#Ephemeral The residents in the dark

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

TW: Violence

Man with purple eyes: "........."

A man was putting bright red petals into his mouth, where crimson flowers covered the pure white garden.

The sight was strangely beautiful and ephemeral, and I stood there frozen, unable to look away.

Man with purple eyes: "........."

Eventually, the red flowers fell from his lips to his hands, and he blinked his eyes slowly and gazed at me.

Man with purple eyes: "What are you doing here?"

(What?)

For a moment, I was stunned into silence.

It was as if a character from the painting I was observing had suddenly spoken to me, and my mind struggled to catch up.

Mitsuki: "U-Um, I..."

I stumbled over my words, and the man approached, taking hold of my wrist.

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

Man with purple eyes: "Answer the question."

Man with purple eyes: "Why are you here?"

His touch sent shivers down my spine, and his gaze pierced like needles.

The fleeting atmosphere had dissipated, and quiet anger emanated from him.

(He seems totally different from before. Is he really the same person?)

But it was definitely him who was eating the flowers.

Confusion washed over me as I glimpsed the two contrasting faces within such a short span.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for intruding! Excuse me!"

I shook off his hand and hastily ran away from the spot.

Man with purple eyes: ".........."

The man watched Mitsuki's retreating figure intently.

Then he heard a light voice.

???: "That surprised me. Isn't she the girl who lives in the mansion?"

The man who arrived in the garden had a half-up hairstyle.

Man with purple eyes: "Seems like it."

???: "Did you bring her here by any chance? You're surprisingly quick, Galileo."

Galileo: "Is that supposed to be a joke, Drake?"

The man named Galileo glared at the other man.

Drake: "Yeah, yeah, I'll stop joking."

Drake: "But if you really met her by chance, then maybe that means something."

Drake: "She might really be that fated woman after all."

Galileo: "........."

Drake plucked a single pure white flower at his feet and toyed with it with his fingers while leaning against the wall.

Drake: "It seems like those resurrected vampires have really stirred up some chaotic yet amusing fate."

Galileo: "Then that girl showed up."

Galileo gazed again in the direction Mitsuki had left.

Drake: "She may have a harmless, innocent face like a fawn, but her involvement might change fate once again."

Drake: "If she becomes a hindrance in the long run, wouldn't it be better to just kill her now?"

Galileo: "No."

Galileo objected to Drake's dangerous proposal.

Galileo: "We haven't yet determined who that girl really is."

Galileo: "We shouldn't bury her in darkness before touching the truth."

Galileo: "Everything depends on unraveling the truth."

As if to emphasize that point, Galileo uttered the word "truth" more profoundly.

Drake glanced at his profile for a moment and let out a small sigh.

Drake: "I get it. I respect your opinion."

Drake: "But it’d be troublesome if they started suspecting us."

Drake: "For instance, the true identity of this flower. Did she notice something about it?"

Galileo: "Who knows? It's unclear unless we directly question her."

With those words, Galileo turned his back to the garden, and Drake watched him disappear into the depths of the building.

Drake: "Perhaps another fate has started moving again."

Drake muttered to himself and dropped the flower he had been holding onto the ground.

I hurriedly ran away from the mysterious garden and finally arrived at the mansion.

(That man, was he a resident of the building?)

(Well, I did trespass, so it's only natural for him to be mad at me.)

Taking a moment to calm down, I realized it was understandable for him to confront me like that.

Sighing, I stepped into the entrance and reflected on my actions.

Arthur: "You're finally back. Welcome home, Mitsuki."

Mozart: "Geez, you're always making us worry."

Mitsuki: "I'm back. Did something happen?"

Mozart: "Well, we were just talking about picking you up since Sebastian mentioned that you were coming back later than expected."

Arthur: "It's dangerous for a girl to be walking around at night."

Napoleon: "You didn’t seem quite yourself before you left. Are you okay?"

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

Napoleon gently patted my head.

(Right. I was feeling lost after hearing from Comte that I still wouldn't be able to return to my world.)

(They really cared about me.)

The warmth coming from his hands and seeing all the faces waiting for me warmed my heart.

(Just having everyone here makes me feel so relieved.)

(My life here is truly irreplaceable.)

I sometimes thought about my former world, but everyone in the mansion was like family to me.

Seeing the people in front of me, I was reminded again to cherish this precious time with them and make more memories.

Napoleon: "Mitsuki, is something wrong?"

Mitsuki: "No, I just felt relieved seeing everyone's faces."

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for worrying you. And thank you."

Mitsuki: "I'm really glad to have met all of you."

I spoke sincerely, expressing the emotions welling up inside me.

As I expressed my emotions openly, everyone seemed slightly surprised before smiling.

Arthur: "Hey, Mitsuki, if you say things like that out of the blue, you'll embarrass me."

Mitsuki: "Hehe. I just wanted to convey my feelings properly."

Mozart: "It's not bad when you express your feelings so straightforwardly like that."

Arthur: "Wow, Mozart is giving compliments!"

Mozart: "I just said what I honestly thought."

I chuckled, seeing them playfully teasing each other.

Napoleon: "Sebastian already prepared dinner. Let's go."

Mitsuki: "Okay!"

We headed to the dining room and had our usual lively dinner.

Eventually, the night grew late, and the crescent moon shone brightly in the sky.

Mitsuki: "Phew, what a day."

I changed into my nightwear and settled into the soft bed.

Suddenly, the scent of the soap coming from the sheets grazed my nose, triggering memories of the mysterious garden.

(The scent of those flowers was more vibrant and intense.)

(I still don't know what kind of flowers they were.)

And then another memory surfaced.

(His purple eyes.)

(It felt like I had wandered into a different world at that moment.)

The image of that man with his fleeting yet chillingly cold touch was vividly etched in my mind.

(I'll probably never see him again.)

(I worried everyone today. Maybe I should make some apology snacks for tomorrow.)

As I thought about fudge, chocolate, crepes, and everyone's favorite snacks, my eyelids grew heavier, and my consciousness drifted away.

Deeper and farther into the dream, where time and place were unknown一

Girl: “*pant* *pant*”

Father: “This way, hurry! We need to run!”

In a dense and lush forest, “I” desperately ran hand in hand with my father as something terrifying chased us.

Father: “Hurry, or the hunters will catch up to us!”

After what felt like forever, we found an old, dilapidated shack where we hid while holding our breath.

Girl: "Papa, I'm tired and thirsty."

Father: "I'm sorry. I never meant to put you through this."

(Why? Why are we being chased?)

(Neither I nor Dad did anything wrong, so why?)

At that moment, the silence was broken by a loud noise as several men dressed in cloaks came into the hut.

Vampire Hunter: "Found you, you monsters."

Father: "Please, spare us. Neither I nor my daughter have harmed anyone. We just want to live quietly, that's all!"

My father held me tightly, shielding me from the hunters, but...

Father: "Gaah!!"

Girl: "Papa! Aaah!"

The hunter, who had thrown my father aside, seized me by the hair, thrusting the terrifyingly sharp tip of his sword against my throat.

Father: "Please, at least spare my daughter! She's done nothing wrong! She was simply born as a dhampir!"

Vampire hunter: "This girl also carries the blood of vampires. You both are abominable creatures that should not exist in this world."

(Abominable creatures?)

Vampire hunter: "In the name of God, I will make you and your father disappear!"

The man's raised sword gleamed under the moonlight streaming through the window.

Father: "Stop, don't kill my daughter. Please, stop!!"

Then the cruel gleam tore through my vision, and everything turned red before me.

Mitsuki: "!!!"

At that moment, I jolted awake in bed.

Frantically looking around, I realized I was not in a forest or a cabin but in my familiar room.

Mitsuki: "*pant, pant* A dream?"

Even though I understood it was a dream, my hands were shaking and my forehead was drenched in sweat.

(What was that dream just now?)

In my dream, I was a little girl, and both me and my father were chased, caught, and killed.

Mitsuki: "That was terrifying."

My pounding heart reassured me that I was indeed alive.

But the suffocation, the fear of being chased, the feel of the sword against me, and the smell of blood—all of them were so vivid that they made me tremble again.

(Why did I have such a dream?)

I tried calming myself down by embracing myself, but I couldn’t go back to sleep anymore.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Next Part

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp drake #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp #ikevamp jp #ikevamp translations #galileo galilei #ikevamp spoilers

[topnotchquark]

Alright I wrote some Luca x Pecco because I think we needed some. Yes it's boarding school au. Enjoy ~950 words.

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

Luca finds himself wide awake at the cool blue hour of the morning. The alarms have some time before they pierce the ephemeral cold quiet of the boys residence. Luca finds his body adjusting to sudden wakefulness, he takes a moment and listens. The warblers are chirping in the distance, Bezz sleeps a couple of feet away from him on his bed, his breathing rhythmic and deep, in sharp contrast with Luca's unsteady booming heartbeat that had woken him up in the first place. 

He sits up and looks outside the window, it's promising to be a bright, sunny day. He would prefer remembering this day as clear and sunny rather than the unsavory alternatives. He doesn't have any obligation to turn up to the morning training session and while he is not one to skip team sessions, he wants a moment of solitude today. He leaves the room as quietly as possible despite knowing Bezz will sleep through almost anything.

He takes off into a slow jog towards the forest. Once he reaches the dilapidated small hut he slows down and starts looking around. It doesn't take him long to find the first time he had carved his name into the tree. He was 9, and the inscription looks about just as old. There are few others around the trees in this small clearing. He spots a sizeable one Bezz had made, and a small one Pecco had left. Luca fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and next to the oldest one carves today's date along with his name.

When he's finally back, the sun is up and Bezz has left for training. His bed is a mess so Luca straightens it alongside his own.

It's the day of the Investiture Ceremony. Luca is officially getting his Team Captain colors, and Pecco is finally being made Head Boy. Luca had known he would be made the team captain and pretty much had his duties already in place, but on this day, being felicitated in front of the whole school, he did feel some thrill deep inside him.

He showers and puts on a fresh crisp set of his uniform and sets out to find Pecco.

Pecco is sitting on his bed very still, shoulders tense in a way that Luca can tell it's been a while since he's been sitting like this.

"What's the hold up?" Luca inquires in his trademark steady voice.

Pecco takes a moment, presumably to gather himself, blinking at him slowly, "The tie".

Luca exhales a soft chuckle and holds out his hand.

Luca was 10 when he met Pecco for the first time. Boy from Turin with the dark curls, big brown eyes, and a distinct smattering of moles. It was the day before the new term was supposed to start and he found his bed had been assigned next to this new kid who very clearly looked on the verge of tears. Luca was prepared to see the weepy kids, he had been at the school for a year and had already dealt with all his homesickness related emotions.

When he tried to reassure Pecco he told him that he wasn't crying because he missed his mom. Pecco couldn't figure out how to get his tie to work. Luca remembered smiling then too and tying a half windsor for Pecco like his brother had taught him. They had been friends ever since.

Luca puts the tie around his neck and fashions a neat knot, adjusting it for Pecco's height. He can tell Pecco is different today. He's nervous, but much like that 10 year old boy, it's got nothing to do with any obvious reasons. It's not stage fright related troubles. Luca knows Pecco is stretched thin under the expectations of those around him. He's the headboy, he's on the nationals sports team, he still has his debating obligations, among other things. Luca knows that Pecco still does his best despite his emotional response to all this noise. Or maybe because of it. Luca is still trying to figure that one out.

Luca knows Pecco just about as well as anyone could, they had played with and against each other for years, had lifted trophies together and lost together, slept next to each other, trained and studied together. For all his bluster and bravado, Luca had seen Pecco at his most scattered. And he still liked Pecco. Had respect for him. Had fondness for him.

"Come here" Luca utters a request that sounds like a command out of his mouth. Pecco dutifully follows it.

Luca gently places the tie around Pecco's neck, adjusts the collar, his gestures controlled, his hands brushing against the smooth skin on Pecco's long neck.

Luca can tell Pecco's eyes are focused on his face. Once he makes sure the tie is fine, he gently places his hands on eithe side of Pecco's chest to smooth any wrinkles and finally meets his gaze.

In this moment, Pecco's face is open and tender, something a little insane in his eyes, the intensity of his small mouth almost too much for Luca.

Luca thinks for a moment and places a gentle hand on the side of Pecco's face and he imperceptibly leans into the touch. Luca bends down to press a kiss on his mouth. Momentary, because he knows how much Pecco can take for now. He doesn't want to overwhelm, that's the last thing Pecco needs right now. He can feel the heat from Pecco's face, he feels his plush lips. He can't allow himself to explore any further.

When Luca moves his mouth away he doesn't withdraw his hand. He gently rubs his thumb on Pecco's cheek.

"You will be alright." The words sounding as much of a command as Luca wants it to be.

#pecco x luca #pecco/luca #luca/pecco #luca x pecco #Luca Marini #pecco bagnaia #boarding school au #motogp rpf #motogp

[lurkingshan]

I've been following your discussions on ephemerality vs permanence, control & voyeurism, and on that theme I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on Boston having that video of Mew and Ray. It seems odd that he'd hold on to it for two years, without their knowledge, only to use it in a power play that isn't even fully about Mew. What do you think is happening there? I feel like it has to play into the power dynamics in his relationship with Mew, the way they hold each other in apparent contempt but stick together, as well as Boston's voyeurism and how he'd delight in holding some sort of compromising secret against Mew without his knowledge, but I haven't got any fully realised thoughts about it yet, so I'd love to hear your perspective.

Hi anon, thank you for asking! I have mentioned before that it feels like we're still missing a lot of information about this friend group and their history together, so there may be some information coming to give context to this particular incident and why Boston felt the need to record it. But my current suspicion is that his decision to record and keep this was not initially that deep or sinister.

Boston is a photographer; his instinct is to document what he sees. In the very first episode, he was walking around with a camera taking pictures of the surroundings. In the second episode, after he asked Nick to pose for some photographs, we saw how serious he is about this when it was revealed that he has his own private dark room. Most student photographers would use a dark room at school (think Ink in Bad Buddy), but Boston has built his residence around his photography, indicating this is much more than a casual hobby for him. He tells Nick that he likes to have mementos of certain people and moments in his life, and he hangs on to the photo strip from his first hookup with Top (I don't think it's a coincidence that his first time with Top has a connection to his love for photography; that's a signal that this was meaningful to him).

In accordance with this interest of his, Boston is a natural voyeur and keen observer of other people. He notices everything that is happening with his friends, and he is always documenting it, even if just in his own mind. He knows about Ray's feelings for Mew; he also knows Mew does not feel the same. He knows Mew has a chip on his shoulder about his virginity. He knows Top needs to feel like an alpha. He knows Nick can be appeased with some vague weasel words and a small bit of affection. And he uses all of this information to his advantage when the need and opportunity presents itself. He seems to have little to no qualms about doing so; Boston ruthlessly pursues what he wants and he doesn't really have any sense of loyalty.

On top of that, I tend to agree with you that Boston has some kind of longstanding issue with Mew. The way he digs at Mew about his virginity is hard to miss. It might just be that Mew's self-righteousness about sex grates on him on principle, and he wants to knock him down a peg. Or it could go deeper. I have been reading it as something of an inferiority complex, given that we know Mew is also a top student. Perhaps sex is the only arena in which Boston feels superior to Mew, and so he wants him on his playing field so that he can beat him at something. When he first hooked Mew up with Top, he clearly expected Top to sleep with him once and then move on, like he did with Boston; the fact that Mew actually got Top to pursue him seriously threw Boston off and pushed him into a bit of an obsessive spiral over Top.

So, back to your question: why did he record Ray and Mew doing whatever it is they did a couple years ago? At that time, it was probably simply because he saw it, and his instinct is always to observe and document. Boston is someone who likes knowing things and keeping a record, and he always has a camera ready. I'm not sure there needs to be any deeper reason than that. I doubt he recorded it with the conscious thought that one day he would use it to humiliate or expose them, though depending on how early this issue with him and Mew and sex popped up, he may already have been thinking that Mew is a hypocrite and here was his proof. But even if that wasn't the case then, when he saw an opportunity to use Ray's feelings for Mew to his advantage in his play for Top, he pulled this up from the archives and recognized it was the perfect ammunition. And as I mentioned above, he has no qualms about using it to his advantage.

Tagging in @chickenstrangers who I know also had a lot of thoughts about Boston's photography, and @ranchthoughts @waitmyturtles in case you have anything to add on the voyeurism thread.

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #thai bl #shan answers

[dc-and-arfrona]

Fragments of a Broken Heart 1/2

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

The atmosphere in the dimly lit apartment was heavy with tension as Jason Todd and the reader stood facing each other, their hearts aching with unspoken pain. The room seemed to close in on them, mirroring the suffocating weight of their fractured relationship.

Words, sharp as knives, had been exchanged, each syllable cutting deeper into their souls. And in the midst of the storm, Jason had uttered the words that shattered the reader's heart, leaving them broken and desolate.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," Jason's voice resonated with a mix of frustration and anguish. His eyes, once filled with love and adoration, were now clouded with uncertainty and self-doubt. "We're just too different, too broken. Maybe it's time to let go."

The words hung in the air, the silence that followed suffocating their hearts. The reader felt the sting of tears welling up in their eyes, the pain of rejection piercing their very core. They had hoped for understanding, for solace, but instead, they were met with the cruel reality of Jason's doubts.

A torrent of emotions overwhelmed the reader, threatening to drown them in a sea of heartache. It was as if the world they had built together had crumbled in an instant, leaving behind only fragments of what once was.

With a trembling voice, the reader spoke, their words laced with vulnerability and sorrow. "Is that what you really want? To just give up on us? After everything we've been through?"

Jason's gaze faltered for a moment, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and longing. But his resolve remained firm, a defense mechanism to shield his own wounded heart. "I... I don't know anymore. This life, this darkness, it's tearing us apart. Maybe it's better if we walk away before we destroy each other completely."

Tears spilled down the reader's cheeks, each droplet a testament to the pain that ravaged their soul. They had believed in their love, in the strength of their bond, but now it seemed fragile and ephemeral, slipping through their fingers like sand.

"But what about the good times, Jason? The laughter, the shared moments of happiness?" the reader pleaded, their voice trembling with raw emotion. "Are you willing to throw all of that away?"

Jason's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air, unsure whether to bridge the gap between them or let it grow wider. "I never wanted any of this, you know. To hurt you. But I'm so broken, and I'm afraid I'll only drag you down with me."

A heavy silence descended upon them once again, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Each word was like a dagger, cutting through their hearts, tearing apart the love that had once bound them together.

The reader took a step back, their trembling hand clutching at their chest as if trying to hold their shattered heart together. "If this is what you truly want, then maybe it's time for us to say goodbye."

Jason's eyes widened, his own heart aching at the sight of the pain he had caused. "No, wait. I... I didn't mean..."

But it was too late. The reader turned away, their steps heavy with sorrow as they walked towards the door. Their voice, barely above a whisper, lingered in the space between them. "I need time to heal, Jason. Maybe one day, we can find our way back to each other, but for now, we have to let go."

As the door closed behind the reader, the room felt emptier than ever before. The silence was deafening, echoing the hollowness that now resided in Jason's heart. He sank to his knees, his shoulders slumped, consumed by the regret of his words.

In the wake of their shattered love, both Jason Todd and the reader were left with aching hearts and the bitter taste of what could have been. Only time would tell if their paths would cross again, if they could mend the fragments of their broken hearts and find their way back to each other.

But for now, they would tread their separate paths, haunted by the memories of a love that had been torn apart by hurtful words and aching silence.

Part 2

Masterlist

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #robin x reader #dc imagine #dc universe #red hood x you #red hood imagine #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

Your Move (III. Pianissimo: Castling, White)

fandom: our life: beginnings and always

relationships: main character/baxter ward

characters: main character, baxter ward, side characters appearing

words: 5042

Read on AO3 (must be logged in) or below the cut.

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Between the two of them, it’s her who first crosses the minuscule gap between their lips.

He’s given her just the smallest margin to take back her words — the last warning for Little Red to never stray off the path as she enters the dense, dark woods. If she takes back her acceptance of this summer courtship, he tells himself that he’ll be alright: he’s seen it. The glimmer of hesitance in her eyes at the knowledge that this would be but a midsummer night’s dream shared between them.

Baxter would be fine if this ephemeral connection ends. But would she?

He tells himself that he’s given her fair warning. Perhaps if he reminds himself enough times, he’ll believe it.

And yet… wasn’t he also the one to present it as a harmless, low-stakes affair?

Baxter Ward, you really are the worst, he tells himself as he melts into the kiss.

She’s soft against him; he cups the back of her head like she’s made of glass. One hand hovers in between them in uncertainty until he captures it with his, as he’s longed to this whole day. Up this close, he catches a whiff of her, an intoxicating mix of vanilla and jasmine. He wants to swallow her whole like the wretched wolf, but holds himself at bay: Baxter Ward will be a gentleman.

As he pulls back, his eyes narrow at the way she chases his lips for more. 

Greedy little thing, isn’t she?

“Perhaps I should have anticipated that you’d be the one to pull a move on me, so soon. You’re always been quite daring.”

She raises a brow, soft cheeks aglow with heat and shining eyes brighter than the stars on a clear summer night. He needs her to stop looking at him like that, else he won’t be able to stop... “Is that a compliment, Mr. Ward?”

He cups her jaw in his hand, brushing his thumb over her lip; her gloss smears a faint pink on his skin. Baxter hardly notices this, though he knows he will stare at it later. Intent on the shiver his motions elicit, he murmurs, “It’s far from unwelcome, truly.” With one last swipe, he settles for something much less dangerous. He takes her into his arms, feeling her own wrap around his back.

They hold each other for a moment longer, her head slotting under his chin like the missing piece of a puzzle.

“Well, then. At the risk of sounding like a broken record - have a good night, Wisteria.”

They step back from each other, slow and reluctant. She lets out a gusty sigh as she looks up at him once more, a wry grin creeping forth.

“Goodnight, Baxter.”

He watches her until she’s safely slipped into her house.

“Sweetie! You’re back! I heard the door open…” A couple of loud voices, likely her mothers’, and warm light welcome Wisteria. She moves as if to slip through the entrance, when she pauses and glances over her shoulder. 

Baxter puts on a smile, just in time, for the brief moment she looks back at him and nods. 

And then, she’s gone; he’s once again reminded that he’s just a tourist, here to sightsee , not to be a part of someone’s life. 

The front door to the Blanc residence closes.

And he remains standing there; a singular, adrift figure on the darkening street, for a little while longer. Until the silence of his condo can no longer go unheeded.

Wisteria across street! : Good morning, Baxter. I take it that you’ve had a wonderful night? Or I hope so. Today, I would like for you to open a spot in your flexible schedule. You are hereby invited to dinner with the Blanc family at six pm. I’ll pick you up at your doorstep, ten minutes before.

Wisteria across street!: how was that? rate it for me, lover boy

Twinkletoes: A riveting ten out of ten, my dear Wisteria. I have no choice but to oblige such a gracious overture from your family. Now, I must find a proper gift for my hosts, with haste.

Wisteria across street!: oh. thanks. this isn’t optional, btw.

Wisteria across street!: my moms want to see you.

Wisteria across street!: or as Liz calls you, my “gentleman caller”

Twinkletoes: Far be it for me to turn down such a request. Now, do any of your family members happen to be allergic to certain foods?

Elizabeth Blanc is more than just a little intimidating, sitting so proper on the living room couch with the airs of a monarch entertaining her subjects. The true queens of this little kingdom, of course, are off to the kitchen. Their indulgent grins can be seen if one only cares to turn their head. He can’t pretend to be unaware of the little snickers coming from Pamela as Noelani elbows her, but he can surely try... If only for his girlfriend’s sake.

The youngest of the family is absent from his side, shooting him helpless looks as they set her on the crucial task of preparing the dining table. For someone so unafraid to brandish her claws at him since their very first meeting, Wisteria is docile around her family.

“So you’re the charmer who’s got Ria all wound up lately? Nice to meet you again.”

It takes little guesswork to learn where Wisteria’s occasional sharp, taunting looks come from, when faced with the inexorable evidence. He still thinks that hers are more intimidating, unassailable grey against her sister’s sharp brown eyes. It is completely absent in this instance in this occasion, the glimpses he catches of her face showing him a look of silent panic.

“The pleasure is all mine, Elizabeth.” He meets her keen smile with one of his own. “Thank you for inviting me to partake in your family’s evening meal.”

The elder Blanc sister waves one airy hand.

“No need to thank us, you’ll probably be seeing us more.” Her eyes crinkle at the edges. “Moms have wanted to learn more about you. Even before you swept my little sister off her feet.”

The little sister scoffs as she gingerly carries a steaming platter. “I was not swept off. It was a more mutual exchange than that.” 

Perhaps not that docile, after all…?

Baxter’s caught in the crossfire between sisters as she flicks a warning look at him. He grins at her, saccharine-sweet.

“Truly, Wisteria was the one who charmed me out of sense when she treated me like a princess, showing me the best places in your lovely town. On top of the wonderful little meals she sometimes drops off for me, I have a lot to thank her for.”

Despite the way it starts out teasing, his voice is soft and full of sincere gratitude. Her eyes widen, and soon she’s unable to hold his gaze, scurrying back to the kitchen to the tittering of her mothers. 

“Sis…” Elizabeth snickers, watching them both with a worrying glint in her eye. “You love to play it cool, but you were red as a lobster when you came inside that night. The last time you were this flustered was when that Suarez boy proposed to you, and back then you were more concerned about how to react appropriately than anything!”

Smack.

His lovely, mostly implacable, oftentimes sharp and observant, utterly adorable girlfriend… Turns around so fast, she stumbles in her slippers and bumps hard into the kitchen island with her hip. She yelps, slamming her palms flat on the countertop. For a moment, all is still. And then she takes a deep breath in, exhales through her nose.

Familiar motions, somehow. A language he knows how to speak, heard from the lips of someone else. It feels so very alien, to watch someone correct themselves before they show distress, and for that someone to not be himself.

“I was. Thirteen. Saying ‘thanks, you too’ isn’t weird.” Despite the pain making her bite out her words, Wisteria keeps a straight face. She doesn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

Baxter finds this concerning. He rises up from his appointed seat before he can think better of it. It’s only when he’s close enough to grab her that he comes to his senses. His hand comes up to touch her arm, only to stop short and hover by her skin. Don’t overstep, her family is here and she’ll prefer them over you. “Wisteria? Forgive me, but that seemed quite painful. Are you alright?”

Somehow, this is enough to rouse her mothers and sister out of their stupor, for better or worse.

Noelani reacts first, amber eyes wide as she exclaims, “My dear! That was quite the fall…” Unlike him, she touches her daughter, patting her back. “You could sit down with Baxter and Liz, now.”

“We’ll handle this,” her wife follows up, already taking charge of the situation as she looks over the remaining dishes to be served. Before she takes to the task, however, Pamela shoots her elder daughter a frown. “Elizabeth Blanc, do not tease your sister too much for this dinner.”

The elder sister finally speaks, contrite enough to wince as she eyes her little sister. “I’m sorry, sis. That was a bit too much.” 

“I’m fine.” Wisteria shrugs her mother’s hand off, composure back in place, even if it’s… Dubious. She turns to him; with one look into his face, the forced smile on her lips falls flat. “But I’ll take you up on that offer, mother dearest.” Sprightly, her words are, as if the entire situation is just a trifling matter to brush under the rug. 

For all he knows, maybe it is. 

So he inserts himself into the conversation, hoping that there is something he could at least do. Turn up the charm, Baxter; distract her, do anything you must. Make sure this evening will be a good one for your summer crush. He can do that much, can’t he? “Let’s not pass up this chance, shall we? Come sit with me, darling.” 

Her fingers entwine with his. With a small laugh, she pulls on his arm to guide him back to the living room. “Have you been waiting for this?”

“Of course.” Baxter settles on the couch, tugging her down with him. Because he can feel the elder sister’s attention on him, not to mention her mothers being nearby, he tenses up when she presses up against him. She cuddles against his side, nudging her head against his shoulder and sighing into his shirt. Affection, freely given, even under the eyes of her family, all of whom must see him as an outsider.

It makes him feel like less of one. As if he truly could have a place in this house. 

Odd how that works.

His face feels hot, despite the air-conditioned living room. But he takes this in stride, and grins as he nudges her back. “I do hope that you and your family will be delighted with my gift.” The aforementioned gift sits on their coffee table, right beside the little potted succulent. A box of chocolate truffles, sourced from the best chocolatier he could find with his connections.

He had shopped for it on short notice, years of etiquette lessons impressing the need to be a perfect dinner guest. Despite, for all intents and purposes, this dinner being a casual affair. When was the last time he was invited along to a dinner like this? Baxter remembers sitting down to a hot, homemade meal years ago; the taste of Mrs. Murray’s gingerbread and hot cider is still easy to recall, all these years later. But he knows that if he tried gingerbread and cider now, it wouldn’t taste the same without his friends’ laughter and voices around the table.

“... Your girlfriend is a chocolate addict, Baxter Ward.” Elizabeth smirks at him, though he notes that there’s less of a bite to it now. She no longer seems like a lioness sizing up a belligerent stray male who is intruding on the pride. He is unsure what to make of this. “You did just fine. Though we might need to be fast or else we wouldn’t even get to try any of them out.”

Wisteria scoffs aloud, though she doesn’t stir from her cozy position using his shoulder as a cushion. “I have better manners than that.”

“Really, sis? You? Remember the time you ran off with the fruit bouquet Mr. Holden gave us, and shared it willy-nilly with his son and Derek Suarez?”

“Why do you remember so many things that I did when I was thirteen?”

“It’s my duty as the eldest to keep a record of our family history, duh.”

“Fine. I’ll eat your share of the chocolate, just you wait.”

“Hah, knew it. You can try, little sister.”

Watching the sisters, Baxter wonders — not for the first time, whenever he sees siblings — what life would have been like, if his illustrious parents had deemed it worth bringing another life into the world after him. He promptly feels sickened enough to purge the idea from his mind. It would not be like this: a living room with parents who truly care enough to look at their daughters with the most achingly soft eyes, cooking dinner with their own hands. 

The scent that tickles his nose — Hawaiian cuisine, Noelani had said so earlier — is so far removed from the incredible, yet oh-so-empty French and other European cuisines that so often grace the expansive dining table of his family estate.

Movement against his shoulder drags him out of the heavy mire that his thoughts have become. “Hey, wanna come up to my room later?” His eyebrows fly up at the way Wisteria phrases her request, grin widening. She catches on just a split second later, and blanches. Baxter briefly mourns the loss of her warmth against his shoulder as she sits bolt upright. “Oh, shit- Ma, it’s not like that.” 

Too late. They’re beset on all sides by blatant stares. 

Cupping her cheek in her palm, Noelani giggles at her own daughter. Ever the one to so gleefully stir the pot, even if she seems the sweeter parent. “Whatever isn’t like what, Ria?”

Wisteria squints at her mother, the slight jut of her bottom lip quite mulish. “I was gonna invite him to play… Chess. Or watch me play music, whichever.” She huffs out, and sags against the back of the couch. “And not whatever weird things you two are clearly imagining.”

Her two mothers share a silent look, gauging the situation. Despite the teasing way Noelani responded, there’s still some unspoken boundaries within this house. And this is confirmed when Pamela speaks in her place. “Well, you two are of age. Plus Baxter here seems like quite the gentleman.” Her dark eyes pierce his, pinning him in place. “And it’s not as if he’s the first boy who’s been in your room. The neighbor’s son actually climbs into your window whenever he feels like it.”

Baxter can’t quite control the expression that steals across his face, when he hears that. Whatever it must have been, he hears Elizabeth snort as she watches him.

“Cove’s like a brother to her, so I dunno about that argument, Mom.”

Noelani intervenes, once again, with a gentle look aimed his way. “I think it will be fine. Wisteria is already eighteen, Pam.” She squeezes her arm around her wife’s midsection and tilts her head. “Now, shall we eat? I don’t know about you all, but I am pretty hungry for that huli-huli chicken.”

“What do you know, I feel the same way,” Wisteria says, eager to grab on to the lifeline that her mother is gracious to hold out. She stands up, stretching her arms above her head with an absent mutter. He might have been better off if he wasn’t watching; her cream-colored, oversized graphic tee rides up, showing off the black jean shorts that only cover her legs down to mid-thigh. 

When she had come to pick him up for dinner, he had noticed what she was wearing. There just was never a good time to appreciate it. Now he’s abruptly reminded again, and in front of her family.

Not for the first time, Baxter wonders if she’s a test that some deity put on earth for him to pass. He chuckles as he agrees with her, turning away. “If it is anything like what she let me try, consider me famished.” 

Everyone else murmurs in agreement, heading towards the dinner table. As he’s deliberating on where to sit, a hand grabs his forearm. Wisteria leads him to sit down beside her on one side of the long table; Pamela and Noelani, being proper hosts, sit on either end. This situates him closer to Noelani, with Elizabeth sitting across from her sister. A glance at his girlfriend betrays to him that this is all intentional on her part.

With seating arrangements settled, he casts a curious eye at the offerings on the table. Baxter considers himself to be adventurous enough. When he has to live up to the title of tourist, exploring everything this place has to offer and enjoying it, to spit at what his parents are attempting?  This is even more important.

The tupperware meals that Wisteria Blanc gives him, from time to time, are nice. A younger version of himself would have balked at being offered what his parents would sneer at as leftovers , unworthy of gracing the Ward dining table — despite it being the very same food that they were not able to finish the night before, on that same damned dining table. He’s learned to be much less a fastidious eater, since attending college. But not by much, considering it’s still a private institution attended by young adults of similar economic standing as him.

And yet, faced with a freshly-cooked Blanc dinner, he finds himself frozen in indecision. Should he pick the chicken that Noelani had mentioned, first? Or should that fragrant-smelling rice be his first choice? What if Wisteria had helped make something, should he get that and praise her for her efforts, make her happy as a good boyfriend?

“Give me your plate.” A delicate hand picks up his plate. He turns, halfway, to blink at Wisteria. Her lips twitch as she turns towards the table. Without a word, she begins piling his plate with food. Under the amused gaze of her entire family, she picks out what he assumes are the best choices… 

For him. Baxter feels his chest tighten, and looks at the plate she sets down before him once it’s over. “Tell me if it’s too much, I’ll take the extra off your hands.”

“What have I done,” he wonders aloud, uncaring of who hears. “To deserve such wholesome, solicitous treatment, my dear girlfriend?” If he’s the only one aware of how truthful this question is, instead of the joke they must take it for —  it’s between him and the same deity who’s testing him with this woman.

His dear girlfriend rolls her eyes and turns to her own food, spearing a hunk of chicken on her fork. “Gee, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because you are my boyfriend. Or the time you insisted on paying for dinner, at The Cypress. Or I just like looking out for you, when you look so lost.”

I just like looking out for you echoes far too loud in his headspace. His face feels hot again, but he focuses instead on taking a bite out of the food she so thoughtfully got for him. 

It… It’s not the ginger bread or the hot cider of his youth, not the autumnal dishes that he’s grown up trying with his friends. It’s not an exquisite French cassoulet, stewed painstakingly within a Dutch oven for hours, or a masterfully made soufflé prepared by a wealthy household’s skilled cook. And yet, Baxter feels the flavors burst on his taste buds, unmatched by almost any other food he’s tried on his extensive trips outside the country with his family.

He closes his eyes, feels Wisteria’s stare burn into the side of his face. Of all the attractions that Sunset Bird holds for a man like him, a man whose first choice isn’t a seaside town so close to the ocean he’s so afraid of… This might be his favorite. An experience that, for him, will never be replicated: not with the way his relationships go.

It’s the taste of home, and he’s never experienced this comfort within the house he grew up in; it’s a nearly foreign feeling. Baxter will treasure this, for the days to come when he no longer has Sunset Bird to call as his temporary home.

“That good, huh?” Mutters Wisteria, low enough for only him to hear. “Well, eat up. There’s plenty more where that comes from.”

“See, Pam, I told you that fried rice was a great idea!” Noelani exclaims at her wife, from one end of the table to the other. “You were worried about it being appropriate for dinner, but look, he likes it.”

With some unseen effort, he turns his attention to his hosts. “It’s wonderful. I have not experienced home cooking like this for quite some time, much less Hawaiian cuisine prepared authentically by someone like Mrs. Noelani.” To think that their daughters grew up eating this, he leaves unsaid, he is… not just a little bit envious.

The two older women share yet another look with words unspoken between them. Baxter feels himself tense a bit, wondering if he conveyed himself appropriately enough, when Pamela replies. “We make a bit extra these days, what with the Holdens sometimes eating dinner here, with us… So! Wisteria takes those containers to you often, correct? We can cut the middleman.” She raises her brows at him. “What I mean to say is, you’re welcome to come over, if you want.”

Why did they have to put him on the spot, like this? Not that he’s unused to such situations, but… 

“But only if you want to,” Wisteria cuts in, sharp as she assesses him. He wants to hide his face, this time, but that would be impolite. “I’d also like to eat with you, at your place. Girlfriend rights, and all that.”

Baxter resorts to the best weapon he’s honed for years, once again, and smiles with his lips closed. “I would be very amenable to either such options, Mrs. and Mrs. Blanc. Perhaps once a week should be good?” He’s only here for the summer, but that should be enough not to make them think he’s ungrateful. How could he be when they’ve treated him like this?  

But it has to be infrequent enough that he’s not in danger of entrenching himself too deep. 

This reminder is like a cold splash of water in his face, but his smile remains affixed through years of practice. He pushes through it, and murmurs with a soft grin her way. “And of course, Wisteria is welcome to my place whenever she wants.”

Dinner continues at a pleasant, unhurried pace. In between bites of food, amidst the clinking of silverware and glass, he waits for the expected motive behind this invitation. He’s prepared for the probing questions about where he studies, what he’s studying, and where he’s from. A reply is on the tip of his tongue for any questions dancing around the topic of his own family. We live on a fair-sized estate, out of town… Words he’s uttered with practice to people who try to get to know him.

Wisteria may have questioned him during their date, but years of ingrained habits have taught him to remain vigilant.

The questions don’t come. Pamela and Noelani Blanc instead give him such warm grins as they pepper him with questions about the sights he’s seen in Sunset Bird, if he’s comfortable with his accommodations, and how his health is coming along. Is he able to relax, taking a semester off? 

“Sunset Bird is enchanting.” His own answer comes as a surprise to him, how easily it comes out without being a disgusting untruth. “I have never been elsewhere with such welcoming people. The view does take some getting accustomed to.” Here, he laughs, a touch dry. Looking at the endless expanse of blue on the coast is still a little gut-wrenching, but they don’t need to know that. “But I believe it shall be less daunting, with Wisteria by my side.”

Elizabeth hums to herself, eyeing her sister with a furtive raised brow. “It’s surprising. Ria usually doesn’t go out much, but this summer seems to be all about experiencing as much as she could before she goes to college. And you are part of why she doesn’t stay holed up inside.” 

That’s… Baxter compels himself to ignore how much that implies. “I think, between the two of us, we can endeavor to make this an unforgettable summer.”

She turns on him, displays what seems to be a recurring family trait of pinning him in place with a single look. “Feels like you’re good for each other, that way? Sheesh,” Elizabeth lets out an aggrieved noise, pointing her fork at him in accusation. “I planned on being difficult, but you kinda won me over. What’s your secret, Victorian Emo Man?”

Good for each other? You? If only they knew.

He blinks at her, all innocence and confusion. Beside him, Wisteria chokes back a laugh as he replies with every ounce of self-possession within him. “Certainly, I’m glad to hear it. I would so hate it if two of her favorite people are at odds with each other. Wouldn’t you?” After a pregnant pause where they both watch the myriad expressions on Elizabeth’s face, he turns toward the snickering mess beside him. 

It takes a good moment to recollect herself. “... Okay, okay,” she sighs, smugness lending a certain edge to the smile she flashes her sister. “That face is good enough for me. I won’t eat her share of the chocolate at two am when I know she’s asleep.”

“Oh god. There’s two of them.” As her elder sister gives an affected shudder, their mothers look on with satisfaction. 

This dinner is a tentative success, even with the awkward way it began.

He never did get to see her room after dinner. The hour passes by him like sand slipping through the narrow gaps between his fingers. That evening only leaves him with the impression of dizzying warmth and acceptance; the last thing he remembers is silken strands of fine ombre hair tickling his neck as lithe arms squeeze him tight before he leaves. Baxter can only assume that he stumbled into his condo afterwards. Perhaps he had one of the best sleeps he’s ever had (he can count such occasions with the fingers of one hand).

Wisteria texts him the morning after, though he only gets to read it around lunchtime.

Wisteria across street!: ok so you didn’t get to visit my room but  Wisteria across street!: the invitation is still open Wisteria across street!: though uh Wisteria across street!: you should try the front door first instead of pulling a cove holden. no need to give my moms heart attacks. my room is upstairs and i don’t know if you’ve ever climbed up a wall.

Sitting alone in a café, Baxter taps out a reply, careful consideration going into each and every word. He’s in rather high spirits, enough that he feels awake even when the black coffee he ordered sits mostly untouched on top of his table. 

Twinkletoes: You wound me with your lack of faith in my climbing skills, Ria. But yes, I believe coming to your room for the first time deserves a bit more decorum than stealing in through your window like some rogue. Wisteria across street!: … are you calling the literal human cinnamon roll that is cove james holden a rogue? Wisteria across street!: wait Wisteria across street!: you called me ria.

His lips curl in satisfaction as he waits for his order. It’s easy to picture it, the rosy hue of her cheeks and ears to match the wide-eyed look on her face. What more could happen, if he whispers it while leaning in close enough to watch the expression on her face bloom?

“Your breakfast quiche, sir.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for such prompt service,” he acknowledges the waitress with a brief smile before he turns back to his phone. 

Twinkletoes: Oh? Do you not want me to address you by that? Wisteria across street!: you can Wisteria across street!: i was just surprised Wisteria across street!: anyway, you’re probably gonna get an opportunity to come over very soon. terri, miranda and cove want to meet up this sunday. Wisteria across street!: we’re gonna hang out at the beach

… His stomach twists when he reads her last message. Setting his phone down, he starts on his brunch. The pastry tastes like nothing in his mouth, but he has to eat to keep up his energy. He’s not so dysfunctional a young adult as to forget that. Though this is what his parents believe, to go so far as to sequester him for his vacation so near the ocean.

So what if he’s always feared the unfathomable depths of a body of water that makes up seventy percent of the earth?

Children ought to grow up and learn how to stomach their vegetables. This is not so different, though his parents have never given enough of a damn to check if their ten-year old son could digest a heavy cream soup while he was sweating and shivering in bed, caught up in a fever. The maid made sure he was able to eat some bread, so what did it matter if he threw up most of that dinner? 

The quiche sits like a dead weight in his gut when he picks up his phone. 

I would love to come appreciate the beach with everyone. Your thoughtfulness, including me in your plans, is incredible. To play host to me before your scheduled gathering, even more so. I look forward to seeing you all.

Author's Comment: So I don't know if it's a cultural difference, since I'm not American. But I found it kind of... odd? How the DLC never brought up if the MC's family never tried to get to know the boy she's suddenly announced herself dating to them. I know that it takes time for some people to bring home their significant others to meet their families, that's pretty normal. But I think it's a mite different when your teenage daughter/sister is suddenly dating someone from right across the street. You would think they would invite him over for a meal or two.

Since I'm Filipino, some of the cultural stuff that I've grown up with are intentionally included: namely, giving food in tupperware containers to your neighbors if you made too much, sometimes also sharing fruit you bought, etc. Within the story, this is explained by Noelani also having some Filipino heritage (even if she is majority Hawaiian). Wisteria is a Fil-Chi mestizo. This is rounded out with her elder sis Liz canonically being Filipino.

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#our life #our life: beginnings & always #baxter ward #fanfiction #luna's fics #baxter ward x mc

[sasaranomiya]

Interview with Shirakawa Kouko in Musashi 2019-12

Here it is, the long awaited interview! Luckily for me, this magazine has e-versions and you can still buy old copies

Fascinated by tragedy and forbidden love

The main character of the Koukyuu no Karasu series, the Raven Consort (Jusetsu), lives in the inner palace, but maintains an aloof assistance and doesn’t perform night duties. She’s a very mysterious existence.

She is a woman with the blood of the previous dynasty, and a consort destined to be executed if her true identity is discovered. In the series, the current emperor, Koushun, is the one who goes to her to seek peace of mind.

Why did you decide to write this kind of work?

I’m afraid I might be misunderstood, but ever since I was little, I have loved stories about girls with unhappy upbringings. It wasn’t until I was in elementary school that I became aware of stories of tragedy and forbidden love, and it all started with Prince Otsu, who was arrested on suspicion of treason and conferred with death. When I discovered this poem in the Manyoshu, I was greatly impacted.

Today, taking my last sight of the mallards

Crying on the pond of Iware,

Must I vanish into the clouds!

I was deeply moved by the feeling of regret conveyed in this poem. Since then, I had come to love tragedies, and in this work as well, the Raven Consort isn’t allowed to have feelings for the emperor, and she is forced to bear the harsh fate of not even being able to go out of her residence.

As the past of the Raven Consort, whose mother was brutally murdered and who was then adopted and imprisoned within the inner palace, gradually became clear, I found myself thinking, “Shirakawa-san, you’ve done a terrible thing.”

The Raven Consort and Koushun are in a forbidden relationship where the two of them weren’t even supposed to approach each other in the first place. I fundamentally like Cinderella stories and happy ends, but this time I’m thinking about how to end this story.

Koushun also has a painful past in which his mother and friend were killed by the empress dowager, so the two of them resonate with each other in that aspect. What kind of thoughts did you put into his character?

He was also influenced by Prince Otsu, but I like to write about young men in unfortunate circumstances. Koushun is a quiet and emotionless young man with a dark shadow, but he holds a storm in his heart. I write him so that we can sometimes catch glimpses of that. What I like most is writing scenes that show glimpses of the instability and fragility of a normally calm young man.

And that’s why the men Shirakawa-san portrays are close to the hearts of modern women.

A staunch lover of ghost stories

The Raven Consort deals with those who died leaving their feelings behind in this world. She takes away the sorrows of those who become wandering ghosts. It’s quite a scary story.

Ever since I was a child, I have loved strange, slightly scary stories and ghost stories. That’s why this story is something I wanted to write one day. China has many ghost stories, and there are even many Japanese classics that are patterned after Chinese ghost stories.

Chinese ghost stories are bloodier than Japanese ghost stories, aren’t they?

In Japan, the yuu in yuurei (ghost) means “fleeting,” which gives off a transient and ephemeral image. However, in China, ghosts have vivid and strong characters.

Also, I was surprised that there are many Chinese stories that have no logical connection or an unclear cause and effect. Perhaps it is the national characteristic.

How did you come to like ghost stories?

There is a temple behind my childhood home, and on Monday mornings there was time to read sutras before going to school, and in summers there were tests of courage, so ghosts and religion are things that are familiar to me.

In Volume 3, a new religious organization called the Eight Truths Sect also appears.

That is a religion I created, but the myths and beliefs in the work take reference from those of Japan and other island nations. The story takes place on a large island, and the sea is a key word in the story. Some Chinese myths also have themes of the sea and rivers, which are also very interesting.

I love mythology, but when it came to write a Chinese-inspired story, the hurdles were high and it was difficult to take the first step.

There are a lot of things you have to study in order to write a story that uses China as inspiration, such as the systems related to the eunuchs that appear in this series.

Eunuchs are castrated males, and their position varied widely depending on the era. There are cases where it’s a punishment, but it is also a way for commoners without backing to get ahead in life.

Even though it’s a fantasy, I can’t even compose a story without studying the history, culture, and systems of the country that serves as the background, and I’m still studying as I’m writing.

Okamoto Kido was the catalyst

What inspired you to start writing?

The first was Okamoto Kido’s Collection of Chinese Bizarre Stories (中国怪奇小説集). I fell in love with Okamoto Kido after reading The Curious Casebook of Inspector Hanshichi, but then I got hooked and ended up at Chinese Bizarre Stories. When I started writing Koukyuu no Karasu, I read it again, and if I hadn’t come across this book, I might not have been able to write the Koukyuu no Karasu series.

Okamoto Kido was translating Chinese stories, wasn’t he?

That’s right. Okamoto Kido’s writing was good and concise. But, he would casually mix in beautiful expressions. His writing isn’t difficult, but it isn’t easy either. Even if the times change, they will never get old. I could feel the depth of his education.

People of culture in the Meiji era had no choice but to read foreign books in their original form, so they had to be proficient in foreign languages. They also had to have a good grasp of Chinese poetry and other works.

You’ve written a lot of series that are structured as a collection of short stories.

Since I took Okamoto Kido as my role model, I also like short stories. There’s also the fact that I’m not good at long-form stories (laughs). That’s why I try to finish each series in about five volumes.

The Raven Consort’s model is Fan Bingbing

The beautiful Raven Consort always dresses in black and has a strong visual impact. Do you have any stories or people you modeled her after?

There was a drama about the life of Empress Wu Zetian called Wu Zetian, and Fan Bingbing, who played the empress, was very beautiful. The story was set in the Tang dynasty, and the costumes were wonderful. Although Wu Zetian didn’t dress in all black, the character of the Raven Consort was inspired by her.

The story is a fantasy, but you wrote it with the Tang dynasty as inspiration.

Yes. The Tang dynasty is my favorite. If I hadn’t watched that drama, I don’t think I would have settled on the Tang dynasty.

I think the reason why people who aren’t familiar with China can easily read the books is because the characters are well-defined and easy to visualize.

Since I myself do not know much about China, I have taken care to write these books in a way that even those unfamiliar with the history can understand.

The story has a strong element of fantasy as well as mystery.

I love fantasy and have been reading it since I was young. Among foreign authors, my favorite is Patricia A. McKillip. She is a fantasy writer who has written works such as the Riddle Master trilogy and Winter Rose.

For domestic authors, it’s Miyabe Miyuki. I stared reading mainly her contemporary mysteries and fantasy books when I was in high school, and I’ve of course read her ghost story series Hyakumonogatari.

Since you debuted with Cobalt Bunko, you’re strongly associated with light novels, but what kind of works do you plan to publish in the future?

I recently published a Japanese-style fantasy called Mikazuki-tei Hana Zukan. The main character, a detective, opened a detective agency in what used to be a daimyo’s garden during the Edo period, but encounters mysterious things there. I would love to write horror and historical novels in the future.

I’m looking forward to it.

#koukyuu no karasu #Raven of the Inner Palace #translations

[docpiplup]

Related with the Rabadis chapter of the Al Andalus. Historical Figures, there's some books and historical novels about the topic. Two of them are mentioned in a a couple of articles about the Rabadis I posted and translated here on Tumblr (X) (x) if anyone wants to take a look.

The last two books are historical novels, from a saga, The Arrabal Lineage, whose second novel was published last year.

La Odisea de los Rabadíes: El primer exilio hispano (The Odyssey of the Rabadis: the first Hispanic exile) by Manuel Harazem

March 2018 marks the 1,200th anniversary of an event that occurred in Córdoba that, despite remaining unknown to the majority of its current inhabitants, had crucial importance in the city, on the peninsula and in distant places in Africa and the Eastern Mediterranean. The revolt of the Saqunda suburb, its total destruction by the emir al-Hakam I and the expulsion of the surviving residents of the subsequent brutal repression has the honor, heroic on the one hand, but sad on the other, of having been the pioneer of two constants in the history of the peninsular peoples: the popular revolts inscribed in the class struggle and the exiles for political reasons. This is the first popular revolt for socioeconomic reasons and the first exile for political reasons that we have documentary evidence in the history of the Iberian Peninsula, a land that would be lavish in them from then until today. The consequence for Córdoba will be that the southern bank of the Guadalquivir would never be historically urbanized again until today, turning it into a strange case of a large city located on the bank of a river and equipped with a magnificent bridge that did not take advantage of that circumstance to develop in parallel. The consequence for distant places will be the colonization by those exiles of one of the most important cities of the Islamic world, Fez, the ephemeral, but impactful, founding of an independent republic in Alexandria and above all the creation of a prosperous Andalusian emirate on the island. of Crete that would survive for 130 years, facing the attacks of the Byzantine Empire, and throughout which its sovereigns would maintain the title of Cordoba with persistent pride. The exiles tend to be all similar, but in this case the exile of the Rabadíes, if it resembles any, is that of the Republicans after the civil war that unleashed the Spanish Fascist Revolution. The Arrabal revolt and the Republic are comparable events because both were rebellions of the popular classes allied to enlightened strata against absolute power and the permanent injustice of the emir and the regime of the national-Catholic agro-bourgeois elites. When the Power decides to apply the lesson, the emiral repression in the suburb will last three days and the civil war unleashed by the National Catholic forces will last three years. And in both cases, the terrible destruction is followed by an exile that takes two directions, one by land and the other crossing a long stretch of sea, Fez and France, Crete and America. And all cases will be fertilizers of culture of the host lands. This informative work collects the complete sequence of those distant events, which occurred in Córdoba, Toledo, Fez, Alexandria and Crete in the 9th century, in a research effort diving into different sources in different languages ​​to clarify dark points and dismantle some errors that over the centuries, scattered and unconnected stories had accumulated in traditional historiography. And along the way, he analyzes the city's relationship with history and the remains of its Islamic past. But above all it aims to vindicate the memory of some people from Córdoba who carried out the marvelous feat of rising up against injustice and turning their misfortune into a civilizing task in the distant lands where they sought refuge to rebuild their lives.

Los Andaluces Fundadores del Emirato de Creta (The Andalusian Founders of the Emirate of Crete), by Carmen Panadero

Do we Spaniards know our History? We think we know it. Sometimes important and exciting pages from our historical past appear before our eyes, which we had not heard about. There are many who are unaware, even in Spain, that thousands of families exiled from a suburb of Córdoba took the island of Crete from the Byzantine Empire, creating a dynasty of emirs there during the 9th century and part of the 10th. Very few are those who will know. that those simple people of the town, Iberians from an inland city who had not seen other waters than those of the Guadalquivir River, took over the hegemony of the eastern Mediterranean, defeating Byzantium in decisive naval battles. It all began in Córdoba, in the month of Ramadan 202 of the Hegira (March 818 AD). In this work we try to delve into the causes that caused the mutiny that gave rise to these events and we investigate the role played in it by the different social classes of the moment. Likewise, we analyze the subsequent historical events, triggered by the exile of the rebels from the Sequnda suburb and carried out by them. We will follow the outlawed Cordobans in their long and painful exodus, which, through North Africa and after a period in possession of Alexandria, concluded when they managed to take over the island of Crete. Byzantine and, later, Greek sources have dealt with to the History of the Emirate of Crete and to the people of Cordoba who founded it through manipulation and prejudice, falsifying the historical truth and even calling them pirates. It is inexcusable to finally do them justice, to rehabilitate the figure of their most important leader, Abu Hafs al-Ballutí, and that at least in Spain, his country of origin, it becomes known that the ancient town of Pedroche, his birthplace, and Córdoba, their capital, have many reasons to feel proud of this distinguished character and his lineage. This essay, with rhythm and air of chronicle, has as its main objective to banish the partial and biased vision of this chapter of our History and to make known the true nature of the State founded in Crete by the outlawed Cordobans of the Sequnda suburb. To this end, the author has had to find translators for the fundamental works that document this topic, since they had not even been translated into Spanish until now. Thanks to the Arabic chronicles and, above all, to three Greek historians (Vassilios Christides, Christos Makrypoulias and Nikolaos Panagiotakis), who for the first time faced these historical events, overcoming prejudices and initiating a rectification, we can partly reconstruct the exploits of these Hispanics, Muslims and Christians, in the eastern Mediterranean.

La Estirpe del Arrabal I: Córdoba en el recuerdo (The Arrabal Lineage I: Córdoba in memory), by Carmen Panadero

Córdoba, 9th century. Al-Hakam I, the most despotic of the Umayyad emirs, reigned. Abũ Hafs and his family are involved in the riot in a suburb of the Andalusian capital, they suffer the relentless punishment with which it was repressed, the executions of friends and neighbors, the loss of all their property, exile with 22,000 other families, the painful exodus through North Africa, but they managed to survive, and there their adventure begins. The outlaws of the suburb took Crete from Byzantium, and Abũ Hafs was sworn in as the first emir of the newborn dynasty. There they were able to recreate their second Córdoba and recover their customs. Abũ Hafs gave his life to that suffering people, guided them when they were aimless, minted their own currency, promoted flourishing trade, opened Crete to the world and settled the religious conflicts that plagued Byzantium. All of this seasoned with intrigue, betrayal, self-denial, love and heartbreak: the fight of an entire people for its survival.

La Estirpe del Arrabal I: Creta, El Precio del Olvido (The Arrabal Lineage II: Crete, The Price of Oblivion), by Carmen Panadero

10th century. The crown prince Abd al-Azĩz headed the embassy that arrived in Córdoba sent by his father, the emir of Crete Suhayb II, and when faced with the devastated suburb of Sequnda, from which a century before his ancestors were expelled by the emir al-Hakam I, felt the weight of History and meditated: — “I was never in Córdoba before, why do I feel then as if I had never left?”

But he decided to return to Crete and assume his responsibilities after swearing on those sacred ruins that, on the painful day in which he was to succeed his father, he would choose as his nickname al-Qurtubĩ, "the Cordoban", so that his people would always remember that the Forgetting their past would condemn them to lose Crete like one fateful day they lost Córdoba. And Byzantium lurked.

This novel, the 2nd part of La Estirpe del Arrabal, narrates the events of Abd al-Azĩz I al-Qurtubĩ, the last Andalusian Emir of Crete - his loves, his sorrows, his certain justice, his revenge - and in parallel offers us the touching love stories of his son Al-Numan with Bahã, and of his daughter Yannã with Karim al-Mundhir, the military hero that even Byzantium admired under the Hellenized name of “Karamountes”. And, furthermore, betrayals, intrigues, exploits, battles...

Carmen Panadero, author of novels such as El Collar de Aljófar, La Cruz y la Media Luna or El Halcón de Bobastro, gives us once again that alloy of history and fiction that constitutes the genuine historical novel.

Talking about the Emirate of Crete and the Byzantine Empire, there are some depictions of the battles between them in the Synopsis of Histories, work by the Byzantine historian John Skylitzes from the 11th Century, which covers history from Byzantine Emperors between the death of Nikephoros I in 811 to the deposition of Michael VI in 1057.

Then in the Sicily during the 12th Century, a illuminated manuscript version of Synopsis of Histories was produced at the Norman court of Palermo. This manuscript is called Madrid Skylitzes, because nowadays is housed in the Spanish National Library, in the web page of the Library you can see the Madrid Skylitzes digitized.

1. Byzantine attack on Crete

2. Byzantines under Krateros defeat the Cretan Saracens

3. Byzantines under Nikephoros Phokas besiege Chandax

4. Byzantines under Ooryphas ambush and defeat the Cretan Saracens

#book scans related #al andalus #emirate of cordoba #emirate of crete #bookblr #books #al andalus history #historical novel #the rabadis #rabadid dinasty #spanish history #la odisea de los rabadíes #la odisea de los rabadíes: el primer exilio hispano #the odyssey of the rabadis: the first hispanic exile #manuel harazem #the odyssey of the rabadies #carmen panadero #los andaluces fundadores del emirato de creta #the andalusian founders of the emirate of crete #la estirpe del arrabal #the arrabal lineage #córdoba en el recuerdo #creta el precio del olvido #greek history #abd al-aziz i of crete #abd al-aziz al-qurtubi #al-balluti #synopsis of histories #john skylitzes

[slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction]

tidal for the wip game please!

Yay, thank you, my love! I really love this one, though it's more of a sentence and a half-formed idea than a fic so far? I'm still figuring this one out. But it's fantasy/fairytale type thing with slightly Beauty and the Beast undertones.

The idea:

Chrissy lives in a small village that has strange stories and customs connected to a mysterious island off the coast. No boats can reach the island's shores, and countless brave (or stupid) souls have died trying, but every few years the tide shifts dramatically and the villagers can walk to it. They offer a virgin to the dark and brooding presence that's said to reside there in the hopes that their waters remain fruitful.

The snippet:

The sand was warm beneath her hand, the grains so fine they ran like water between her fingers as she dragged them along the surface – ephemeral ridges marking her trajectory only to be erased by the pull of gravity as if they never happened.

#the ask and the answer #wip game #tag games #my writing #Hellcheer

[oraclesofhealinglight]

🌟 Exploring the Depths of Solar Eclipses: Opening Gateways to Higher Consciousness 🌟

As the cosmos align in a celestial dance, we find ourselves on the brink of a profound opportunity for inner exploration and spiritual growth. While the world anticipates the spectacle of a solar eclipse, there lies a deeper invitation for those willing to journey beyond the visible and immerse themselves in the unseen realms of consciousness.Solar eclipses have long been revered as potent portals, where the veil between the material and spiritual worlds thins, offering seekers a chance to delve into the depths of their being and connect with their higher selves. It's not merely about witnessing the astronomical phenomenon but about experiencing the eclipse on a soul level.

During these sacred moments, the alignment of celestial bodies creates energetic openings, beckoning us to venture inward and explore the vast expanses of our consciousness. For those attuned to the subtle rhythms of the universe, solar eclipses serve as catalysts for profound transformation and spiritual awakening.As the sun's brilliance is momentarily obscured, we are reminded of the ephemeral nature of existence and the ever-present dance between light and shadow within our own lives. It's a time to release old patterns, shed limiting beliefs, and embrace the infinite potential that resides within us.For those who are willing to surrender to the cosmic currents, solar eclipses offer a rare opportunity to commune with the divine, to receive guidance from higher realms, and to tap into the boundless wisdom that permeates the universe.

It's a time to listen deeply to the whispers of the soul and to align with the divine flow of life.So, as we prepare to witness the dance of celestial bodies overhead, let us not only gaze upon the spectacle with wonder but also turn our gaze inward and embark on a journey of self-discovery and spiritual exploration. For in the stillness of our hearts, amidst the darkness of the eclipse, lies the radiant light of our true essence waiting to be illuminated.May we embrace this moment with reverence and gratitude, knowing that within the darkness, lies the seed of our awakening, and within the eclipse, lies the gateway to our highest potential.#SolarEclipse #SpiritualAwakening #Consciousness #InnerJourney #DivineConnection 🌑🌞✨

#solar eclipse #astro observations #astrology #spirituality

[nycorix]

Lucienne & The Throne Room

Posting another excerpt from the sandman fic I am working on! It's going to be long and Involved lmao but this scene is pretty close to the beginning - basically, the weather in the Dreaming is fucked and Lucienne has taken it upon herself to investigate why. (Lucienne, the real MVP at all times)

More of this nonsense can be found in this post ! *~*~*

It only takes her three tries to find the throne room. She allows herself a moment of satisfaction, then lets herself in, bracing almost unconsciously.

She has no idea what to expect—the Dream Lord experiences as wide a range of emotions and troubles and snits as the mortals whose unconsciousness he curates, though he is loath to admit it. And while she is a firm believer in the concept of expressing one’s emotions in a healthy way, and Dream has made leaps and bounds of progress in the time she has known him, she also knows his instinct is still to suppress the above with a vigilance bordering upon desperation. 

The trouble with this is it invariably leaks out through the cracks of his consciousness despite his best efforts, which directly affects the very fabric and nature of the Dreaming itself—which is, of course, the environment that she and Nuala and the rest of his subjects all reside in. Whatever this fog is, she is certain that it must be dealt with as early as possible.

The throne room is bitterly cold.

She can see her breath in clouds before her as she strides across the cavernous space. The chill from the fog itself has not yet left her bones, but this is worse; and she shivers, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat almost unconsciously.

She can see him, seated at the base of the throne stairs, cloak pooled around him like a shadow. His breath is cloudless.

Apart from the clime of the room, Lucienne can see nothing amiss—he is wraithlike and ephemeral in presence, alabaster-pale, bent gracefully over his work in either brooding or concentration, the fall of his dark hair hiding the deep furrow of his brow—but all of this, of course, is normal.

In his lap is a ledger, ornate and leather bound; he holds a feather quill, pinched between finger and thumb as if it may break or disappear, etching across the empty pages perfect lines of his loopy scrawl. 

So: official business, then. The dream journals of the mortals and others under his care dutifully write themselves in his absence, but very occasionally a spell will come upon him, a trance almost, nearly fitlike, and he will spend hours upon hours transcribing entries himself, usually for a specific Dreamer that has for some reason arrested his attention. 

Lucienne clears her throat to announce her presence, stepping forward. 

I did not call for a librarian, he says before she’s even halved the distance.

Lucienne, to her credit, does not break pace, though even after untold centuries of devoted service she will never fully be prepared for the weight his words command, the way they seduce and rebuff in equal measures. His voice is the rust on an old blade, the first breath of a storm, sharp ivory sheathed in the darkest velvet—but it is distant, here, his consciousness lost in the pages of some special Dreamer’s dreams, a monotone echo of habit rather than any true expression of disapproval.

“I know, my Lord,” she answers—drawing near enough to speak quietly, keeping enough distance to remain unable to read the journal. “But perhaps you may yet have use of my assistance?”

And she waits.

He makes a sound that is neither acquiescence, acknowledgement, or dissent, yet manages to somehow be all three at once. The ledger shifts in his lap, and he catches the edge with a thumb. He frowns, pen stilling. Turns a page. The shadows on his face deepen, and his shoulders slowly drop.

He looks up.

Is something the matter? He stares at her with the wide-open concern of someone just woken from sleep, stars glinting in the facets of his eyes.

She tilts her head in deference as her gaze sweeps up and down the whole of him. While nothing seems pressingly wrong, she knows better than to trust his appearance alone. “I was hoping to ask that question of you, sir,” she replies, with all the gentle respect she can muster.

He blinks. Of me. Why would you think to…

There’s a distinct confusion buried beneath his careful mask, mixed with a worry so tinged with the promise of panic that she relents and spares him the spiral of thought. He is, after all, still getting his bearings. Would be, she thinks, for some time yet—for it’s not just the present Dream work that’s preoccupying him.

“The weather, my Lord,” she explains, swallowing the start of a smile as a part of him visibly relaxes. “We were….” she pauses, delicately. “Unsure.”

Morpheus rises as she speaks, eyes falling shut as he turns his attention to the Dreaming. Between moments, in a motion so fluid it is almost indiscernible, the book and pen are folded into the lining of his cloak. Something in his expression resolves, and he exhales, long and soft, thin smoke guttering from his lips. When he opens his eyes, they are blue again. And when he opens his eyes the room warms, as if touched by the first rays of a sunrise.

Unsure, he repeats, a dry twist of amusement bringing an almost human quality to him. And of what do you require certainty, then - my condition, or my intent?

“Both, sir.” She gives honesty without hesitation; and this time, she does allow herself a smile in reflection of his own.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #fanfiction #lucienne the librarian #GODS he is FUN to write y'all. like I am essentially trying to paint a picture with words here #he's also a pathetic emo wet rat man and I cannot wait to make that even more apparent #my apologies lucienne #also: bonus points to anyone who can guess the Dreamer he's writing about here. lmao #kasey writes

[elliemarchetti]

right in the feels, where you reside

My entry for Momo's Unofficial Snapetober. I wanted to write something short, and at the same time cover all the prompts, so here we are, with the saddest drabble I could came up with.

Plot: something reminds Severus of Lily

Words: 729

With the arrival of autumn, the foliage of the Forbidden Forest was tinged in shades of yellow and orange, with a few brushstrokes of the same shade of red as Lily's hair. The harvest from Hagrid's pumpkin patch had been plentiful, and the smell of stews, breads and creams was carried through the maze of corridors all the way down to the dungeons were Severus held his lessons. Soon the tables of the Great Hall, above which the first bats already fluttered, would be filled with steaming mushroom soups, caramelized apples, and a dozen other seasonal delicacies that the ghosts roaming the castle weren’t able to savour anymore. It happened every year: once the elves started to get creative, the dead bemoaned to the tired students climbing the steep flight of stairs how much they missed a hot meal and the feeling of warm water on their skin. With their glassy gazes, they reminded everyone how lucky they were to have a family waiting for them at home, and with their perpetual whisper, they reiterated how ephemeral all the worries tormenting the minds of young wizards were in face of the eternal rest. Paradoxically, they always had the opposite effect on Severus: he had no loving parents to return to, and his worries could turn into a matter of life and death depending on the whims of that filthy murderer. The Dark Lord had always defined his plans as a quest for unlimited power, but it wasn’t necessary to know how to talk to serpents and read the future in smoky crystal balls to understand it was now just a personal revenge. If someone managed to deliver Potter in his hands, the child would be nothing more than cannon fodder, a soulless, tortured body to parade around to prevent insurrection. The fear of saying his name would no longer be just a superstition, but a way to invoke his masked followers, who like spiders left to breed uncontrolled for too long would cover the wizarding world in a web of hatred and discrimination. When Severus was Harry’s age, when he still explored the paths around Hogwarts with eyes full of wonder, those weren’t the kind of thoughts he harboured. His younger self, though hardly carefree, delighted in the invention of new spells, in perfecting potions texts, and playing guessing games with his only friend. A flash of remembrance made its way to the surface, escaping from the meanders into which he had thrust all those moments which now more than ever had a bittersweet taste.

The Gryffindors had organized a costume party, an event open only to members of their house that would take place after the Halloween dinner. Lily had been invited by her roommate, who would dress up as a scarecrow, but the beautiful redhead had declined the offer, preferring to spend her time with him. The crepuscular atmosphere gave something ethereal to her features, or perhaps it was just the aura of nostalgia for memories now distant, for moments lost forever.

“The answer is corvids,” she had said, with a satisfied smile, after a brief contemplation. “Next time you'll have to try harder, or I'll start to think you underestimate me.”

“I could never,” he replied, trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks at having her so close. “After all, you are the brightest witch of your age.”

He almost vomited hearing Sirius Black call Miss Granger that way. No one could compare to Lily, and if he loved her as much as he loved her son, he should have let that compliment die with her.

“And the answer to my riddle?” she asked, moving a lock of dark hair from his forehead. “Do you know it?”

“Amphibian,” he had replied, present only in the body, for his mind was lost in wondering what she would do if he kissed her. He had heard that many in their year had already had their first kiss, and if there was anyone he wanted to share it with, it was Lily. With hindsight, and a courage he acquired only after her tragic demise, he should’ve done it, tying her to him and averting that arrogant fool to ever come near her. It was one of his many regrets, and now he could do nothing but protect her son, and prevent her memory from being lost forever.

#momo's unofficial snapetober #severus snape #lily evans #snily #i'm no shipper #i just like the drama of the situation #team jily till i die #is there a jilytober? #asking for a friend

[harmonyverendez]

I saw the light ~ Rhian Mistral ( The Journey To Redemption ) [ Rise. / Fall SGE ]

Title: I Saw The Light / The Journey To Redemption

Pairings: No Romance, but will have mentions of couples.

Tags: Time Travel, Past-Romance, Character Death, Etc.

Warnings: Strong Language! Violence! Character Death! Blood and Gore!, Etc.

Characters: Rhian Mistral, Rafal Mistral, and others.

[ PART ONE ]

Rhian let out a snarl as he lunged at Sophie and tried to kill her, but it was too late.

He was no more.

His body begins to age rapidly and falls to the ground, turns to ashes, and blows away in the wind.

He opened his eyes to see himself in some weird place, his eyesight was blurry and he could hardly breathe. He grabbed and grasped at his throat, and a dry cough left his mouth and lungs.

Rhian struggled to make sense of his surroundings, the blurred images and unfamiliar environment disorienting him further. As his vision slowly cleared, he realized he was standing in what appeared to be a desolate wasteland. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of his raspy breaths.

His confusion turned to unease as he took in his own appearance. Rhian's reflection revealed a gaunt figure, weathered by age and exhaustion. He could hardly recognize himself, but there was no denying that he was somehow different, altered from the moment of his demise.

Cautiously, Rhian began to explore his surroundings, hoping to find some answers in this strange place. With each step he took, the ground beneath him seemed to shift, as if mocking his attempts to find stability. The sparse vegetation crumbled to dust as he brushed past it, replaced by lifeless remnants scattered in the wind.

As he ventured further, Rhian's senses heightened, picking up faint whispers on the breeze. They were barely intelligible, but their urgency fueled his determination to understand. Pushing through the mounting weakness in his body, he followed the intangible voices, desperate for comprehension.

Suddenly, he stumbled upon a gathering of apparitions. They appeared to be shadows of their former selves, their bodies resembling faint echoes of life. Their voices grew in intensity as they noticed Rhian's presence, their hollow gazes fixed upon him. With great effort, he tried to speak, but his voice came out as a mere whisper, barely audible.

As if sensing his struggle, one of the apparitions approached, its eyes reflecting a glimmer of recognition. It extended a ghostly hand towards Rhian, urging him to join their circle. Although apprehensive, he grasped the outstretched hand, and an intense surge of energy coursed through him.

His vision cleared, and his body regained strength as he absorbed the ethereal essence flowing from the apparition. The whispers around him became more coherent, revealing fragments of forgotten memories and hidden truths. Rhian realized that he was no longer confined to the mortal realm; he had entered a realm between life and death, where time held no sway.

Embracing this newfound clarity, Rhian focused on the apparitions, communicating without words, absorbing their knowledge and experiences. He discovered that they were all souls who, like him, had met their demise and now resided in this ephemeral realm.

As time continued its elusive dance, Rhian's understanding grew. He realized that this realm was a place of reflection, a space where souls were given a chance to confront their past and reconcile with their choices. Here, one could find redemption or be forever trapped in the purgatory of regret.

Rhian chose to embrace this opportunity, vowing to seek forgiveness for the darkness he had once embodied. Energized by his newfound purpose, he set forth, determined to find a way to make amends. However, he knew that this journey would not be easy, for the path to redemption was as treacherous as the one that had led him here.

Armed with the knowledge and strength borrowed from the souls he encountered, Rhian embarked on a soul-searching odyssey through the realm between life and death. This ethereal journey would test his resolve, his resilience, and his capacity for change. But Rhian was prepared to confront his past head-on, to atone for his actions, and discover the true purpose of his existence in this in-between world.

~

End Of Part 1, In the next part you'll see different and new people and scenarios.

#sge rhian #rise of the school for good and evil #fall of the school for good and evil #School for good and evil #Rhian Mistral #Rafal Mistral #Time Travel #rotsfge #fotsfge #theory #rafal the schoolmaster #rhian the schoolmaster #the school for good and evil fanfiction #My post #HarmonyVernedezPost

[urkapaw]

i FINALLY made some iterator ocs!!

meet infinite sunlight and one thousand heavenly mantras (aka ephemeral moonlight) !!!

ephemeral moonlight was made super early on, one of the very first iterators to be produced. the ancients who spearheaded their production were SUPER wealthy so their can is in a really good location with a large, stable supply of water and made very structurally sound, enough so that ephemeral moonlight has since outlived most of their local group

most, that is, except for infinite sunlight! she was the last of the local group to be constructed, and her can was a rushed construction, built extremely close to ephemeral moonlight to take advantage of said water supply. her can is in a greater state of decay than ephemeral moonlight’s, but is in good enough shape to still be functioning normally

neither iterator are still trying to solve the great problem, though for... wildly different reasons. ephemeral moonlight has grown disillusioned with the whole thing, frustrated at their cruel purpose for existing, and scornful of the ancients who were obsessed with something so extremely personal, and tried to force it on all living things. for a long time, they retreated into the dark confines of their can, cutting off contact with all of their local group until infinite sunlight began pestering them, some time after it was just the two of them

infinite sunlight, however, simply grew to love the life outside of her can. she found that all she wanted to do was help, to document, to observe. their lives were all so unique and personal, and the cycles could be cruel to them, but they fought on anyway. and when the gates to her city failed, infinite sunlight encouraged a local group of slugcats to take up residence there. now she has a good-sized population of citizens, whose lives she’s always a part of.

ephemeral moonlight and infinite sunlight are now good friends, though it took a lot of work to get there.

#rain world #rainworld #rain world oc #iterator oc #rw #my art

[wanderhart]

.*･｡ﾟ ━ ( pedro pascal / cis male / he/him ) i think i just saw DANTE SILVA on the subway .   the FORTY year old MECHANIC / MUSICIAN has been living on cornelia street for A WEEK . dante’s friends know him to be ludic , suave & laid-back , but he has a reputation on cornelia street for being impulsive , sybaritic & fickle . when i see dante , i can’t help but think of the ebb & flow of a lazy morning tide - sunlight glinting off the gentle waves , bitter coffee nursing a hangover , smoking pluming from a half - forgotten cigarette the cherry stamped out beneath a heavy boot when it's burnt too low  !   in  fact , i sometimes i think i hear ‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON when i see him walk by .

BASICS :

FULL NAME:     dante gian silva .     PRONUNCIATION:     daan · tay jh · an sil · vuh .  AGE:    forty . DATE OF BIRTH:    august 3rd .    ZODIAC: leo .   GENDER: cis gendered male .     PRONOUNS:    he/him .    ORIENTATION: biromantic bisexual .     

RESIDENCE:    cornelia street, new york . OCCUPATION:      freelance musician & mechanic .     EDUCATION:     high school drop out , ged .     LANGUAGE(S):     english , spanish . french , minimal german .

FAMILY:     father , deceased . mother , estranged . younger brother . CHILDREN:    none .     RELATIONSHIP STATUS:     single . PETS: bear - cane corso .

POSITIVES:      ludic ,   suave ,   laid-back ,   free spirited & adventurous . NEGATIVES:       impulsive ,  sybaritic ,   fickle ,     shortsighted & delphic . ENNEAGRAM:    type seven,   the enthusiast . MBTI:      ESFP,   the entertainer .

HEIGHT:   5'11 .    HAIR COLOR:   dark brown / black in certain lighting .    EYE COLOR:   brown .    TATTOOS:   soon     PIERCINGS:   stud in left ear .

WANTED CONNECTIONS:        a roommate or two , dante is Chaos personified so someone to reign him in and/or someone who feeds into his Antics would also be great . ex - fling(s) , srs relationships are ... unlikely . drinking buddies . co-workers/colleagues . more soon

HISTORY :

IT'S POSSIBLE TO FLY TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN but is it possible to be born too close to it ?

the warmth of your father's embrace , the intensity of his smile , the rumble of his laughter that can light up a room - it's infectious . like lifting your face to the sky on a hot summer's day you could bask in the glow of his presence . but it's ephemeral . . . waned by the moon's wax and just like the sun , your father is gone too soon . too young you learn the impermanence of life .

the following days aren't made any easier by your mother's sudden decision to uproot your life . something about small town charms and healing something or other , you hardly pay attention . it's the first time but it won't be the last , there's always something better waiting just over the state line , in the next town over , you hear it all over the years .

you're as infectious as your father . making friends readily wherever you go but following his premature demise and your constant upheaval relationships are shallow at best . there is one though , someone who worms his way past your sarcastic defenses who you begin to think MAYBE but it ends the way they all do and you go your separate ways .

as an adult setting down roots never came an easier , a few years in one place and you become restless so you continue to hop from state to state , happy to see new things , meet new people and if there's an ache that comes when a family crosses your path well . . . it's never hard to find a distraction .

[megumean]

Ephemeral

It's already 5, it's already 6, the time is passing, your time is passing. But it's not only your time… It's everything's time. The universe will turn to darkness one day, and there won't be anything left to admire, to observe. One day, your parents will pass away, and so will you.

So, what's the point of anything at all?

One day the Sun will explode, leaving humanity, and the rests of what we have here… Obsolete. Destroyed. Not even the rests will be even found. Not the cringy song you made for your first girlfriend, not your first kiss, not even the day you graduated. Nothing will be left, and nobody will remember it.

What's the point, then? A bittersweet reality is that everything is ephemeral; something that lasts for a very short time. But what is a short time? Is it your teenage years? Is it your entire life? Your entire bloodline's life? The heat death of the universe, followed by complete darkness? It is really something interesting to think about, but at first, useless. Foolish? Maybe. Why do you do things, why do you crave love, why do you wake up…?

If everything's going to end up the same way? Personally, I think that's the beautiful thing. Your first kiss will be gone, right after you have it, but it will live forever in your memory. Those feelings will always reside somewhere. The thought of everything being pointless is called Nihilism. It has been explored by countless philosophers across the centuries. Nothing you will ever do will remain, and that's true, even if it's a hard pill to swallow. But… I think that's the point. Searching all your life for that person that makes you feel special, that makes you feel… Endless. That feeling that pushes you over the boundaries of the infinite, making you feel bigger than the universe, and at the same time, completely insignificant. I'm nothing at the sight of a pretty flower, or a band playing their songs. For me, it's bigger than anything I could imagine. At the end, we're all smaller than atoms, and at the same time, bigger than the Universe.

— Megumi Iwakura, 20/12/2022

#thoughts #nihilism #ephemeral #universe

[peratzatha]

smol poetry e-book out!

click/ buy here for 1 dolla to get brain damage hehe

“the absence of mortality in our soul, paired with the ephemerality of the heart that beats, begs us to be, in some way- remembered.

lifetimes that collide with each other, and the chaos they bring, reverberate the same way it did for you years ago.

how do we make sense of this immortal pandemonium?

perhaps it is in the stillness of the night and in unspoken words, our chaos finds meaning.”

I was and am piled with real life b.s and am consistently burnt out. To get out, I recently undertook a writing challenge recommended to me by a penpal, and as a result, I am elated to share with you my creative exercise as a teeny tiny ebook! 

these are 21 pieces of poetry I’ve crafted over the year and you may notice some of my older works reworked in this edition too :D. W

hile I do wish to publish a full length poetry book and a greek mythology inspired novel soon (wow so original) (the people in my head are begging to be let out ahaha), I’m swamped with my prior commitments, until then, witness my Dark and Twisted Mind going through 21 dedicated existential crisis’!!!! 

Also, belated happy birthday to me.

In all seriousness, I hope you enjoy plunging into a world where the cosmos never stop showering their stories into the ears of a traveller (who may or may not be a character from project #27, what is project 27? Oh. You will know soon. ;) ).

 a piece of my soul resides in each work, and I so desperately wish for you to read them with the same love you showered while reading my blog posts. I am nothing without your support y’all. 

Please go through my work and let me know how you feel about it, share it with your friends and any poetry lovers out there, or throw it in a blender and drown it in mud water on a YouTube video, I’m down for anything- and if you tag me, I might just combust from happiness. Your feedback keeps me going.

Our words are the legacy we etch momentarily in the earth as old as the first song of dawn. No matter how big or small, it is a reminder that we were here, we lived, and we lived. Nobody can take that away from us. 

I present to you, cosmic downpour. 

looky at the cover!!!

#poetry #poetry book #self publish #prose #spilled ink #its 1 dolla for 800 words of brain damage fair deal if u ask me eheh