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industria-adastra · 8 days

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The Graveyard of the Dragons Blouse - One Blouse To Match All of Your Outfits

◆ Blouse's Shopping Link >>> https://lolitawardrobe.com/zj-story-the-graveyard-of-the-dragons-gothic-ouji-lolita-blouse-2023-version_p7700.html

#lolita fashion #gothic lolita #ouji lolita #reblog #art reference #inspo

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industria-adastra · 11 days

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im giving im the villainess book 2 another shot. (spoilers incoming) i had to put it down after the prologue last time because honestly revealing right away that lilia is also a reincarnated #gamergirl who just got her memories back sorta bums me out.

the books in general have an issue with how they pace out the various twists and reveals, but that itself isnt rly my biggest problem with it. while in another story id probably be kinda psyched about aileen and lilia having these paralleling journeys, ive been long dreading the possibility of lilia becoming the new villain.

first of all imo a villainess who makes the choice to change her destiny and become a hero is interesting enough without the need for the hero to become a villain as well, and while its probably unintentional i feel like the implication here is that someone in this game always needs to be the jealous bitch evil villainess trying to tear the heroine down and that if one person vacates the roll another person is destined to fill it which like. kinda sucks? both in the sense that its kind of (again most likely unintentional) an anti-feminist take and in that it undermines its own narrative of self-determination.

i actually really liked the previous characterization of lilia as like a nice-but-not-kind type. shes sweet and doting and kinda naive and while her intentions are good she is incapable of rly empathizing with the demon king because her personality is just one that trends towards pity over genuine compassion. i love the idea of an antagonist that is fully a total sweetheart but is still actively making the situation worse with her actions. it also felt like kind of a poignant analysis of the sort of default player insert character otome games often favor. lilia flipping to evil villain mode the moment she gets her memories back is so much less interesting in comparison.

but then again im only like three chapters in so far so what do i know.

#i'm the villainess so i'm taming the final boss #lilia rainworth #personally i don't mind lilia's personality shift but i can see why it'd be disappointing #a protagonist more similar to pre-memory gain lilia is probably Liz Cather from “I'll become a villainess that will go down in history”#lilia is more of a straight play on your regular “refuses to see/intentionally blinds themselves to their new reality” otome isekai “protag”#at least imo #her development shifts from refusing to see people as people (implied to partially be her past self's cynical views on others in the manga)#to subconsciously being willing to sacrifice for them even as she outwardly still treats it like a game #she's kind of a funny asshole character that you grudgingly accept #overall: lilia is weird. she's basically the regular otome isekai trope but not to the point where she's stuck in misery lol #but on a more practical note it's also likely because plot wants a more active wrench in the plans #and it would go in a drastically different direction w/o the reincarnator duel #that and she's also meant to hammer it in the reader's face that game plot technically exists and is an actual bg force (“destiny”)#+ give aileen more info in later volumes #i guess sahra from volume 4 might count for the default playable character not actually having good traits but idk since she's a side chara #reblog #ouro muses #i am way too invested in this series for my own good

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industria-adastra · 11 days

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Claude being all sunshine and rainbows over just a cheek kiss from Aileen made me wonder what the weather would be like on their wedding night, but I didn't expect this to be a legit plot point in volume 4 lmfaooo

#i'm the villainess so i'm taming the final boss #claude jean ellmeyer #akuyaku reijou nanode last boss wo kattemimashita #reblog #spoiler: anything further leads to temporal climate(?) change #they're such a goofy but cute couple #recently revived my akulas/shoujo obsession (it never died tbh)

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industria-adastra · 13 days

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I will change the genre / The Villainess flips the Script

The first one I’ve read where the novel being isekai-ed into actually wasn’t a romance. Wow. Amazing.

Summary It’s the isekai-ed into a novel as the ~evil stepmother aunt~ in the main character’s backstory. So of course, gotta avoid the death flag by being nice to the preshus child. Except she literally has less than a month before the main plot starts. Lol Also, instead of being a shy sunshine child, the main character is actually stubborn and clingy. So instead of being the loving aunt side character, she’s now the *fake mum* ~falling in love with the aloof duke~ female lead.

Tropes - isekai-ed as the villainess - past life explained in one chapter - what do you mean I’ve drastically changed the plot my precious boy will definitely stick to his uncle the most - how DARE you fall in love with MY AUNT

Keep reading

#I will change the Genre #Judith Maibaum #Luca Winterwald #Ruediger Winterwald #manhwa recommendation #reblog #this manhwa is genuinely so good #the people in this story are messy!!! but in a good way #it toes the line of being comical and also “oh yeah these people all have a bunch of unresolved issues”#but at it's core it seems to be a pretty mature story with how it handles the characters and their emotions imo #it's a pretty light-hearted read but overall one of my favourite otome isekai manhwas #the villainess flips the script

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industria-adastra · 20 days

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Was at the art museum earlier and i have a new favourite painting

#reblog

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industria-adastra · 23 days

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[Genshin Impact] - The answer given by god, tastes like sand - Chapter one: Act V, scene ? (take ?) - [1/8]

Summary: In multiple timelines, Furina and Neuvillette always have this conversation. And in every single timeline, Neuvillette cannot understand, and cannot accept Furina’s answers. No matter how far back she falls into the abyss of time, Neuvillette thinks that she’ll never understand. - Or: In a world where witches and magical girls exist, to circumvent fate is to create a god out of love, and be left wanting.

Note: I genderbent neuvi for this madoka au

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Their first conversation, perhaps a hundred thousand turns ago—when Neuvillette had been just some gangly teenage girl, unknowing of the horrors of the world—about it, went a little like this.

In the comfort of Furina’s room, on her bed, they watched a recording of an opera. Neuvillette was sure it had been Turandot. Her memories of later times were fuzzy, but this timeline had always, and would always be, one of the clearest ones.

Their legs tangled together, and Furina was warm against her skin. Neuvillette remembered being vaguely surprised that Furina didn’t put up as much of a fuss over her often cold feet touching her much warmer ones. But she also remembered being happy and content with Furina in her arms, enough so that she didn’t question why Furina didn’t try to act out an improvised dramatic comedy about the state of Neuvillette’s poor blood circulation.

She remembered thinking that Furina’s new spur-of-the-moment hairstyle would surely be less likely to tangle between them as it’d often done before. She remembered the smell of petrichor and the smell of lilies, fresh tea, and cakes. So, only half-focused on the singing actors, Neuvillette soon found her attention drawn to the teardrop on Furina’s fingernail.

Absent-mindedly, she unwrapped an arm from Furina’s waist to lift that hand, staring at the ring and the blue nail print.

“Hm? What are you doing, Neuvi?”

“Furina,” Neuvillette suddenly said, prompting her to pause the ongoing video, setting the laptop aside.

“Yes?” Two-toned blue eyes turned to look at Neuvillette. “What is it?”

“Could I ask you a question?”

For a brief moment, something unreadable had flashed across Furina’s face. But it left as quickly as it came, and Neuvillette had dismissed it as a mere trick of the mind. (Stupid of her to do so—it should’ve been the first sign of the injustice to come; the first sign that she’d taken everything in her life for granted.)

“Of course,” she smiled, as radiant as the sun, “You don’t have to ask for permission, silly. Whatever it is, ask away!”

“Then… If I may ask, why did you decide to become a magical girl?” Neuvillette gently placed down Furina’s hand, waiting for an answer. Furina, in turn, leaned further back against Neuvillette. Tilting her head upwards, Furina’s eyes—forever mesmerising blues—stared deeply into her own.

“Mmm…” Furina mused as the silence dragged out for what felt like an eternity in seconds. “Well, this world… It’s a wonderful, beautiful place—so of course I’d protect it. If I have the power to do so, don’t you agree that I, too, should do my part?”

It was a simple answer—casual, expected. It told Neuvillette absolutely nothing at all. She liked to think that she knew Furina. As such, the lack of eager elaboration, and the lack of clear, substantive reasoning all told Neuvillette that there was something she was missing. Something was being withheld from her, and Neuvillette did not understand why. Were all these years of friendship not enough for them to be close enough to share such personal matters? Neuvillette wasn’t just a member of the audience, one of many in the adoring crowd.

“We both know that this isn’t your true answer, Furina,” Neuvillette said in return, deciding to be honest with her thoughts. “Let me ask once more, and give me the truth, and only the truth. For what reason did you decide to become a magical girl?” Her hands cupped Furina’s face, gaze boring down upon her.

Neuvillette watched as her eyes darted to the side.

Then, she sighed, eyes closing as she did so. “Oh alright, you’ve caught me,” Furina said, shifting Neuvillette’s hands away from her face, straightening up on the bed. “I’ll give you a proper answer in just a second.” The space between them widened as Furina turned to face her directly. Yet only a few moments later, Furina then beckoned Neuvillette to come closer with a hand. So, Neuvillette followed it with not even a moment’s hesitation. Just as their shoulders were about to touch, Furina lightly tugged on her arm, silently asking Neuvillette to lean down.

Furina’s arm curled her head, lightly pushing it down further. The smell of lilies was all the more distinct now, so close to her neck.

“It’s because you’re a part of this world,” Furina whispered into her ear, a string of words said with a gravitas that Neuvillette never understood (even in the distant tomorrow of a hollow victory). Those words warmed her heart as much as they confused her.

“...Because of me?” Neuvillette questioned. Perhaps she had wanted more confirmation, or perhaps even the truth given freely did not feel quite so complete. Furina’s skill with words had always left her floundering in more ways than one. Why her specifically? Why not mention her large family, or even the recent friends they’d made? Why only her as a reason? Imperceptibly, her cheeks warmed.

Furina giggled, all previous tension now lost. Taking advantage of her shocked stillness, in the blink of an eye Furina was now behind her. In an unexpected display of magic, she’d conjured up a comb and untied the ribbon holding together Neuvillette’s long, long hair in that same moment. Confused as she was, Neuvillette simply let her continue with whatever it was Furina wished to do with her hair.

After minutes of silent combing, Furina suddenly said, “I want you to be able to experience this world, from the delightful to the depressing…” Placing down the comb, her fingers artfully braided Neuvillette’s hair. Her hands never wavered in braiding, even as she presumably searched for the correct words to continue that unfinished line. “To the fullest extent possible, no matter what. That day… I—” Her breath hitched, and then all was silent.

The sensation of Furina’s fingers braiding her hair was a comforting one as Neuvillette waited for her to continue speaking. There wasn’t too much pressure, nor were the strands braided so tightly that they pulled on her scalp. Time trickled away in her hands like fine sand, but as Furina had always said—no use rushing the process to only fall flat at the finishing line.

“There,” said Furina, all of a sudden. The noise jolted Neuvillette out of her previous relaxed state. She blinked, quite sure her expression looked hilarious to Furina, judging from the muffled giggle. “Want to take a look?” She asked, emphasising the question with a wave of her handheld mirror. Just now’s conversation was also clearly over. But that was alright. There was always time to ask later anyway.

“Since it was you who did it, I’m sure that it’ll be as perfect as always.” Yet with that said, Neuvillette still reached out for the mirror, curling long fingers over Furina’s hand. Well, she did need to see it with her own eyes if she wanted to properly praise Furina’s efforts.

“Ever the flatterer, hm?” Without resisting, Furina let Neuvillette move the mirror this way and that, waving it in all directions to find the perfect viewing angle.

“I’m being honest,” said Neuvillette, admittedly more focused on her current task.

“At least let me remove my hand first,” she huffed, yet made no move to extract her hand from Neuvillette’s firm grip. At those words, Neuvillette simply hummed in response, finally having seen all she needed of her newest updo.

“I like the braiding pattern,” she said, setting the mirror down, and Furina’s hand free. This time, she was the one to lean back on the other. Furina, of course, supported her without a fuss, letting Neuvillette’s head slide down until it hit her lap. Now comfortably nestled between a pair of soft thighs, Neuvillette picked up the tail end of the braid. Gazing at the multicoloured teardrop gem attached to the new ribbon, she asked, “When did you get this? It reminds me of your eyes.”

“Just yesterday. It reminded me of you.”

‘I… I see.” Involuntarily, heat rose to her cheeks. There was only one thing to do in response to such a gift. “I overheard some classmates discussing this new cafe—would you like to try their desserts together sometime?”

“Of course, my dear Levia.”

They never did get to go to that cafe. That had been the last time they’d ever got to truly enjoy each other’s company as they were in that timeline—the one that had started it all.

#my writing #fanfiction #genshin impact #neuvillette #furina #furina de fontaine #neuvifuri #focallette #magical girl au #angst and fluff #time travel #genderbend #ping me if i left out any tags or if the current ones are incorrect #nvfr now doomed yuri in mind body spirit and situation #recently i rewatched pmmm and also finished link click s1 so

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industria-adastra · 1 month

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[Vampire Knight] - If I'm to be reborn, I'll find you (again, again, again) - CHAPTER TWO: ruler of my heart (you outburn the sun)

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Summary: He hates her, he loves her, he hates her. He misses her. (The only place he can have her is in his dreams)

Note: Hopefully I'm getting better at this updating consistently thing but yeah zero's chapter. Next chapter is going to be kaname/yume focused again sorry zero or zeki enjoyers.

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He’s not the first one to hear of the news. In fact, he’s neither the second, nor third (and so on) recipient of the fact that Kuran Yuuki is dead. Zero doesn’t hear it from the Chairman, his teacher, Kaito, or even from one of the vampires. In hindsight, perhaps he should have been more suspicious, should have questioned the way paperwork always found its way to his desk unceasingly—leaving him with no time to focus on the outside world.

Zero simply hears of it in passing whilst heading out for lunch, through a conversation between two nameless hunters—discussing it like changes in the weather.

“Did you hear? Kuran Yuuki is dead.”

“Another pureblood gone, huh… Wonder if it was her brother that did her in?”

“The rapidly decreasing execution missions would likely clue you into the answer.”

“Right, right.”

It’s hysterically, laughably casual in the way such information comes to him.

(It can’t be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be real—)

The world seems to stop on its axis, and Zero wonders if he should’ve simply ignored his desire for shio ramen today. After all, it’s not like he has an appetite now. His stomach roils with discomfort at the thought of food, and his throat itches for a scant few seconds before it burns. A sandstorm swirls and tears at his flesh. Mind blank, Zero goes where his feet wish to travel, content to let his mind stay in a haze.

He ends up in the association bathrooms, throwing up nothing but paltry strings of bile and choking on his spit.

There is too much work to be done. The vampire world, for one, was going through a massive societal upheaval. Zero simply couldn't do anything more than throw up into an association toilet before being fed an ungodly amount of paperwork as if he were some humanoid paper shredder.

And maybe it's because more than four years ago, just over a year ago—with Ichiru dead in his arms—he's finally refined a true and tried method for every loss he's been through. Every thought of her is locked behind a glass vault, buried six feet under, the key left behind to collect dust. Zero works through papers and decimates his targets with the same ease. Every stroke of his pen is enforced with the explosive sound of his gun, of ashes in the wind. Rinse and repeat, his days all blur together in their sameness.

Months later, on a job just like any other, Zero walks into a department store and sees a long coat, hanging neatly from the racks. Stupidly, he thinks, ‘Yuuki would probably say I should get it if she saw it.’ And then, oh, how it hits him at that very moment.

Yuuki is dead.

Apparently, it had been the pureblood Shirabuki Sara. A pureblood through and through, she’d sent pawns to do her dirty work.

But she’d miscalculated the consequences of her actions, as all those high up on their thrones of arrogance were prone to doing so.

So she too, is dead, consumed by the pureblood king Kuran Kaname—he’s slaughtered more influential vampires than any hunter ever would in their lifetime. In the privacy of his thoughts, Zero thinks that had he the power and madness to do so, he would’ve too.

Sanity is both a blessing and a curse, because there is nothing else for Zero to turn to but his thoughts alone.

Roaring water fills his ears, and Zero sits, unmoving on the wet shower tiles. Steam fogs up the room, blurring his vision. He watches the water run down the drain for hours, washing the grime caked on his body until his fingers are all pruned and his skin is red with heat. His stomach is growling at him, and the water bill is for sure going to shoot up with this, but Zero can’t bring himself to care much about the future right now.

(Any second now, she might barge into the bathroom to demand usage of the shower, to dramatically proclaim that he’s spent too long hogging it, to threaten to turn off the hot water in a minute even if she never ends up doing it.

But this apartment houses only him, and is far away from that Academy, far away from all those precious yet painful memories. The tiles aren’t even the right colour, beige, off-white, and an intense white that could be comparable to that of a strobe light. The shampoo and body wash he’s bought—the same one she always used in the Academy, a subtle floral scent of roses—only serve to highlight all the differences he can find between his current bathroom and the one in his memories.)

The doorbell suddenly rings, insistent and unfaltering like a military march. Zero is sure it’s been modified because there’s no way a regular doorbell could be so annoyingly loud like the one he has. With the way it’s blaring in his ears every second, it’s clear that whoever’s behind the door won’t take his silent refusal as an answer.

The water continues to flow into the drain, taking with it the numerous dissolving blood tablets strewn across the wet floor.

For a moment, Zero allows himself to be deluded by the idea that it’s her behind the door—-she’d always been as stubborn as a mule when she put her mind to it. But it is the sound of the doorbell that echoes in his ears, not an annoyed rat-a-tat-tat followed by the creak of an opening door. What follows is sandy blond hair and the glint of spectacles. They stare at each other for a moment, the headmaster and him. Nearby, the water continues to flow.

Even now, Zero can never truly parse the emotion behind those glasses of his.

“You know she wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

And even now, the headmaster’s words are as precise as his killing blows. Hearing them, Zero flinches. They stab into him, tearing open wounds until the pain is nothing but white numbness. But the mention of her, as always, pushes him to move on the legs of a shambling corpse. His hand slams against the bathroom tiles; the force of it is always degrees lower than it could be.

“How do you know what she would’ve wanted?” His words are acrid, angry in a way he doesn’t want to explain. “She’s gone. She’s not coming back.” Zero grits his teeth, looking straight at Kaien Cross’s eyes before he spits out a final bout of venom. “She’s been dead ever since she became one of them.”

Yet like always, the headmaster’s calm never wavers. “You know, that it’s always been her. No matter if Yuuki,” the sound of her name, said aloud, led to the tiles cracking under his hands, “stayed human or not, She’ll always be Yuuki. Maybe she changed and grew up a little—faster than I would’ve wanted or liked—but at her core, she was always, always Yuuki. She didn’t die that day. You knew that fact as well as I did.” And here, Zero feels the weight of the executioner’s blade above him, about to drop. “Otherwise, why do you try so hard to keep them as separate entities, even now, when she’s truly dead and gone?”

Zero drops to his knees painfully, leaving marks of destruction behind on the walls. He covers part of his face with a hand, contemplating further denial with the truth laid out so plainly before him.

“I never…”

“You never told her your true feelings, and now she’s gone. Because it was easier to accept it if you felt as if you'd already mourned beforehand.” The headmaster’s voice is soft, almost as if reminiscing a similar scene. He crouches down and puts a hand on Zero’s shoulder. “Let it out, Zero. It’s only me and you now.”

There are no tears left for him to cry, but his throat tightens, and Zero hiccups out words all the same.

“I loved her. But she chose him.”

A ragged breath cuts his words short before Zero finds the strength to continue.

“I still loved her, even to the very end.”

The sky glows with a mix of different vibrant, brilliant colours—it’s an intensely beautiful scene, so much so that Zero wants to throw up. A cacophony of emotions welled up in him, knowing that such a view would be forever denied to the girl who was the most like the sun. He almost wishes that a storm would suddenly start, right at that moment.

But the sun continues to glow with a detestable radiance, and the days continue to go by relentlessly. The world does not wait for one man’s grief.

He goes back into his bedroom and sits on his bed. Afterwards, he brings out Bloody Rose.

A click, and he watches as the empty magazine drops to the ground with a heavy thunk. Mechanically, Zero goes through the familiar motions of reloading Bloody Rose. The gun hangs loose in his hands. When it’s done, still holding Bloody Rose, his arm raises, up, up. Its silver muzzle points under his exposed chin without even the slightest tremor, pressing firmly into the soft flesh.

He thinks about a girl, who, long ago, had rushed into a different room and wrenched this very gun out of his hands. Thinks of a life preserved for reasons he refused to believe was out of love. Thinks of a life, gone because it was loved so dearly.

The sunlight pierces through haphazardly closed curtains. A clock ticks in the background. He lets both the gun and himself fall on the bed.

His door is still closed.

(She’d wanted him to live)

Her blood still resides within him. But it lies, still, silent. Not a single iota of warmth flows in his body; it is ice in his veins in contrast to Kuran’s acidic poison. Were Zero to close his eyes and attempt to delude himself, he would simply fail from the get-go. Because Zero has always been faced with hard truths; so many times, he sees them over and over again—in the mirror, in the way he used to bite himself by accident and in the hunter’s bracelet on his desk.

She is gone and he must swallow down that bitter truth like the way he mindlessly consumes blood tablets.

(They scrape his throat, going down and making it uncomfortably dry; it tastes of overly sugared cough syrup; and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t wish to accept a world without her in it.

But her blood still lies.)

He dreams of her. Not always, but sometimes he does. On those days, when he wakes up, Zero can’t seem to muster up the strength to get out of bed. It’s easier to bask in the what-ifs and could-beens, or the has-beens and bygone halcyon days. Breathing is easier, living feels easier, being carried by fantasies and memories. He always has to stop himself from getting too carried away—because ultimately the world does not care. Time continues to march forward, the Earth continues to spin on its axis and around the sun.

Sometimes Zero wants to curse at her. Because no matter how easy it was at that moment, reality would always settle in as an infinite weight, caving his lungs beneath him. But he could never stay angry at her, no matter what she did, or what she became. Before, he had sworn to kill her—but really, he wouldn’t have minded had she put him to rest instead.

"Zero? Did you fall asleep in the stables again? Geez, what's with you always showing up late for the transition periods!" She punches him forcefully in the back a couple of times, unrelenting even in the face of his annoyance and mild pain. (He wouldn’t have it any other way)

“Ow, ow, ow, ow—! Oi, would you quit it already?” He turns to slap a large hand over her forehead, pushing her away from him with great resistance on her part. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zero doesn’t say it, but her puffed cheeks and flailing limbs make her look as ridiculous as she is cute, and he’s almost tempted to flick her in the forehead for good measure.

“Yes, yes, alright now stop pushing me!” She glares up at him, arms folded in annoyance. “Don’t forget that as the prefects, we have an important job to do—which means, stop being late!”

“By important job, you mean stopping a bunch of idiot classmates from throwing themselves into the slavering jaws of humanoid beasts?” Zero raises a wry eyebrow, watching her face gain a mildly exasperated look. When he turns to jab at the inevitable mass of lovesick, occasionally fanatic day-class students to further make a point, Zero finds that there’s no one there.

Right.

He turns back to look for her, but there’s no one there.

When Zero cooks breakfast for his birthday, he takes care to watch his food burn, forces it down his throat and makes sure it stays put. The eggs are rubbery, the toast is burnt, and the bacon is like chewing wood, but somehow he devours it with as much eagerness as a regular bowl of shio ramen.

She used to make such god-awful food.

(Zero finds vials of blood on his doorstep that day.

He practically guzzles the pills instead.)

"Hey Zero, I think this would look pretty good on you." She takes out the long coat with a flourish, holding it up next to him with a contemplative expression. Zero stares back blankly at her, knowing little about the intricacies of what was his “colour”, or what “went well with his eyes”. Sure, he has some preferences, but he finds that he doesn’t mind watching her pick out his clothes for it.

(It’s oddly domestic in that way, and he dreams of what could’ve been—had they been normal, had they not had destiny and duty looping around their necks like a noose)

The next day, he goes and buys himself another coat. Staring at its dark colours and its simple design, Zero wonders if this could’ve been something she would’ve chosen for him.

(He never wears it. Dust collects on the cloth, tints the fibres grey and overrides the fresh store-bought scent, but he never wears it.)

"Zero, we can stay together for the night, just like before—I’ll watch over your dreams, and you can watch over mine, ok?" Under the warm covers, she whispers this to him, and their fingers intertwine together. Her hands have always run colder than his, but even so, her hands are freezing—as cold as the dead.

When he wakes up, the space beside him on the bed is cold.

It has always been cold.

There is no grave, no stone marker, but he supposes that the Kuran Manor serves well enough as a reminder. The rumours don’t paint a pretty picture—the king of beasts, almost mad in his sobriety; the king of beasts, living only for memories and promises; the king of beasts, someone who’d crush you underfoot for his dreams without a second thought.

Standing in front of the tall, dark and rusting iron gates, Zero can almost choke on the overpowering scent of roses. They’re everywhere, in full bloom, mere buds, wilting or decayed. It’s a smell that only reminds him of what could have been, and what he let go of, of that fateful night in the academy.

Were it him, he would’ve planted sunflowers instead.

(Zero doesn’t enter. He knows how much Kuran hated him entering any space deemed as his own. It wouldn’t change now, half-mad as they both were.)

Violence is, perhaps, the only outlet that Zero knows will never let him down. There is release to be found when he hunts down level Es; there is no need for emotion, only cold, pure logic in which he can execute his duty as a protector (that he’d already failed so many times before). With every shot of his gun, every blast of the hunter’s sigil and every vampiric body blown apart into dust and ash, Zero puts to rest the grievances of so many others—but never his own.

Kaito no longer makes any sort of comment about such trips, only there to stop him from presumably losing his head and forcing the association to find yet another leader (or so he says, but they both know part of the association would be thrilled to find a reason to off him). Sure, Kaito mindlessly chatters about the surroundings and his day, but they both know that saying anything about her—no matter how sound his reasoning could be—would create a one-way ticket to the end of their friendship.

He tried, once. (“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You have to accept the fact that she’s gone and that she didn’t choose you.” He’d paused then, reproach evident in his face before he continued. “She was a pureblood first.”

“She had been human.”

“Had.”

“And so had I been, once.”

“…Just don’t get yourself killed.”)

It’s nice to have someone stay. But he’ll never say it. People can’t stay simply because you want them to. Their decisions have always been their own.

Perhaps the universe had an ironic sense of humour if he was back to teach Cross Academy’s Day Class ethics of all things. The headmaster clearly made a mistake in forcing him to do what he flippantly called a “much-needed change of perspective”. Somehow Yagari, of all people, seemed to think that it’d be good for him to take up such a position in addition to his duties as both a hunter and the president of the hunter’s association.

“You’re a good kid, but you need a better head on your shoulders,” is all Yagari says on that matter, and off Zero goes into once more dealing with teenagers—this time as an adult rather than one of their peers. He half expects it to be just like before.

But it’s not.

Revealing the truth of the Night Class to the Day Class means that there are no more barriers between the vampires and humans of Cross Academy. Without the distance, there is not enough room for worship, and what is left are only two kinds of being, all simply trying to live in a new world.

Teaching ethics really means “filling in the gaps” so that vampire-human relations will go more smoothly. Unlike his mentor though, Zero thankfully doesn’t need to use either express or implied threats of violence to get his students to listen. And he finds that, with the truth revealed, the Day Class students now behave in much calmer ways—ironically, the truth had perhaps “humanised” the vampires for them.

They listen carefully to his teachings; Zero does his utmost to drill them into their heads, complete with drawings that are only marginally better than her toddler scribbles. He’s sure that when he’s out of sight and earshot, they laugh about it, just as they laugh alongside the vampires they’d once thought of as unreachable.

Watching it all from a distance, it almost feels unbearably nostalgic yet melancholic—because this had not been his world. Had she and Zero never been torn apart from the natural way of things, reborn and reforged in blood, they would have never met.

(He wonders if he would’ve dismissed her as nothing but a monster. If their old classmates would have thought of her as another pseudo-goddess to worship.)

Zero watches two worlds meld, and is not quite at peace, but at the very least, the memories, the “what ifs” here do not hurt.

However, it doesn’t take long for him to resign. In the end, Zero is better cut out for other things, rather than becoming another face in the crowd of the headmaster’s rampant eccentrics that he calls teachers. But, sometimes, seeing the world that she wished for, finally, slowly, starts to be created… The air is a little lighter, even as his throat aches. She would’ve liked to watch the two different classes fumble through cooking on their own.

Maybe he’ll make ginger pork stir fry tonight.

It’s years before he meets Wakaba Sayori again. Zero nearly forgets about her wedding, were it not for the Headmaster’s, and Kaito’s constant, unceasing reminders via letters and spoken words. The final nail in the coffin is the wedding invitation itself. If he doesn’t attend the wedding, he’s sure that someone will come to physically strong-arm him to the event.

The wedding itself is a rather small affair, given Sayori’s background and what he remembers of Aidou’s proclivity for dramatics. Maybe it was Sayori who’d wanted it. Or maybe it was a joint agreement. Zero doesn’t know either of them well enough to say, but he prefers it this way.

Staring at the happy couple—in the back of his mind—Zero morbidly wonders if death will also do them part earlier than expected. He’s quick to shut down that train of thought as soon as it appears. He wouldn’t wish such a feeling on anyone.

After the event, Zero keeps his copy of the wedding photo, keeping it safe with the other one that marked his first year of high school. Against the glossy sheen of the new photo, that one looks all the more faded; the new photo always feels as if it’s missing something.

She would’ve loved to see the wedding; would’ve been the maid of honour, lovely in gentle pinks and a happy blush on her cheeks.

He startles at the vision, dropping the photo book with an unceremonious thud.

The burn in his throat has never gone away since that fateful night of snow. But it’s now a familiar constant, easily relegated to the back of his mind. What does it mean? Zero doesn’t know, only watching as society changes, and as people grow to create a world where there could be true peace.

But it feels easier to breathe for himself, even as he continues to breathe for her. Zero isn’t sure if he’ll ever stop breathing—living—for her. It’s alright this way, and the dreams now leave him feeling more…fond rather than wanting.

It’s only a glimpse, but years and years later, Zero gets a chance to see how Kuran Kaname now fares in this still unfamiliar world. Despite his achievements and the iron-clad grip he has on the rest of the vampires—key in fostering the new partnership between humans and vampires—he rarely shows his face. Does the smell of roses, in its various stages of life, cling to him like a parasite? Or maybe it’s the other way around, with roses built within everything he owns, everything that he is.

As Zero contemplates, he thinks back to the regularly replaced sunflowers in his office and his flat.

When he sees him, Zero gets his answer.

Lounging on his throne, the smell of blood, dust and decay is attached to him like that of a rose with its thorns. Kaname Kuran stares emptily at everyone and nowhere, only occasionally opening his mouth to send orders. Within his hands is a resin-encased rose, looking worn and smooth from the years. His clothes don’t quite fit what he’s supposed to be, refined King of the Vampires. Rather, dressed in loose clothing, the apathy in his gaze, Kuran almost reminds him of—

(Zero tries not to think about it)

After so long, even hate will cool. They both loved, they both lost. It is a reality of the world that they live in. That she could not ever see the dream she wished for come to reality. In fact, looking at this sombre, cold, alone figure… He almost pities him. Kaname Kuran, top of the world but with no one left.

Could they see what Zero sees? The old Night Class no longer stands nearby, but at polite distances, looking almost weary. It was the kind of weariness that he was most familiar with.

After all, the hunter association had always looked at him this way.

Zero at least has the headmaster, has Kaito, has his teacher. Kuran has no one at all.

Even beasts could be pitiable.

(Yuuki knew that best, didn’t she)

Maybe it’s only fitting that he’ll die from protecting a child who looks so much like Yuuki. Not quite in the flesh, but more so in spirit—and wasn’t that the most important, most beautiful quality about her? Especially now, memory half-baked and succumbing to erosion over the years. In the face of time, it all crumbles to dust, just like his body is now; not even sure whether it is his or the bodies of mad vampires he’s slain.

Zero can see her crying, tears wetting his shirt, mixing with the dust in a way that he’d be mildly disgusted by were he not currently dying. “It’s alright,” he says, reaching out with hands that only smear more dust into her hair. Zero isn’t sure if the garbled sounds reaching his ears are truly words or not. Maybe the girl is speaking, maybe the girl is simply sobbing.

Or maybe he is already dead.

When he closes his eyes, Kiryuu Zero dies before a young girl’s eyes, leaving nothing but a pile of empty clothes and a silver gun.

The incessant ringing of an alarm is loud and annoying enough to cave metaphorically his skull in with its shrill noise alone. Grumbling, Zero burrows deeper into his blankets, covering himself fully in an attempt to block out the noise. It doesn’t fully work, but a partial solution is better than no solution at all, so Zero gets right back to falling asleep.

The heavyweight landing unceremoniously on top of his body puts an abrupt stop to that. “Zeeroo! We’re gonna be late for school again!” Ichiru whines, digging his pointy elbows right into Zero’s sides, knowing full well the exact location of his arms. He’s lucky that Zero loves him.

“Gerroff me, Ichiru,” he groans, the sound muffled by the blankets, gently shoving away at the incessant prodding. “We don’t even have to wake up until ten minutes later.”

“How do you even know that?” Questions Ichiru, switching up his tactics and physically smothering Zero in another attempt to force him out of bed.

“I pay attention in class rather than daydream about the divorced neighbour next door.”

Just as Ichiru is about to retaliate with a few choice words, the bedroom door bursts open to herald another arrival. “Zero! Get up, we're gonna be late!’ Kuran Yuuki rushes over to drag him out of bed with strength contrary to her small size. “Get up you lazy bum!” She promptly drops him on the ground, ignoring his affronted yell and Ichiru’s snickering in favour of rifling through his wardrobe.

“Good morning Yuuki!” Ichiru cheerily waves at her from Zero’s bed, delighting in the extra chaos and suffering added to his brother’s normal routine.

“Morning Ichiru!” She absent-mindedly chirps back, piling the different pieces of Zero’s uniform onto one arm. Halfway through, Yuuki looks back at Zero. “Oi, get up Zero! Aren’t you supposed to be the one with the best attendance record out of all of us?”

“I shouldn’t have messed with your alarm,” Zero grumpily mutters, not bothering to get up from the floor. From above, Ichiru barely attempts to stifle his laughter. “Stop laughing, Ichiru.”

Unfortunately for Zero, Yuuki could hear him perfectly well. Her body snaps around just in time for Yuuki to let out an outraged cry of, “You what?!”

At that, Zero groans, and Ichiru only laughs louder and harder.

(He wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world)

#my writing #angst #vampire knight #fanfiction #zero kiryuu #kiryuu zero #tw grief #tw: suicidal thoughts #cw: suicidal ideation and an attempt #i really did not expect zero's part to get so long #but tbf this has been happening to my writing #i just keep thinking i could flesh out some parts more and then boom another couple hundred words or even 1k added with just one scene #radiant zeki #zero goes through it but it's arguably not as bad as with kaname because he has people to pull him back and tell him he's being dumb #and he knows it too #unlike kaname who literally has no one else who can tell him he's being stupid without fear of being killed

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industria-adastra · 1 month

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I don't know if anyone else has said this but

Is it just me or does Lucifer give off "dad from a RoFan/Otome Isekai whose bad communication skills led to irreparable damage in his relationship with his daughter in a first timeline". Honestly Lucifer and Charlie really give me otome isekai/rofan manga/manhwa/manhua father-daughter pair vibes. Like they might not look like it conventionally (mostly in terms of height ig) but they really do feel like they'd fit right in with their love for each other but also non-existent communication skills AND MOST IMPORTANTLY THE MISCOMMUNICATION.

Something something reality can be whatever you want it to be—anyways Otome Isekai AU Charlie & Lucifer. I think it'd be neat to just plonk them in this kind of scenario. Like time-travel do-over on either end, reincarnation (wmmap style so it's the "of soul"), parallel universe shenanigans, gaining consciousness in a shitty novel/game turned real world where you and your dad are both in danger of plot bc ur both final bosses. Hell even the "finding ur kid after your wife left" scenario and then going forward from there scenario.

(I blame my younger self for getting into wmmap for thinking of this)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #kind of an au idea maybe???? idk it's not fleshed out #i just love their dynamic it really went for my rofan father-daughter enjoyed throat #idk they're just neat i like putting them next to each other saying #this could go so badly or so well #ouro rambles #story ideas #this is probably both incoherent or niche but yeah rofan/otome isekai charlie & lucifer!!!!!#i am so normal about fictional characters #my beloved barbie dolls #the most favoured squimshes

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industria-adastra · 1 month

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just learned that coke as in coca-cola as in the famous carbonated soda is canon in star wars and frankly I am upset

#reblog #star wars #wow i can't believe cocaine is real in star was (lmao)

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industria-adastra · 1 month

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[PMMM] - i woke, i prayed, i screamed, a vagitus cry

Summary: You’ll never be alone, inside me, chosen lamb of humanity.

(That is what love is; the pinnacle of all human emotion—its salvation and its end)

Pairing(s): Kaname Madoka/Akemi Homura, Kriemhild Gretchen/Akemi Homura

Note: I wrote this in a frenzy in two hours in the library after eating a sandwich and a bar of chocolate send help

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Around them is nothing and everything—the purity of salvation, a world void of sin and free will. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

The flesh of her chest is carefully peeled aside, pinned away like that of a taxidermied butterfly to reveal the dull lustre of wet bone and her insides. Kriemhild’s fingers deftly trace the outlines of her ribs, the protective cage for her nightingale’s stuttering heart. She could crush it right here and now, slicing it between her teeth and crushing it into bits and pieces as easily as the gem hanging above in Kriemhild’s own heart.

It would not hurt her. It would make her sing—words of worship from her chosen bride, given in exchange for all of humanity. Their sins are forgiven, but it does not hurt to be paid such a gift. Already, her nightingale sings, warbling notes and hoarse cries, not at all perfect on its own but perfect because Kriemhild Gretchen deems it so.

She could devour it, replace it with the sludge of Kriemhild’s flesh and bone, something given between lovers, something exchanged for the promise of eternity. In health and in sickness, in life and death and beyond, they’ll be together. Even when the stars fade, contract, expand and explode and swallow light whole. But Kriemhild thinks she likes it better this way, weak and trembling under her and within her and only for her. Lambs need to be saved, and so do not need to be strong.

Kriemhild presses a kiss on her heart instead, soft and feather-like against the slick of blood and the stickiness of flesh. The walls of Kriemhild’s heart stutter around the both of them, reflecting its owner’s euphoria under the amethyst glow.

When she pulls away, long after the seconds and minutes and who knows how long, the blood stains her lips red—a natural rouge made of love. Kriemhild stares down at the glassy purple eyes of her beloved, hands moving up, up and up to cradle her jaw, hovering over her throat. There are trails of wetness on those pretty cheeks, on the face fixed with rapture, and Kriemhild longs to lap them up. But she settles for pressing her lips on her songbird’s throat, trailing kisses up towards her lips before landing on them with savage ferocity. Kriemhild slides her hands down, down, down, raking at the skin and gripping where she can, pressing down on her prey.

She loves her, she loves her, she loves her, and Kriemhild swallows her whole.

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