’t die, they’ll take some juicy drama instead if you’re offering.

Eighth House: I’ve run out of people so I guess Martyn and Lizzie are elbows deep in the soul-siphoning business. Good luck Martyn, I do deeply believe you would consent to having half your soul sucked out of you purely out of commitment to the bit.

Ninth House: The solar system’s resident weirdos are powerful but unfocused necromancer Scar—Reverend Son of the House, Keeper of the Locked Tomb Key, he definitely still knows where that key is, he just put it down somewhere, it will turn up any day now—and the perpetually thwarted and outraged Grian the Ninth who has grown up never allowed to stab anyone due to weak excuses like ‘we have a population problem anyway, Grian’ and ‘why can’t you practice on the skeletons’. Throughout the lyctor trials their deep co-dependent spiral into devoted madness is distracted only by Grian’s ongoing dreams—the immaculate corpse locked deep in the bowels of the House, the sum of beauty in the eternal embrace of death, all of space and time’s exquisite patterns frozen in the curve of the one most perfect essence of humanity…

Why do you keep tracing a mustache on the mirror? Scar asks at one point. Oh, Grian says, ecstatic with the mysteries of the universe. No reason.

#bdoubleo100 #goodtimeswithscar #zombiecleo #scott smajor #nosy neighbors #joel smallishbeans #locked tomb fusion (i'm not putting this in their main tag)#grumbo #i guess???#but it is also like everything in my head scarian #for blocking:#traffic shipping #I KNOW THIS IS FOR THREE PEOPLE BUT I'M ONE OF THEM #also sorry if this is the wrong way round for how people were mapping scarian-to-griddlehark but i can't let go of scar being the magic one #also grian DOES enjoy a good stabbing

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terrence-silver · 3 months

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Had a idea of jack baylock taking pictures of beloved with blood on them just making them pose for him while they blood on there lips or body,and he loves it they are just his bloody angel and he will keep the photos for himself for later ofc not letting anyone see them because he took the pictures it for his eyes only he probably put them all in a book or something

---

Would be on-brand if beloved didn't even really know the blood's blood or that there's anything nefarious about this whole thing. They don't have to be naive or overly innocent to be tricked like this. They merely aren't a psychopath who'd ever anticipate something like this happening to them.

When they meet Jack, they think he's a private detective who, for the sake of this scenario, lets say, does amateur photography every once in a while the way any random schlub with a camera might do photography and that that red paint they're smearing over their lips, body, face or clothes is just that...red prop paint for the sake of an aesthetic. Totally harmless, right? No different from thematic make-up. A bit of edgy, macabre fun. It is certainly far more common to believe that red substance is fake than real, no? He's an American. He's in a city as big and colorful, extravagant and artistic as Tokyo. Him enjoying immortalizing things in an equally colorful, extravagant and artistic fashion? Not a hard story to sell. Certainly, in the sea of lies he tells, like lying about his very name, what he actually does for a living behind his front and fake identity or that he was in jail multiple times for several high-profile assassinations, saying 'hey, darling, pose while I take a couple of shots' almost comes off like a mundane, commonplace thing between lovers. If beloved does it, they can very easily do it without outright realizing they're smearing the blood of his actual victims over themselves or that Jack preserves these images like a trophy or a gruesome, gory memento, the blood of the hits he killed almost functioning like an indirect homage he dedicates to beloved to put over themselves like a victorious, triumphant muse to the crimes they never even realize he's doing and documenting for his most private keeping and that people's blood starts existing as an accessory to beloved's beauty and person in his mind. Jack's not unlike the worshipper, and the clueless beloved? Not unlike his deity. His angel. It all goes into his personal collection, all these images taken --- and what's worse? Beloved might've entirely willingly consented to all of this never realizing what they've agreed to and that they've effectively become an asset to god knows how many deaths.

Too bad, though.

Jack might be convinced their bond was destined to be.

So them being immortalized in his terrible crimes like this?

Immortalized in everything he ever did? Ever intends to do?

Things he never even realizes he'll do?

It was written long before either of them were even born.

#jack blaylock #ulterior motives #ulterior motives 1992 #tw; murder #tw; lying #tw; blood #jack blaylock x reader #jack blaylock x beloved

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castoffyourcrown · 3 months

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#preserved in the beauty of death (aesthetic)#one of the princess's odd fancies (likes)#ballgowns and the finest jewelry (wardrobe)#liza would rock the Rat Purse

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rainbowcarousels · 1 year

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Day 6: Edging

“Are you sure you don’t want help?”

If glowering were a vocal phenomenon, you would have been able to hear Louis’s expression in New Jersey. It didn’t seem to deter Daniel, but the man was a professional when it came to poor impulse control and no self preservation so this was hardly a surprise.

Lestat was unable to see what was happening for himself. He was sitting on his stomach with his back to Louis and his alchemy on Armand’s ridiculously opulent dresser. Even watching Louis’s actions through Daniel’s eyes, Lestat was struck by how different he could look as if one of those camera phone filters were placed upon him. Still his Louis, of course, but somehow lighter, without a weight. It could be his imagination, but it seemed the same when Armand granted him access to his mind too. Little differences in perception.

“I know this has become something of a joke now, but I’m very adept with candles.” The flickering flame came to life in his hand with a singular strike of a match. So like Louis it was to prefer the physicality of the match, the feeling of the stick in his hand, the motion of lighting it more visceral than to use one of Daniel’s modern contraptions that you rolled your thumb over to light.

“No one is questioning how adept you are with fire,” Lestat called back to him. “Least of all those of us who have experienced it first hand.”

“Pretty sure that’s just you,” Daniel oh so helpfully pointed out complete with a passable head pat for his troubles.

“I’ve always known our relationship was special,” Lestat sniffed at him. “I wouldn’t rule you experiencing a little toastiness out, isn't that something of your blood lineage’s pattern? Everyone but you?”

Daniel made a humming noise from his throat, “Bianca hasn’t.”

“Bianca isn’t direct,” Lestat pointed out. “If you go directly back to the Mother herself-”

The sudden burning heat of the wax was so sudden and so deliciously unbearable that Lestat was stopped mid flow, his words forgotten as the heat slithered down his back at an angle. The strangest sensation of it, the way Louis was carefully and purposefully covering his back.

For a younger vampire, this could perhaps have proven fatal. Even for Daniel with Armand’s blood in his veins, it could potentially spell his doom if Lestat were to buck up in exactly the wrong way and splatter him. That would defeat the purpose of this exercise, but accidents could happen.

If your desire to become my canvas costs me my firstborn, you’ll have more to worry about than the aesthetic cost. Armand’s voice dropped into his mind without warning and Lestat smiled to himself at the familiar timbre.

I promise to get you a new child to play with if I do. Plenty of other pretty blonde creatives in the sea.

Lestat didn’t have to see him to know his face at the statement, he could imagine it well enough to giggle and get a sharp smack to his shoulder. Those were not Armand’s hands – he had come to know the different ways the skin could be impacted by his hands and in comparison to Louis’ and this was most definitely the laughter.

Slipping into Daniel’s mind, he could see Armand fussing with the sharpened, pearl handled blade that he intended to use. It would take some time for the wax to cool, an hour or two at least if not more, so if Lesat was going to have to remain still in that time then at least he ought to be allowed his mirth.

Especially given how excruciatingly slow and methodical Louis was being. Every time the beautiful burning subsided, he would feel it elsewhere on his skin – so much care, so much control and all for him. It wasn’t that he was squirming on purpose but given the way his daredevilry was put on hold to become the sacred core and he couldn't risk himself or condemn the youngest and weakest to pain or even death, pain was such a luxury that he couldn’t help himself but groan under it.

It was only when it had hardened enough to stay in place that Lestat sat up to give Armand his canvas. It would make a beautiful carving, but Armand had stipulated Lestat may not see till its ending and had banished Daniel to the other side of him in case he chose to be devious about it. As if Armand were not the most devious and skilled with a blade in the room. Lestat was determined to be his lover's masterpiece and willed himself still as Armand cut into the wax and skill, drawing the blood to the surface to fill in the cracks in the wax. What he was drawing, Lestat did not know and for now, didn’t care – it was the most intense stinging pain, but Armand’s hands were so gentle on him that Lestat had never felt quite so relaxed and worked up at the same time.

It felt as if he were drifting, the echo of pain and what it felt like in his system. The smell of the wax and tang of the blood evoking memories of earlier times, not better times perhaps but important times, beautiful ones of the last – no, two centuries before. With every broken skin, the exposure to the air cooled the heat bruised skin.

It was hard not to at least try to look, so Lestat tried to ground himself on other things: Louis’ exceptional State Candle collection from a subscription someone gave him at Christmas – that explained why he could smell sweet and warmth but he had assumed that was Louis’ new signature scent. Reflected in Daniel’s mind’s eye, Armand looked almost boyish in his concentration, his little tongue slipping out as he worked so carefully. The feeling of Daniel’s rough jeans beneath his arms, clearly not something Armand had picked out and Lestat was sure there would be consequences of this.

However, Lestat kept to his word. It took hours but when he was done, Lestat immediately demanded mirrors so he could see the work. It was so easy to see why people had considered Armand’s gifts to be something to do with divinity. Across his back in wax carving and blood stains where the wounds had healed, there was a snake eating itself – ouroboros, if he remembered correctly. A symbol of rebirth, never ending. Within it a tree, spindling branches reaching out as if to show that even though it looked barren, itt was instead ready to come into its bloom.

“Yggdrasil in it,” Armand murmured, running his tongue over Lestat’s back. Even if he lapped at the blood, surely he was getting a mouthful of the wax too. “That is all things through all worlds reborn and forever.”

Just like them. Always reinvented, always gravitating together and always a home to return to.

“I never want to take it off.” Even after he made sure Daniel took around a thousand photographs of his proof of devotion that was encompassing his back, Lestat despaired over the idea of losing something so. But hadn’t that been their pattern too, to always lose one another and find their way back? Was it not fitting that something so agonising, stunningly beautiful and rendered from his lover's hands would be temporary? A reminder to always come back for more? “But we will do this again, won’t we?”

“I have fifty one more candles,” Louis replied, pressing a kiss to Lestat’s hair. “We have nothing but time.”

#i know it's a day late but give me a break here #edgeplay #knives #armand bedpile #louis/lestat/armand/daniel #logistics go out the window let's just go with it #vc #vckinkweek

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ragedagainst · 9 months

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CLASSICAL WRITER AESTHETICS

BOLD OR COLORIZE THE AESTHETICS THAT ALWAYS APPLY TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE THE AESTHETICS THAT SOMETIMES APPLY TO YOUR MUSE, AND STRIKE THROUGH THE AESTHETICS THAT WILL NEVER APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.

JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, pale bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA. the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT. the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean, the silence of three a.m., danse macabre by camille saint-saens playing on a record in an empty house, the possibility of aliens and the weird feeling it gives you that you can’t explain, unexplainable phenomena, strange lights in the sky in the dead of night, ouija boards and urban legends.

JACK KEROUAC. the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, chocobo rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE. the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret.

tagged : @debelltio thank you !! tagging : @chth0nia , @wtrss , @sherez , @priestbit , @guttcrson , @dweomerr ( for lei! ) , @proditeur , and you !!

#an interesting combo of kafka and f. scott fitzgerald!#about. ━ who starts a fire just to let it go out ?

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taciturned-loqua · 1 year

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Tealight

Characters: Not specified but could be anyone from | Zhongli | to anyone else immortal basically. (x gn!reader)

Summary: The love for one is a joyous journey, yet replicas will only last until the cursed blessing of ‘immortality’ ends, and the rest of time will compensate graciously.

Genre: Fluff ⛅️ -> (teeny tiny) Angst 🌧️ -> Fluff ⛅️ (also very teeny tiny, teeny and tinier than the angst), Drabble maybe?

Warning: Major character death, tell me if I miss any!

Word Count: 223 words

Note: HHHH sorry for being inactive, school life was really busy 😔.

Please consider a reblog in addition to a like! I would really appreciate it <33

You were their tealight, a small flame lit up in their hearts. The warmth when in your presence compares to no other, and they liked how it was just right; your flare didn’t possess a glaring and overwhelming amount of fire, yet you managed to maintain the kindle even facing the breeze, holding it strong to continue sharing your tenderness with them. Who wouldn’t love someone like you?

more utc!

So small, yet so significant. You are beautiful whenever and wherever. During holidays, celebrations, romantic dinners, everyday life. A light full of unique traits that you and only you possess, the colours, the scents, the aesthetics. Oh how they were so absolutely wrong about losing their five senses when next to you, they were just too enamoured by your passion, their mind too absorbed watching and observing, being attracted to you, a moth to a flame.

Yet they knew it wouldn’t last long, tealights just don’t work like that, similar to mortal lives. So for now, they can only mute the orange to preserve the vessel, granting it their flame from you back every few…centuries, perhaps? Falling in love as the glow would only get muter, and muter, and muter. Until the orange hues finally extinguish along with them, travelling to somewhere where you can both share a tea light nightlight-lit life at long last.

#astronetwrk #♘ A Noblewoman's Portrait #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #gn!reader #zhongli genshin #genshin impact #x reader #fluff #angst #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin imagines

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omegaphilosophia · 1 month

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The Philosophy of Writing

The philosophy of writing explores the nature, purpose, and impact of writing as a mode of human expression and communication. This field addresses fundamental questions about the meaning and significance of writing, its relationship to thought and language, and its role in shaping culture and identity. It delves into the aesthetic, ethical, and epistemological dimensions of writing, examining how it influences and is influenced by the human experience.

Key Concepts in the Philosophy of Writing

Writing as Communication:

Concept: Writing is a medium for conveying ideas, emotions, and information from one person to another.

Argument: The effectiveness of writing as a communicative tool depends on the clarity, coherence, and context of the written text.

The Written Word vs. Oral Tradition:

Concept: Writing is often contrasted with oral tradition, each having distinct advantages and limitations.

Argument: While oral tradition emphasizes memory, spontaneity, and communal participation, writing allows for permanence, precision, and individual reflection.

The Ontology of Texts:

Concept: This examines the nature of written texts as objects of meaning and interpretation.

Argument: Texts exist in a dynamic relationship with their readers, who bring their own contexts and interpretations to the act of reading.

Authorship and Authority:

Concept: The role of the author in creating meaning and the authority they hold over their text.

Argument: The "death of the author" theory posits that the meaning of a text is not fixed by the author's intentions but is created through the reader's engagement with it.

Writing and Identity:

Concept: Writing as an extension and expression of the writer's identity.

Argument: Through writing, individuals can explore and construct their personal and cultural identities, contributing to a sense of self and community.

The Ethics of Writing:

Concept: The moral responsibilities involved in writing, including honesty, respect for intellectual property, and the impact of written words on others.

Argument: Writers must navigate ethical dilemmas related to truth, representation, and the potential harm their words can cause.

Epistemology of Writing:

Concept: Writing as a means of knowledge production and dissemination.

Argument: Written texts are crucial for preserving and transmitting knowledge across generations, enabling critical examination and scholarly discourse.

Aesthetics of Writing:

Concept: The artistic and aesthetic dimensions of writing, including style, form, and literary techniques.

Argument: Writing is not just a functional activity but an art form that can evoke beauty, emotion, and profound reflection.

Theoretical Perspectives on Writing

Expressivism:

Concept: Writing as a mode of self-expression and personal discovery.

Argument: Writing allows individuals to articulate their thoughts, emotions, and experiences, facilitating personal growth and understanding.

Structuralism:

Concept: Writing as a system of signs governed by underlying structures.

Argument: Meaning in writing is produced through the relationships between signs within a linguistic system, rather than through individual words or sentences in isolation.

Poststructuralism:

Concept: The instability of meaning and the role of reader interpretation.

Argument: Texts have multiple interpretations, and meaning is not fixed but constantly shifting based on the reader's perspective and context.

Feminist Theory:

Concept: Writing as a tool for exploring and challenging gender dynamics.

Argument: Feminist approaches to writing emphasize the importance of giving voice to marginalized perspectives and critiquing patriarchal structures.

Deconstruction:

Concept: The process of uncovering and questioning the assumptions and binaries within texts.

Argument: Deconstruction seeks to reveal the inherent contradictions and ambiguities in written texts, challenging the idea of fixed or stable meaning.

The philosophy of writing encompasses a broad range of themes and questions that touch upon the nature of human expression, the construction of meaning, and the impact of written words on individuals and society. From its role in preserving knowledge and shaping identity to its ethical and aesthetic dimensions, writing is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon that continues to be a central subject of philosophical inquiry.

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flingmetothemoon · 3 months

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Tedward 'Teddy' Lobo/Marya 'Draculaura' Zaleska fanfic coming soon

Yep, I am indeed writing a modern Universal Monsters fanfic where our favorite Lobo babygirl makes friends with Dracula's daughter! 🐺💜🧛‍♀️ I wonder how many people remember Dracula had a daughter long before Monster High and Hotel Transylvania existed? 🤔 Well if you're a lore reader, I really recommend you read some articles about the very interesting lore and influence behind the 1931 film Dracula's Daughter below. ↓

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

But anyways, what is the plot of this fanfiction?

Bellafrancesca confirms that her son, Tedward Lobo will finally earn the Lobo empire inheritance and her trust and respect — Under two conditions: 1. He'll have to go to the legendary Count Dracula's almost abandoned castle (Dracula and Robert left, not the remaining servants. The family there formerly serving as Dracula's servants instead take his departing as an opportunity to become the next powerful empire) in Transylvania, Romania and find the Count's daughter preserved in her coffin in the basement to be placed under a sleeping curse for many years after her death and take her in to become the Lobo's new ultimate weapon for world domination. And 2. He'll have to marry the heir of the new rival crime lord in the same castle in order for the Lobos to become much more bigger and powerful to take over the world better. Will Teddy have what it takes to complete these seemingly simple two tasks to get what he wanted since childhood once and for all, or will his hidden humanity and sympathy towards the suffering Transylvanian Sleeping Beauty show him what matters more in life?

Contains: Teddy/Marya, elements of what makes Teddy/Marya the dark rival to Robert/Rebecca, and foresights that make Teddy's circumstances during the events of the movie more heartbreaking than it already is. Oh and some OCs. 😉

Made from Heroine Creator by AzaleasDolls (Ignore the "Best of Adult Swim" tab, I'm using FlashPoint since the program was made at the time Flash was dying XD)

In my Renfield world headcanon, since Renfield looks alot different then he used to when he started becoming Dracula's servant, Marya would've looked different in the modern day too. One of the noticeable differences is she has her hair pulled down more often and when her hair is down, it's alot longer. Like knee length, longer bangs, flows from even a slight breeze easily and as I would describe it "Has many partings like spider legs, but thin and silky as a spider web." I basically think of it like how Cati-Art beautifully draws Kikyo's hair~ ↓

Fanart by Cati-Art

I also headcanon that modern Marya often wear blues, purples and small parts of pinks. Galaxy colors basically. Like vampires are associated with bats and bat basically sky puppies after all. CX The colors contrasts well with Teddy's reds and blacks too XD My other sky aesthetic heacanon is when Marya eats a bug, her eyes glows pink. But her eyes aren't the only ones glowing, so does her royal blue dress, purple cape, reddish-pink jewelry and even her black hair glows purple with blue streaks like Starlight Glimmer. Literally glowing in the dark. Maybe a light in the darkness metaphor. (RIP CGI budget 💀 Perhaps vampires really do sparkle all along XD)

Another headcanon of mine is in the human world, she goes by her birth name Marya Zaleska. But in the monster world, she goes by Draculaura. The reason for the name isn't just for Monster High reasons, but it's because the name Laura is derived from the Roman laurel, a symbol of victory, peace, fame, success, and prosperity. Draculaura does crave for peace in her life without having to cave in to her vampirism. It's true she sadly didn't succeed in the end of the film, but if Teddy can be revived and given another chance for a better life in post-movie fanfics, so can she. She really should anyways since vampires don't stay dead no matter how they're killed. 😂 And she could use a new modern spinoff show, and so does the Lobos because they are such an entertaining crime family with potential for depth exploration of character and history, so why not I make a spinoff show for both characters in a form of a fanfiction where Draculaura works alongside Tedward and his family members since they found her coffin, awakened her from her long sleep and took her in as their new Lobo pack member who has the power to help them with world domination.

But since Marya herself doesn't like living with her vampirism curse nor wanting to take over the world with darkness and terror, and prefers to live more like a normal human like she had wanted to for a long time, she instead has him use her magical rings for his guns so they shoot pink magic bullets (And those bullets travel further, faster, don't require reloading every 10 bullets shot as it is magic, and they hit harder where hitting a person would literally explode into pieces and blood would spatter everywhere >:D), feeds him a bug to advance his powers, remove his silver amulet to reveal his true werewolf identity, (idk if you noticed, but it just occurred to me that Teddy wears a small, thin bracelet on his less tattooed wrist and it looks silverish. Perhaps that could be a werewolf curse suppressing amulet too? It could very well look like one… 🤔) or all of the above lol.

Notice the silver bracelet on the right? The detail makes me curious... 🤔

Oh yes, I'm talking about the magical ring on the left. Marya uses it to hypnotize her victims. But since this is my story, Imma have fun an utilize her ring for other purposes as it is magical. If I put that ring in a gun and shoot up to the sky, it comes out and booms like a pretty firework! :D

This not only encourages him to fight for world domination himself instead of using another sentiment being as a weapon to do the dirty work for him, but it also boosts his energy and self-esteem immensely without cocaine required, and he has a reason to come home, eat his dinner more than normal and enthusiastically brag to his family about his awesome monster hunt today, how powerful he was, how he instilled fear into even supposedly scarier supernatural monsters, how awesome his new vampire friend is at helping him be the man he had always wanted to be and maybe finally gain the strength and respect from his own family once and for all. …Right…?

Tune in to find out. 😈

Seriously though, I find it interesting that Teddy was eager to join Dracula and introduce him to his mom like he just met his longtime idol even thought the guy has the ability to drain out his blood within seconds if he decides Teddy is food. Makes me wonder if it wasn't the first time he heard of or met a vampire before and knows how to not push the wrong buttons! 😂

#Renfield 2023 #Renfield #Tedward Lobo #Teddy Lobo #Teddy Lobo is underrated #Teddy Lobo deserves better #Teddy Lobo needs more love #Universal Monsters #Dracula's Daughter #Marya Zaleska #Marya Zaleska is underrated #Marya Zaleska deserves better #Marya Zaleska needs more love #Draculaura #Draculobo #Marward #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Story ideas

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