#and the fact its so easy is what makes it so alluring to people. they dont want to put up with the burden of actually having to LEARN

[snekdood]

its too easy to become a conservative bc all it takes is to shut off your brain, which is why you shouldn't become one

#its too easy to turn it off and look away from all the worlds problems and act like anyones problems is their own fault #its too easy to reduce the worlds problems into 'people who actually try to make money and people who dont try enough' #its too easy to reduce everything into simple phrases rather than actually using critical thinking and nuance to understand better #and the fact its so easy is what makes it so alluring to people. they dont want to put up with the burden of actually having to LEARN #anything. no. that requires emotional energy. which is something you CAN run out of. but to me its something worth running out of #sure you shouldn't just. take on all the worlds problems on your shoulders- thats a one way ticket to burn out. #but i feel like if i havent been emotionally burdened in a long time- it means im not paying attention. #dont be that guy. life is not better when you have 0 problems. you cant push down your guilt of not helping others forever. #the only way life is better when you have no problems is that you have more time to help others with their problems. #mood

[faebaex]

Hi? It's my first requests, so if you don't mind could you please do GN!MC stingrays × octavinelle?

(I'm sorry if i have grammatical mistake)

Have a great day Author-nim ♡

Octavinelle with a Stringray Reader

author note: hiii welcome! i feel like it is going to become my mission to turn every imaginable sea creature into a reader (✯◡✯) i'm up for the challenge! this was really fun to write! also, accidental sugar daddy Azul? Accidental sugar daddy Azul <(￣︶￣)>

characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech x GN!Stringray Reader

background:

You are a stringray mer, specifically of Bluespotted Ribbontail species. You are considered quite attractive, and your small stature and timid nature only add to your allure. Despite having quite potent venom, your spinal blade does not carry over to your human form.

Azul Ashengrotto

Oh you poor, sweet summer child.

The first time Azul laid eyes on you, people swear they could see thaumark signs in his eyes.

It was like someone has personally delivered prey to him.

But he was doing you a favour, you know?

With your timid and tender nature, it was only a matter of time before one of the many rogues at this school took advantage of you.

But luckily for you, he can offer you protection. Just sign here and... Perfect. That was easy, wasn't it?

And that is how you began working as a server at the Mostro Lounge, in exchange for Azul's 'protection'.

You quickly became the most popular server at the Lounge, your attractive appearance and nervous, stuttery service becoming a hit with the clientele. Poor little thing, you tug just right on their heartstrings.

Azul was surprised. Whilst he was expecting you to have some popularity (exactly the reason he preyed on you in the first place), he wasn't expecting you to blow up like this.

But he isn't complaining! Celebrating, in fact. Sales have never been better, and seasonal specials have been selling out faster than normal since you joined his staff.

Anyone who goes in the VIP room after hours will see a huge grin on Azul's face as he pours over the business ledgers.

Its because of this that Azul starts to spoil you.

It starts small at first, an extra 15 minute break here and there, a side you hadn't asked for slipped on to your employee meal.

Soon enough, you are granted exclusive access to the VIP room, a perk that was only afforded to the twins up until now.

Oh and what a coincidence, you'll find a study guide for that class you are struggling with on the VIP room table as you take your break. It must have been left out after a client meeting... No harm in you thumbing through it whilst you take your break, Azul would coo.

Azul tries to be discreet, especially once the twins cotton on to your special treatment, with Jade flashing a sharp toothed eerie grin and Floyd complaining that he too wants free study guides.

Azul could justify it, of course, with that you are their best server, in order to maximise the hours you could work, he needed to ensure no other aspect of your life got in the way.

He was definitely justifying it more to himself than he was the twins.

So come, dear. Let him show you your new special uniform for the lunar new year seasonal service...

Jade Leech

You make work so much more fun for him.

Watching you quiver and almost drop a glass when he creeps up behind you and places a hand on your shoulder is just precious.

"Oya, oya. Those glasses are quite delicate. Do be careful."

However, despite the fact that he slyly bullies you for fun, he is a very good manager.

He will always ensure you take your break on time, and that your employee meal is ordered far enough in advance that it is ready for you as soon as you sit down on your break.

And should any particularly rowdy clientele decide to bother you...

Then he will ensure they are dealt with <3

It is his favourite part of the night, after all. How he adores it when you hide behind him.

Jade ropes you into his sneaky work agendas too.

For example, he'll coach you into pushing the mushroom dishes to customers so that he can stop Azul from taking them off the menu.

Probably the least sinister smiles you've received from him are when he beams at you when you deliver a bunch of mushroom dish orders to the kitchen.

Jade will stand with the most innocent smile as Azul looks on in confusion through the order ledger and the sudden influx of mushroom cuisine orders, with you hidden behind Jade.

Azul: "Why are they tucked behind you like that?"

Jade: "They're tired. :) "

Considering the nature of your 'deal' with Azul, Jade's protection of you extends outside of the Lounge into your school life.

But that doesn't mean it is convenient, even if it is effective.

He terrifies you just as much as the people around you, after all.

However it has its perks.

The lunch line is infinitely easier when you have a 190cm eel ensuring that you don't get caught in the lunch crush.

He likes to tell you over lunch how his favourite food is octopus when Azul is sitting right there.

He'll then remark, with the most unassuming of smiles, how he hasn't tried stingray yet.

Funnily enough, you don't feel so hungry anymore.

Floyd Leech

Oh dear.

This man terrorises you.

You're just so cute to him! Especially when you tremble and tear up when he spooks you.

He just wants to tuck you under his arm and keep you <3

Floyd is constantly on your heels when you are working. Whether he is spooking you or draping himself over you, he's always somehow impeding your work.

Azul is constantly scolding Floyd and tries his best to keep you separated, so that Floyd's behaviour does not bother you. Or effect profits.

Jade just looks on in amusement.

Despite the above, your relationship with Floyd isn't all bad.

You and Floyd take your breaks together, simply because he stops working when you do and throws himself over your lap when you sit down to rest.

He's fairly calmer then, passing the time by showing you pictures of clothes he is thinking of buying and asking your opinion on them.

You caused a few mood swings at first when you didn't give a good enough response, but after awhile you got comfortable enough to give him your honest opinion. That makes him happy!

He also shows you his basketball videos, even if most of them are just Ace getting taken out by one of his basketball throws.

He's definitely roped you in to going to practice with him one time. He thinks it would be funny watching you struggle to make the hoop.

Floyd is also the cause of one of your most terrifying incidents at NRC.

On one of your rare days off, you were taking a swim in the Octavinelle pool to relax and reacquaint yourself with the water, and Floyd snuck up on you and scared you.

And well...

You almost skewered him with your spinal blade.

You narrowly missed stabbing him right in the stomach. Even Floyd was shocked but the suddenness of it.

... Until the giddiest grin spread across his face and he started cackling.

You, on the other hand, started bawling your eyes out.

Floyd ended up carrying you to the Lounge because you wouldn't stop crying.

He sat you on a barstool whilst Jade prepared you a drink and Floyd went into the kitchen to steal you some ice cream.

Floyd then gushed to Jade about how cool you were when you almost stabbed him with your tail blade and how sharp it looked.

He looks freakishly delighted when he remarks that maybe next time you'll actually get him.

If you did, he'd probably wear it as a badge of honour and show it off to everyone shamelessly.

Meanwhile, Azul comes to check what all the noise is and pretends to be upset that the twins are giving out free refreshment, like he doesn't do that himself.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #twst jade #jade leech #twst floyd #floyd leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #octavinelle #azul ashengrotto x y/n #jade leech x y/n #floyd leech x y/n

[lil-binuu]

That Day

Elias fanfic // part 1

part 2.1 is out and is here

it FINALLY done 🥹

HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!

before you read, please keep in mind that i’m pretty new to writing so excuse me if it’s absolutely shit ☺️

{spoiler? there is a gun so tw}

~ 1788 words

“Come on, Yn.” Elias encouraged as you dragged your feet down the hallway towards the meeting room.

With no attempt to cover your sigh, you looked forward and met his dark hazel eyes. There was something in that look. Like some kind of desperation, but he looked away too quickly for you to see properly.

You could tell he was trying to make the best of the situation by his soft shoulder nudge and the smile that flashed only temporarily, enough for you to know this show of contentment was forced.

From the moment you both were summoned to this meeting, Elias’ nerves had been jumping somersaults in his stomach. He had known deep down that this was coming, that his fate was only getting closer but he entirely underestimated the gut wrenching anxiety that was now flooding his veins.

The nightmare of being a leader has played viciously on his mind since he was recruited to the Wraiths, and every time he somehow managed to convince himself that a nightmare was all it was. But now he stood before the dark oak doors of the conference room, with every muscle in his body striving to pull away. Fighting back wasn’t easy, sometimes he just wanted to give up and turn away but he knew there were people relying on him. His father, for example. He tried to remember why he joined the Wraiths in the first place, but his doubts crumbled when his focus drifted towards you, his beloved rosy cheeked barista, standing next to him. The heart banging thunderously in his chest slowed to a mere flutter as he lost himself in every curve and corner of your deeply alluring eyes.

You grounded him. Allowed him to take a moment, to just stop and breathe. He closed his eyes swiftly from the overwhelming sense of appreciation and compassion for you. He opened them to feel the heavy cloud that blocked his mind lessening its weight. He found the strength to lift his wrist and turn the cold metal doorknob.

Elias despised the position he put you in. He hated how he pulled you into this corrupt and dangerous world and desperately wanted to protect you with his life. And now you were not only a victim of the arson attack and having your life ripped apart, but also of the judgement and criticism of the executives. It was obvious that you didn’t deserve this, to Elias it didn’t make sense for you to be criminalised like you had been. But he understood what the gang meant to the city, how important it was for peace for the citizens. He knew the stakes and the damage that would be a consequence of the gangs' ceased existence or if something were to happen to stop them from doing their job. So he knew what it meant to the execs and other wraiths that no insider would ever break in and what lengths they would go to in order to eliminate any treacherous spies. Honestly, Elias couldn’t blame them for being cautious but he’d seen how they became so defensive and ready to point an accusation at someone if there was even the slightest doubt or suspicion.

You knew that Elias was feeling nervous about this meeting, in fact, more than nervous. You had seen him worry about these meetings before, but the stress you saw him in right now was on a whole other level. Seeing Elias like this made every step you took feel unstable. For all you knew the meeting wouldn’t be any different to one both of you had endured before, but Elias was acting differently and wouldn’t tell you what it was, which was unlike him. You wanted to comfort him but honestly didn’t know what to say. He had always been so strong and in control, but now he stood in front of the door with worry and uncertainty in his eyes. Nevertheless, he was one to keep moving forward and he did.

As the door opened from Elias’ steady push, an array of raised voices escaped the room. Looking around, you began to recognise people whether it be an executive from the first meeting or from seeing them at the Brewhouse multiple times but either way these people were strangers. Behind the overlay of strident voices, sat the warden. His eyes changed focus from the wraiths in front of him to the door where the two of you stood. Without saying anything, the Warden held up a hand and the group of members stopped their heated discussion. Heads followed his eyes and turned towards the door. There were a couple morbid seconds of eye contact accompanied by uncomfortable silence. Disturbing the quiet, a man who you recognised as Elliot spoke up.

“Look who finally showed up”

His thick voice filled the room, followed by a soft ripple of laughs.

“Take a seat everyone.” The warden’s voice commanded.

The groups of people parted ways and each took seats around a few tables in the room. The cleared crowd made it easier to see how large the room was. Elias swallowed hard as a hot rush of blood flooded his head. His feet felt stuck as if they were drowning in toffee.

Directing his attention, “You two, sit.” The warden gestured to chairs at the main table.

Elliot interrupted, “What about them? Don’t you think it’s a little unwise to let them into this?” nodding his head slightly at you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor. You shifted under the discomfiture of many lingering eyes upon you. The comment itself didn’t bother you, only the outright rudeness of it. You didn’t want to be dragged into this and just about everyone you met had threatened or accused you of something, before even knowing your name. You never particularly cared what others thought of you, but it was difficult to ignore when everyone around you treated you like a liar.

The warden raised his eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well I’m just saying, there’s a chance they use the information in this meeting against us.” Elliot explained.

Mumbles ran around the room. Another person spoke up, “He’s got a point, Warden. We don’t know if we can trust them.” The crowd murmured in agreement, but Elias’s voice sliced through the noise.

“They’re not hurting anybody by being here, and whether you trust them or not they wouldn’t do that.”

His eyes fell onto the Warden. For once would he let him get his way? His father wasn’t always harsh on him; Elias would sometimes think back to the dad jokes and the love for his mother that made him cringe, but that he strangely admired. Everything changed after she died. Their house that was once filled with love and joy and laughter was replaced by a gaping hole. It ate away at both of them, especially his father. He became absorbed by gangs and work and that left Elias often feeling disregarded. As a teen, he grew desperate for his father’s attention by acting out, but even then he put his work first. All Elias wanted was for his father to see him for who he was and just be proud. He was sick of never being seen as his own person, only as the warden’s son. And yet here he stood, pleading for his father’s pity before being stripped of his own identity and dreams to fit the standards of others.

The room’s focus turned back to you as the warden growled “They can wait outside”

Elias was ready to lash out but instead held his tongue clenched his jaw in frustration. There were people watching, and they already despised him, so he couldn’t give them any more reasons to. His eyes turned to catch yours and locked together. He refused to look away until the door shut between you.

Closing the door, you took a step back. A sudden quiet filled the hallway, a change to the roaring of the conference room. Elias really had just stepped into the lion's den. You felt a sense of relief, but it was replaced quickly by a heaviness in your chest. What would happen to Elias? What information would be so important that you couldn’t know? Sighing, you leant against the wall next to the door.

What about you was so difficult to trust? You could understand people being suspicious of you but wasn’t it obvious by now that you didn’t do anything wrong?

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the looks you got from people as they walked past. After the crowd, the building fell quiet again, excluding the occasional raised voice muffled through the wall you were leaning against. You wondered what was happening there, what Elias was so nervous about and why he didn’t tell you. Did he not trust you?

Tripping suddenly before you, a man dropped a parcel at your feet. Turning your focus to the wrapped package, you bent down to pick it up for the man.

Handing the parcel back, you were met with a gun pointing at you held behind the man’s open jacket. Shocked, you looked up to see his serious face and eyes staring sharply back at you. With a low voice, he threatened to keep quiet and do as he said. The man looked over his shoulder before grabbing you. You tried to resist by moving slightly out of his way but the man seized your arm. Before you could even react, the man thrust the gun to your skin, reminding you not to speak. Pulling you closer to him, he lead you down the hall, each shaky step of yours forced by the pushing from him behind you. With a heart banging like drums in your ears, you tried to stay calm and think.

Who was he? Where was he taking you?

Your stomach turned as you saw him leading you towards an unauthorised exit. In your mind, you begged for someone to come around the corner and stop him. If you wanted to scream, no sound would come out.

You tried to move your arm from the man’s iron grip, only for the grip to tighten and the cold metal tip of the gun to dig deeper into your skin, causing you to flinch slightly.

The closer you got to the exit the more you realised nobody was going to save you. You wracked your brain desperately, trying to think of a solution. Is this man alone? What does he want with me? He must know who I am, but who is he? If he was affiliated with rival gangs, how did he even get into the building without being recognised?

thanks for reading till the end! it would mean a lot if you could tell me your fav/least fav parts or the best/worst parts so i can improve, but not forcing <3

#elias x reader #sakuverse #zsakuva #writing

[sailoryooons]

Carmen | pjm x kth (m)

☾ Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x Human!Taehyung

☾ Summary: Taehyung gets lured to an exclusive club by a strange, enchanting woman. What finds him there is much more intoxicating and dangerous. 

☾ Word Count: 10,277

☾ Genre: Supernatural, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Hypnotized/compelled decisions and thoughts, implied manipulation, Taehyung is influenced a lot by the natural power/allure of vampires and it scatters his thoughts/makes him do things he normally wouldn’t, depictions of blood, intimidation, The Vibes Are Off, light depictions of anxiety, vampires showing off humans like pets sort of, biting/marking/bruising, explicit language, explicit sexual content, not using lube, spit play/using spit as lube, light degradation, blood play/drinking, rough sex, overstimulation, oral (m. receiving), hand jobs, ass play, a lot of feelings and sensations, mentions of fear during sex, references to subspace, feeling overwhelmed during sex, crying, power dynamics but not explicitly dom/sub, blood lust, feeding frenzy, feelings of terror, Jimin calls Taehyung ‘Carmen’ sometimes - it makes sense in context, Taehyung is lured to the vampire den, implied obsessive themes (no stalking or anything), hair pulling, voyeurism, scenes of carnage and like a feed frenzy, terror at the end of fucking, idk its a vampire coven and Taehyung realizes whats happening at the very end so. 

☾ Published: October 27, 2023

☾ A/N: Happy Halloween to my baby bat @gimmethatagustd. I love you eternally, and I hope that we live a long and immortal life together. Please accept this as my love for you and I hope I am actually with you when this drops so that you can start screaming at me for hiding the fact that this fic was for you the entire time sofidjfogidjf. Also, Happy Early Birthday. I love you so much it’s actually disgusting and I need to be institutionalized. LARGELY UNEDITED SORRY. 

☾ A/N 2: If mem x mem isn't your thing - literally just don't read it. It is that easy. This is not me being a shipper - it is fiction and I do not believe in shipping people in a real-life setting. Thanks.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Tag List | Song Inspiration | BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween Collab

The boys, the girls They all like Carmen -Carmen, Lana Del Ray

Taehyung knows the woman at the back of the lounge wants to take him home before his first song is over. He’s become better at picking them out early. Of course, most of the men and women want to take Taehyung home, especially when starts singing the slower, romantic ballads. He can see the way they sigh, melting in their seats a little, eyes wide and mouth open. 

It’s hard to pinpoint what makes his eyes keep straying back to her. She is beautiful, to be sure, but something is pressing in Taehyung’s mind as he starts his set, drawing his eyes back to her. Like an invisible hand guiding him each time, reminding him that she is there and watching. 

She stares at him with a pinpoint focus, her dark eyes tracking Taehyung on the stage as he walks slowly, mic in hand and singing the notes softly. His eyes keep drifting back to her, trying to make out her features. All he can garner is that her eyes are alluring and even from a distance, she emanates something. Huger. Power.

It makes his stomach flip. Taehyung likes those who want him, but he loves those who crave him. Usually, it’s the men who are hungry enough for Taehyung to chase him. To go after what they want. To whisper pretty compliments until Taehyung is so lavished in attention that he goes home with them. 

The woman at the back of the room looks like she can charm him - will charm him. It makes his lips turn upward as he croons softly into the mic, feeling the music of the band behind him swell, jazzy notes drifting. 

He loves this. His mother told him that he was born to sing. Her little songbird. His mother is dead now, but he lives on through each velvet note, warm voice pouring over the patrons who watch him with dazed expressions. 

Taehyung feels powerful this way. He could lead them all around the room, he’s sure of it. He could get them up, one by one, and lead them straight into destruction. He’s sure of it. 

Except for that woman at the back of the room, whose presence scrambles Taehyung’s thoughts. He finds it hard to perform, her presence like a weighted stone on his thoughts at all times. He nearly messes up the words to a few songs he is so enchanted. 

Still, he does well. La Vie is one of Taehyung’s favorite places to perform. The clientele is high-end, the staff likes to give him free food and drink along with a decent amount of cash for his performances, and he’s growing a steady income here. 

The only problem with La Vie is that its clientele are often repeat customers, and Taehyung has grown weary of seeing the same faces he’s taken to bed already. The faces who think they own him now, who think that just because they’ve had a taste, they can have a fit whenever his eyes stray in another direction.

And his eyes do stray. 

In the middle of his set, Taehyung takes a cool sip of water while the band plays a fast tune. He nods his head, feeling the rhythm and snapping his fingers. The stage lights are low but he feels the heat through his long-sleeved shirt and slacks, sweat dripping down the back of his neck slowly like a phantom finger. 

From the corner of his eye, Taehyung can see Constantine staring. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but he feels the sudden flash of irritation, the urge to curl his lip in annoyance. Constantine is the exact problem that Taheyung has with La Vie, except that he’s the one who got Taehyung the gig - and the manager. 

Taehyung’s throat tightens as he walks back to the stage to finish the last half of the set. The last of the songs are slower, dreamy romantic songs meant to soften the crowd before they dismiss from the lounge for the evening. The sooner he ends the show, the sooner he’ll have to field Constantine’s seeking questions and fawning. 

It presents a problem if Taehyung wants to talk to the woman at the back of the room. 

He decides not to think about it too much. Instead, he closes his eyes and sings his way through the rest of the song, voice carrying old jazz classics and his own written music. Some people would call his smooth voice haunting. Others call it hypnotizing. Taehyung doesn’t know where he stands on the subject, and he doesn’t care so much. He just likes to sing and he likes people who watch him sing. Who listen. 

There are those who come to his performances at high-end restaurants and lounges to watch him, and those who come to hear him. He prefers those who like to hear him, but any will do at the end of the night when he wants to roll around satin sheets and drink rich wine that he doesn’t have the pallet for. 

When he sings the final note of the night, it hangs in the air. This is one of Taehyung’s favorite moments of each night. It’s the last breath before his spell is broken, a moment frozen in time where all eyes are on him, the crowd so entranced that it takes a long pause for them to realize he’s finished.

The brief silence is chased with thunderous applause and people standing. He grins, feeling his chest swell with pride, blood sizzling in his veins as he bows low at the waist. He’s one of the few artists who can get this stiff, rich crowd to stand and cheer, and he knows it. 

He steps to the side and gestures to his band, the applause continuing as they each stand and bow. Though most people might feel tired after a performance, Taehyung is buzzing. He feels the adrenaline pumping through him, and after he steps down from the stage and polishes off ice-cold water, he immediately wants something harder to keep the buzz going. 

Drinks wait for him on the bar top. It’s crowded at La Vie but people make room for him at the bar. An original speakeasy from the prohibition era, it’s low-ceiling and dimly lit, offering a romantic and mysterious air hanging in the room. Taehyung places a folded wad of bills into a glass tip jar, saluting Yoongi behind the bar. The bartender nods, gracious for the tip and a confirmation that the glasses of neat are on the house. 

Taehyung knocks back the first glass. The whiskey burns down his throat. He hisses as it goes, feeling the sting in his nasal passage. He blows out a slow breath and grins to himself, pausing before he sips the next drink to shake hands with a string of patrons complimenting him. 

None of them catch his eye the way the woman at the back of the room has, though. Taehyung sees lingering looks from husbands and wives and smirks at a group of giggling women who are shy and blushing and biting their lips as they compliment him, and he feels a slight spike of irritation when Constantine takes the stool next to him.

Instead of speaking to him, Taehyung focuses on sipping the drink. It’s smooth and perfect, with a hint of orange rind that Yoongi probably burned and waved around the glass. Taehyung looks up to see the bartender cast Constantine a pitying glance before making another drink. 

“You sang well tonight,” Constantine prods. “You have such a way with the crowd.”

“Well, I supposed that’s my job.” Taehyung’s comment comes out flat. He glances at Constantine from the corner of his eye to see that he’s frowning. 

Taehyung is full of mistakes, but letting the manager of La Vie fuck him is by far one of his biggest. He usually has a rule that he doesn’t fuck the people who can interfere with his work, but he made an exception. 

Constantine is beautiful, but a bit of a fool. He inherited La Vie from a long line of family members who have kept it running, and it’s through long-term patronage and reputation alone that it’s lasted this long. Well, that and his two only successful ventures in hiring Yoongi as his main bartender who doubles as his piano player on weeknights, and Taehyung as the late-night performances most evenings. 

People don’t come to La Vie because it’s well-kept or because of Constantine’s good business acumen. They come because they want to hear Yoongi play and then watch him behind a bar all night, sweat running down his neck, dark eyes always filled with a potential promise of more. They don’t get it, of course. Yoongi doesn’t sleep around as Taehyung does, but still, the bartender and pianist is loved and lusted after by most of the patrons. 

Then there’s Taehyung. The warm opposite of Yoongi’s distant, unattainable beauty. Taehyung is full of life, accepting praise greedily, willing to flirt his way through free drinks and extra tips, especially if it lands him in the bed of someone he has been eyeing all night.

Until he broke his rule for Constantine. Pretty Constantine, who said that he was on the same page and that sleeping with Taehyung would be a casual thing. Perhaps it’s Taehyung’s fault for not seeing how mystified the lounge manager was after that first night tangled in sweaty sheets followed by a hot shower the next morning. 

Now, he’s between a rock in a hard place. Offend Constantine and risk being ousted. Keep letting him take Taehyung to bed, and he’ll never escape. 

“Your eyes are beautiful tonight,” Constantine murmurs, dipping his head to catch Taehyung’s attention. “I’d bet they’d look even better rolling in-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” a dark, feminine voice cuts in. “But I couldn’t resist introducing myself.”

The hair stands up on the back of Taehyung’s neck. He knows it’s the woman who watched him from the back of the room before he even turns around. When he does, he is mystified. Her eyes are lined heavily in kohl and her eyes are dark as a storm sea, pinning him to his place with their intensity. Her skin is umber and smooth, her face so flawless it leaves Taehyung reeling.

There is something uncanny about her. Taehyung can’t put his finger on it. Her eyes are narrow and sharp, her lips plump and breaking into a slow, knowing smile. She looks like the cat who ate the canary, tilting her head to the side as she continues to examine Taehyung with a feline-like gaze. 

“My name is Evangeline.” She reaches out a small, smooth hand. Her nails are filed into a point and painted a wine red. For a moment, Taehyung has the silliest thought that they look like the color of blood as he shakes her hand. He’s surprised at how cold they are, his palms tingling when she lets go. “I have not heard someone sing Ella Fitzgerald like that since… well, perhaps Ella Fitzgerald.”

Taehyung cocks his head to the side, a little confused. “Do you have Ella hidden somewhere that you can listen to her sing whenever you desire?”

“Would that I could. But that’s what… oh what is that spot app, again?”

“Spotify?”

Evangeline grins, revealing wicked, blindingly white teeth. “Spotify, yes. That little intricacy does quite a good job at catching the sound of old artists, but there is nothing like it live.”

Evangeline’s voice is like velvet. Even Constantine goes silent next to Taehyung, staring up at the woman as she slides next to Taehyung. She leans against the bar close enough that he gets the barest hint of scent like jasmine and amber. 

A shiver slides through him as she sips a glass of the darkest wine Taehyung’s ever seen. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth when he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I know most of the patrons by heart.”

“You wouldn’t have. I have not been to La Vie in a long time.” 

Taehyung realizes that she speaks with a specific articulation that hints at an accent. He can’t place it, but it’s like the sweetest music to his ears. “You’ll have to come more often, perhaps.”

“That eager to see me again?”

“I like to pride myself on repeat customers coming to hear me. It would be a shame to know you didn’t find my performance compelling enough to see another.”

“Hmm. Pride isn’t very becoming.”

Taehyung bites his lower lip, trying to hide the smile. “Spoken like a woman who can relate.” 

Evangeline is quick-witted. The rest of the world seems to fade as Taehyung talks to her. It’s strange - he cannot remember what the conversation is about, and he can’t remember Constantine leaving. He doesn’t even recall the patrons leaving the bar until it’s just Yoongi wiping down the counters, eyeing Taehyung wearily as he says goodbye, following the woman out of the door.

Blood rushes through Taehyung’s veins. It’s cold outside, winter fogging his breath. His skin tingles with the sudden temperature change, muted by the soft glow of alcohol in his system. He looks up at the sky, hot breath fogging as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs with that sharp air. 

Something about being drunk in the middle of the night during winter is magical. He can’t explain it, feeling himself smile as he drops his gaze back down to the woman next to him. For a second, he swears her face is sharper than he remembers, a look so hungry in his eyes that it makes his pulse skip.

When he blinks, she’s smirking at him, tilting her head. Taehyung realizes he is drunk, but he craves Evangeline. Wants to hear the way that dark voice of her pants against him, wants to feel her sharp nails on his skin, raking down-

“Have you ever been to the opera house on ninth?”

Taehyung pauses at her question. He feels his brows furrow as his drunk thoughts turn from thoughts of kissing Evangeline to puzzling out her question. “That exclusive club that was made out of the old opera house? What’s it called again…”

“Sanguine.”

He snaps his fingers and points at her. “Sanguine. No, I haven’t. It’s by invitation only and it’s the most exclusive club in the city. I hear it’s open all hours, though.”

“It is.”

“Wait, are you a member?” 

Evangeline sticks her hand out. Taehyung meets her gaze and it feels like he falls forward into it. All thoughts fade from his mind. There is no sound, save that of a high-pitched ringing. Everything but the glowing, otherworldly woman has faded to the back. He only sees her. 

Taehyung lifts his hand, but he doesn’t remember thinking about doing it. He places it in hers, and she laces their fingers. Her hands are bitterly cold, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t either, skin tingling, gaze heavy on her as she tugs him along.

“Want to see it?”

He can’t form words. Suddenly feels like he can’t remember how. He nods his head instead, following her. His first few steps feel heavy and he stumbles like he has had far more to drink than he remembers. Normally, it might be cause for alarm, but Taehyung is unbothered as they walk, Evangeline’s eyes pulling him along as she walks backward. 

The world passes by but Taehyung doesn’t remember it. He is somewhat aware that his cheeks and nose are sticking with cold and that his eyes are watering from the temperature. He tilts his head upward, a little dazed and confused about where he is until he sees the golden glow of the opera house.

Sanguine. It is a massive building of white stone and ornate pillars. The architecture confuses him, a blend of Greco-Roman pillars and gargoyles he’d expect to find in a gothic church. The building is a wonderous feat of dark windows, ornate carvings in the stonework, and height. 

“The gargoyles are a bit terrifying,” Taehyung announces, staring at them fixated on top of the portico over the entryway. “Why the gargoyles?” 

“Some lessons are hard to learn.” 

Suddenly, Taehyung can’t take his eyes off of them. The two snarling beasts seem to be a bad omen and he finds himself frozen to the spot, forgetting all about the woman next to him or the invitation to see the exclusive inside of the most prestigious clubs in the city. All he knows is that suddenly, a feeling like doom has tiptoed up his back to rest on his shoulder. 

Taehyung takes a step back. The gargoyles look so much more like people when he stares at them. Twisted humanoids, crouched while screaming at the sky, showing fangs. His heart beats so hard that he feels his pulse in his throat, panic welling up inside of him, ready to spill out and overflow.

“I’m drunk,” he blurts. “I should go home. I-”

Evangeline’s cold hands grab Taehyung’s face and pull him down to her. Her lips are pressed against his and he doesn’t remember what he was worried about. His heart speeds up for different reasons now, eyes fluttering shut as he melts into her kiss, his hands going to her hips to pull her in closer. 

She tastes like dark wine and something else - a bit like iron and salt. The kiss is slow and dizzying and when she pulls away, Taehyung is eager to follow her into the dark halls of the opera house.

The lobby is dark inside. No light comes through the windows, leaving Taehyung in a complete abyss as Evangeline shuts and bolts the door behind him. A tingle slithers up Taehyung’s spine when she bolts the door and he suddenly feels like he’s never going to leave the opera house again. 

A soft din of voices and music trails to him from the doors leading to the main theater. Evangeline takes his hand and leads up toward the door. He still feels dizzy from the kiss, willing to follow her wherever she goes. 

For now, that’s the main seating area of the theater. She pulls open the heavy door, the rush of gentle voices and piano hitting him. Leading him through the door, Taehyung blinks as his eyes adjust from complete darkness to low light. It’s so dim that it takes him a moment to make out anything at all, eyes drifting up toward a massive chandelier with flickering, gold bulbs. 

The inside of the theater is like nothing Taehyung has ever seen. It has been transformed into a massive lounge with a wooden bar on the far right, manned by two bartenders. Velvet couches, chaise lounges and chairs are placed around the main floor, groups of people dressed in formal wear and dripping with jewels draping themselves over the furniture. 

Everything screams opulence. The interior still has the same baroque, elegant beauty that seems like the original design, mixed with the new additions like the bar and furniture. On the stage is a piano, a young woman playing with her eyes closed, and a cluster of people around her, gazing at her with what Taehyung can only describe as hunger. 

Evangeline leads him into the room. He feels the eyes on them as they go, glancing around nervously to realize that there is an odd mix of people in the room. There are those dressed formally in draping gowns and tuxedos, all of whom are unnaturally beautiful. Taehyung finds that his brain buzzes when he looks at them, each individual otherworldly and… cold. 

The other groups of people look like Taehyung. Starry-eyed and dressed in varying degrees of plain clothes. He wonders if they are guests as well, people brought into the fold by elegant patrons like Evangeline. 

Trepidation settles deep in Taehyung’s gut as Evangeline takes him to the bar and orders him a drink. He is tired, eyes heavy and worn at the edges. The momentary surge of adrenaline after she kissed him is wearing off, and Taehyung feels the layer of dizziness slipping off, replaced by anxiety. 

In an attempt to take the edge off, he sips his drink. Evangeline begins introducing him to groups of people, linking her arms with his and pulling him around the room. Taehyung gives her friends a dazzling smile, though he is overwhelmed by the dark eyes that meet his. The cold handshakes. The almost predatory way that the others smile at him. 

He cannot pinpoint what about the crowd is making him nervous, but as Evangeline tells someone about his singing ability, Taehyung realizes that she’s bragging. Showing him off. Pulling him around the room and gesturing to him with words like look what I found and isn’t he just darling? 

Normally, Taehyung preens with pride under the compliments and the pretty words. He loves it when people are enthralled by him, swept away by his talents. Now, something about it feels off. They don’t look at him with wonder on their faces and awe in their eyes- they coo at him. Look at him like they want to eat him whole. Like he is something they can possess. 

Only one person introduces himself and looks at Taehyung curiously instead of with lecherous intent. “Hoseok,” he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand. It’s firm and cold. “What do you like to sing?”

It’s the only time he’s been asked a question tonight. Hoseok is hauntingly beautiful, with dark eyes, a slim nose, and cheekbones that seem carved by Strazza. He is dazzling to look at, and Taehyung’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he says, “Jazz, mostly. Sometimes classical, but that was mostly in my younger days in school.” 

“Divine.” Hoseok’s gaze slides to Evangeline. “You know he’s… his type.”

“Well, he didn’t find him.” 

Taehyung doesn’t know who he is and he doesn’t get the chance to ask. The pianist on stage stops playing and Evangeline takes Taehyung’s hand, pulling him toward the stage. “Come on,” she gushes. “Let them hear you.”

He lets himself be pulled. Taehyung feels a coil of nerves in his stomach as she yanks him on stage and pushes him to the middle. The room quiets when they see them and Evangeline claps her hands, drawing the full attention of the lounge.

There’s no spotlight, but Taehyung feels hot under the weighted gaze. Again, his instinct tingles, trying to make him aware of something. He just doesn’t know what. He shoves down the feeling and tucks his hands into his pockets, giving a shy grin as Evangeline talks about his voice. 

The crowd of patrons lean in a little when she steps off the stage. Their gazes are sharp as razors and he can’t help but feel like a shy lamb among a pack of wolves. 

Licking his dry lips, he clears his throat and laughs awkwardly, unsure of where to look. Evangeline stands near the side of the stage, not a great point of attention as he sweeps his gaze out into the room. He fixes his eyes on the glowing red exit sign above the door and opens his mouth, taking in a deep breath before he starts a slow Sinatra number. 

His voice carries over the hushed silence, deep and swelling. He smiles a little as he sings, watching the face go from hungry to mystified. The whole room seems to lean in, people from the back moving toward the stage, drawn in by him. 

Taehyung goes right into the next song, feeling his anxiety melt away. His audience is wrapped around his finger, their eyes following him as he trails around the stage, more engaged. He makes eye contact with some of them, still flinching internally at the sheer darkness of their eyes, but still singing nonetheless. 

When Taehyung finishes, the room erupts into gentle clapping and whispered praise. He feels pride well up inside of him, flushing with pleasure as he bows at the waist, grinning under the sweet applause. He stands up and starts walking toward Evangeline, who looks at him with a smile like the sun. His heart beats a little faster, grinning widely as she claps for him excitedly and-

“Sing another.”

Taehyung realizes the room is silent. The hairs on his arms stand on end and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room suddenly. Evangeline’s eyes flash silver for a moment, but when Taehyung recoils and blinks, they’re back to normal, though she looks put out as she steps back from Taehyung. 

Slowly, Taehyung turns to look at the edge of the stage at the owner of the soft voice and his world stops. Whoever this man puts the rest of the beauty in the room to shame. Taehyung feels his pulse race, meeting the dark, sultry gaze of the man who spoke to him. 

Something calls to Taehyung. He steps toward the man, dazed and confused, staring, staring, staring. The man has the most beautiful face Taehyung has ever seen. Round cheekbones with a chiseled jaw, plush lips tinted rose, and siren eyes that glitter as he drinks Taehyung in. This is the son of a god or a god himself, Taehyung thinks. A creature of myth and legend.

“What do you want me to sing?” Taehyung asks, barely recognizing his own voice. His ears are ringing and his thoughts are syrup-slow. 

The man smiles and Taehyung feels his stomach flutter. The man is not dressed in formal attire like the rest of the patrons. He’s dressed simply in black jeans with tears in the knee, a black turtleneck tucked into the waistband to show off his tapered waist, and a necklace that looks to be made of thorns. 

Even dressed casually, he outshines every person in the room. 

“What’s your favorite?” he asks, cocking his head to the side and regarding Taehyung. 

A flush works up Taehyung’s neck. He feels a tingle slide down his spine and a lick of pleasure curl in his stomach at the man’s gaze. His fingers twitch and his mouth feels dry. He licks his lips, trying to think of the man’s question and what his answer should be. 

“Can’t Help Falling In Love, I think.” 

The man grins and Taehyung sees stars. “You think? Or you know?”

“I know?”

“Are you asking me?” 

Taehyung shifts back and forth, shame coloring his cheeks as he looks at the floor. Effortlessly, the man jumps up on the stage. He lands silent and lithe as a cat. Taehyung’s eyes widen as he approaches, his gait smooth, footfalls unheard. “I’m only teasing, sweetling. What’s your name?”

“Taehyung.” 

The man stops right in front of Taehyung. He’s shorter, but somehow Taehyung feels small and delicate in his presence, wavering as the smell of orange blossom and something darker washes over him. Taehyung’s eyelids flutter and he fights the urge to lean in closer to the man, to brush his fingers across his skin. 

“I’m Jimin.” Jimin reaches out and brushes his fingers across Taehyung’s cheekbone. His touch leaves a trail of tingling cold. Taehyung closes his eyes, breath catching. Whatever this spell he’s under, he can’t shake it, gone with just a touch. “I want you to sing for me, Taehyung.” 

“Okay.” 

Jimin steps away and Taehyung makes a sound, protesting. His mind is warring between confusion at his reaction and the need to be near Jimin. The duller part of his thoughts is careening, telling him to pull it together, to stop and leave. But the desire shaken awake by Jimin is so much louder, commanding Taehyung’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin murmurs, gesturing to where Evangeline is standing. “I’ll be right there.” 

Taehyung watches as Jimin glides over to the edge of the stage. He whispers something to Evangeline that Taehyung cannot hear but he watches the change in the woman. She ripples with anger, her lip curling up in a snarl. Jimin says something else to her and in the blink of an eye, her head is bowed, her shoulders coming up as she steps back, cowering. 

When Jimin turns around, he gives Taehyung an encouraging smile. The effect is instantaneous. Taehyung feels giddy inside, joy bubbling up as he returns the smile shyly. Gone is the anxiety, gone is the strange feeling of being paraded around. Now, all he can think about is Jimin’s dark eyes, the way they track him as he moves to the middle of the stage again. 

As Taehyung starts the song, he wonders if this is what Elvis was singing about. If wise men were right and that only fools fall in love. Can love at first sight be a thing? As Taehyung sings the song softly, looking at Jimin every so often, his eyes drawn to him like a magnet, he thinks perhaps this song was written about Jimin. 

It isn’t rational. Taehyung knows this and yet barely acknowledges it, watching Jimin’s eyes shine with something as Taehyung finishes the song. For a moment, no one claps. Taehyung looks nervously around the theater, watching as the eyes of the crowd look at Jimin. Once he applauds, the rest follow. 

Taehyung lets out a relieved breath, smiling and bowing shallowly. Jimin approaches him again. It occurs to Taehyung that Jimin walks like a jungle cat, smooth and somehow lethal. 

“You have the most exquisite voice,” Jimin says gently, shaking his head. “You are a rare treasure, Taehyung.” He holds out a hand. “Join me?” 

Taehyung starts to reach for Jimin before he hesitates, eyes glancing up over Jimin’s head at Evangeline, who looks murderous. “You are far too precious for her,” Jimin growls. “It is insulting that she thinks she could ever have you.”

Instead of answering, Taehyung just nods. His eyelids feel heavy, his heady swimming like he’s buzzing off a fresh glass of liquor. Jimin links their hands together and tugs Taehyung along. As they pass Evangeline, she doesn’t dare look at them, her eyes fixed on the floor. 

At the foot of the stairs, Hoseok is standing, arms crossed over his chest and smirking. He shakes his head when he sees Jimin, falling into step with him. “I told her.” 

“Thank you for alerting me,” Jimin tells Hoseok. Jimin turns over his shoulder where Taehyung is trailing a footstep behind. “I would have missed out on him.” 

Hoseok breaks off from them, walking toward the bar. Someone takes up the piano again as Jimin leads Taehyung out of the main theater and to a stairwell. He says nothing, following Jimin’s lead in silence, steps heavy. It feels like he’s underwater, everything dull around him. 

Except Jimin, who is sharp and bright and alive in his mind. 

Jimin leads Taehyung down a hall and through a door. It opens up into a balcony suite. What was once a private box for watching the opera has been turned into a luxurious room of sorts, making Taehyung raise his eyebrows. 

A lounge area is in the middle of the suite, and there is a single bed tucked into the corner. A wet bar is placed at the back, along with a doorway that leads into a refurbished bathroom. Taehyung pauses as Jimin drops his hand, looking around to appreciate the velvet drapery on the wall and the ornate decor in the room. 

It feels like he has stepped back in time, a mix of modern and Victorian meshing in a way that Taehyung finds wonderfully elegant. Jimin goes to the wet bar and retrieves two glasses, pouring them a finger of whiskey each. Taehyung walks toward him, looking out at the lounge beneath. 

“It’s designed like a bedroom?” Taehyung inquires, eyes drifting back to Jimin, who smiles as he brings the glass up to his lips. His sharp eyes pin Taehyung to the spot as he sips. “Do you… live here?”

Jimin shrugs. “Sometimes.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, Jimin gestures for Taehyung to walk with him, leading him to a rich, crushed velvet couch that overlooks the lounge. Taehyung takes a sip of the whiskey but it’s Jimin who makes him feel drunk and cottony.

He sits next to Jimin, limbs stiff. Jimin giggles at Taehyung’s awkwardness, tsking at him as he leans over and pulls Taehyung toward him, pressing their thighs and sides together as they watch the party unfold below. Butterflies flutter in Taehyung’s smile as he looks at Jimin, who is watching Taehyung with rapt attention. 

Being so near Jimin is difficult. This close, he’s even more beautiful than before. Taehyung doesn’t know how it’s possible. Jimin’s lashes are long, framing his beautiful eyes. His dark hair looks silky and soft, tucked behind his ears as he regards Taehyung with a fond expression. 

Heat climbs up Taehyung’s neck and between his legs, a heady feeling sinking deep in his stomach under Jimin’s gaze.

“What?” Taehyung asks, looking down at his lap and chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s never felt so bashful under someone’s gaze before. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re beautiful, of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t be shy now,” Jimin tuts. “You were quite confident on stage earlier. I believe the entire room fell in love with you.” Taehyung shrugs his shoulders and Jimin laughs loudly. “Now you’re humble? You are a delightful creature, Taehyung. Tell me, have you ever been to the opera?” 

“No, but I’m familiar with some.”

“What about Carmen?” Jimin asks. He reaches forward and drags a finger across Taehyung’s thigh. Taehyung holds back a groan as Jimin starts tracing patterns on Taehyung’s thigh. “Have you heard of that one?” 

“I’m familiar with the Habanera.” 

“Ah yes. It’s about a woman named Carmen who everyone is in love with. She entrances men with her vitality and sensuality. A man named José falls madly in love with her at first sight, abandoning the army, his wife, and his children for her.” 

Taehyung finds it hard to listen. Even through the fabric of his pants, Jimin’s touch is tantalizing. Taehyung’s legs widen a fraction, his spine tingling. He leans his head back, feeling breathless as Jimin’s tracing gets higher and higher, teasing Taehyung before his touch moves toward Taehyung’s knee again. 

“José, of course, is not the only one in love with Carmen. She is infectious, tempting everyone she comes into contact with.” Jimin leans toward Taehyung, so close that his breath ghosts across Taehyung’s throat. He feels his heart speed up as Jimin lowers his voice and continues, “You remind me so much of Carmen. Charming everyone around you with a simple look, with the sound of your voice. So addicting without even a taste.” 

“O-oh.” 

Jimin presses his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung nearly drops the glass in his hand, placing it next to him on the couch as his breathing hitches. Jimin runs his nose up Jimin’s too-hot skin, making Taehyung squirm. 

“I fear I have the same weakness as José and you have hypnotized me like Carmen.” 

“Me?”

Jimin nips Taehyung’s ear and Taehyung lets out a throaty, moan. Jimin’s breath across his skin is maddening, colors swimming behind squeezed-shut eyes. His dick hardens in his pants, blood pumping through him, arousal unfolding like the slow-blooming petals of a flower. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. You know the effect you have on people.”

“I do,” Taheyung admits. 

“Look at me.” 

It is a command. Taehyung obeys, turning his face to look up at Jimin. Jimin’s pupils are blown wide, hypnotizing, and alluring as he looks down his nose at Taehyung. Desire stirs so strongly in Taehyung that he parts his lips open, making a small noise as Jimin’s touch on Taehyung’s thigh turns to a solid grip, fingers digging in. 

“Do you want me, my Carmen? Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” Taehyung breathes. “Please.” 

“Ask, then.” 

Jimin’s eyes are so hungry that Taehyung is lost in them. Jimin is on his knees on the couch now, pressed against Taehyung. It feels more intimate than anything Taehyungh has ever felt and they’re barely touching, Jimin gripping Taehyung’s thigh, his mouth hovering inches above Taehyung’s.

“Ask,” Jimin growls, the sound rumbling from somewhere in Taehyung’s chest. Jimin might be smaller than Taehyung but the power that emanates from him is intoxicating and sweeping, making Taehyung shudder.

“Please,” Taehyung says again. “I want you. Will you have me? Please.”

Jimin’s grip is iron. “Of course I will. You’re mine.” 

Taehyung feels like Jimin’s as Jimin steals a searing kiss from him. Taehyung gasps into the kiss, melting into the couch as Jimin licks into the wet heat of Taehyung’s mouth. Jimin is all-consuming, his lips sliding against Taehyung’s hungrily, his tongue brushing against the ridges of Taehyung’s mouth.

It’s just a kiss and yet Taehyung loses himself in it. It’s needy and torrid, their teeth clicking together, lips sliding. Taehyung grabs the front of Jimin’s shirt, uncaring if he wrinkles it as Jimin presses Taehyung into the back of the couch, straddling him. Jimin’s fingers tangle in Taehyung’s hair, pulling harshly. 

The pleasure-pain makes Taehyung moan. Jimin hums, his devilish mouth moving from Taehyung’s lips to his jaw, biting and sucking harshly at the skin. It feels so good. Taehyung just lies there and takes it, hissing as Jimin’s teeth pinch and pull his skin, followed by Jimin’s soothing tongue, rough and wet.

The ache in his dick grows, especially as Jimin puts weight on it, sitting in his lap and leaning and rolling his hips forward, pressing into Taehyung’s cock and driving him wild. He feels out of control, like the room is spinning and Jimin’s kisses are going straight to Taehyung’s veins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as Jimin licks hungrily at Taehyung’s neck. Jimin drags his blunt nails along Taehyung’s scalp, sending sparks down his neck and spine. “Please.”

“Please what,” Jimin pants, mouthing at Taehyung’s collarbones. “Tell me what you need, my wonderful Carmen.” 

It should be strange to be called by another name and yet, Taehyung shivers at the rasp in Jimin’s voice. Every single part of him is suddenly alive like his nerves are exposed to Jimin’s hands and mouth. Taehyung can’t remember the last time he felt like this with such simple touches. 

Perhaps never. 

“Fuck me,” Taehyung breathes. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Jimin smiles against Taehyung’s mouth. “Oh, I’ll fuck you.” 

A thrill goes through Taehyung as Jimin grabs him and slams him against the couch. His world spins and he’s suddenly facing the ceiling of the suite, panting and delirious as Jimin pins him down, littering his skin with bites and sloppy kisses.

Some of Jimin’s nipping hurts but it adds to the pleasure, Taehyung barreling straight into a slow, pleasured haze as Jimin pulls Taehyung’s shirt off roughly. Cool air kisses his flushed skin. Taehyung claws at the jacket on Jimin’s shoulders, pushing it off of him until he’s free of it, Taehyung’s hands seeking the flexing muscle of Jimin’s arms. 

Jimin’s hand goes to Taehyung’s throat. His hand is small but it squeezes pleasantly as Jimin kisses down Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung grinds up against Jimin, trying to relieve the pressure aching in his cock, a whine leaving his mouth. He feels Jimin’s breath across his skin as he laughs before fixing his mouth on a nipple, making Taehyung keen.

The stimulation is too much and not enough. It feels like Taehyung is ripping at the seams - burst at the seams from the pressure mounting inside of him. What has Jimin done to him to command his body? 

“Everyone can hear you,” Jimin teases, flicking his long, wicked tongue out to tease Taehyung’s already abused nipple. He drags his tongue across Taehyung’s chest, leaving a wet trail of spit as he goes. “Can hear you whining like a little whore. Is that what you want?”

Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Jimin’s teeth scrape against his other nipple. He nods his head, unable to form a verbal answer to Jimin’s question. 

“Hmm,” Jimin hums, tongue lashing. “Good boy. Let them know you’re mine. They’ll wait for us to have our fun before they start.”

Taehyung has no idea what that means. He doesn’t ask. Instead, his hands slip down Jimin’s stomach and under his shirt, touching his skin. Jimin is cool to the touch, his stomach muscles flexing under Taehyung’s inquisitive fingers. He grabs at Jimin’s hips, but his fingers slip away as Jimin sinks lower down Taehyung’s body, nipping and sucking as he goes. 

Opening his eyes, Taehyung watches with heavy lids as Jimin settles between Taehyung’s legs, looking up at him. His hair hangs in his eyes, which glint wickedly as his nimble fingers work the zipper on Taehyung’s pants. He can’t look away from Jimin, hypnotized by the movement, but the way Jimin grins and pulls open Taehyung’s pants, leaning forward to lick at the damp spot on Taehyung’s briefs. 

Taehyung’s head drops back and he moans loudly, feeling the pressure of Jimin’s wet tongue through the thin fabric. Jimin mouths at the crown of Taehuyng’s cock, sending jolts of pleasure straight to him. He grabs the back of the couch with one and presses his first to the mouth with the other, biting as he bucks his hips.

“So sensitive,” Jimin coos. His hands grab the top of Taehyung’s pants and the elastic band of his briefs and pull hard, making Taehyung yelp as Jimin unclothes him in one fell swoop. “Think you can take it?”

Taehyung nods quickly, making himself dizzy with the force. Jimin laughs and reaches out, gripping Taehyung’s shaft and pumping him slowly. Jimin’s touch is electrifying, Taehyung’s hips canting upwards to fuck himself into Jimin’s palm, head lolling to the side. 

Jimin spits loudly, coating Taehyung’s cock with spit, his hand gliding firmly to the base of Taehuyng’s shaft. “Just like that,” Jimin whispers. “Fuck yourself into my hand.” 

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice. He does so vigorously, chasing the feel of Jimin’s tight, wet fist and the cool feel of his skin. When Taehyung feels Jimin’s tongue kitten lick the tip of his cock, he clenches his teeth, slowly his wild thrusting to allow Jimin’s mouth to explore. 

It’s hard not to bust immediately. He feels his orgasm looming from the barest stimulation. Suddenly it’s like Taehyung is back in high school having his dick sucked for the first time, trembling and trying not to come as Jimin suckles the head of Taehyung’s dick, mouthing at it greedily. 

The room feels like it’s spinning. Taehyung cannot hear beyond the balcony. All he can hear are the wet sounds of Jimin taking Taehyung into his mouth, sucking generously, tongue brushing on the underside of Taehyung’s shaft. 

Jimin pulls off of Taehyung with a wet pop. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, tongue flicking against Taehyung’s frenulum. Taehyung feels wrecked already, sagging and boneless, unable to do anything against the onslaught of Jimin’s mouth. “Sounds so sweet, just like you sing.”

Slowly, Jimin drags his tongue south. He strokes Taehyung lazily with his hand, mouthing at Taehyung’s balls. Taehyung’s fingers feel like they’ll break as he grips the couch, overwhelmed by the stimulation, crying out, muscles squeezing, head spinning, blood roaring. 

“Such pretty sounds,” Jimin murmurs again, dragging his tongue upward. “Sing for me, my Carmen.”

A broken sob sound leaves Taehyung’s mouth as Jimin takes Taehyung to the back of his throat. The wet heat of Jimin’s mouth is an inferno, his throat tight and soft and oh god he’s swallowing. Taehyung lashes against the couch, hands shooting to Jimin’s hair as his throat constricts tightly around Taehyung. 

He feels the spit sliding down his shaft, his stomach so tight and his dick so hard he knows he’s about to come any second, every atom buzzing. 

“I’m gonna-” he can’t finish the sentence, shaking his head back and forth. His heart beats so hard in his chest he thinks he might die before he hits his peak. “Fuck, Jimin. Fuck fuck fuck.” 

Jimin redoubles his efforts. Squeezes Taehyung’s balls with his hand, letting Taehyung shove his hips forward, Jimin’s throat squeezing Taehyung until he’s coming hard. Jimin takes it in stride, swallowing down Taehyung’s cum. 

And he doesn’t stop. 

Taehyung’s hands start to push at Jimin. Tries to pull him off Taehyung’s cock, tries to scoot away. The pleasure morphs into overstimulation. It hurts so good that Taehyung is collapsing into the couch, kicking and bucking and crying as Jimin keeps going, his hand pumping, mouth sucking. 

If there is a god, there must be a devil. And if there is a devil, Taehyung knows that he is between Taehyung’s legs, working him to another orgasm somehow, driving Taehyung to madness as he goes. Jimin pulls off Taehyung’s dick with a sticky sound, moaning sweetly at the mess Taehyung has become. 

“You can take it,” Jimin coos. “I know you can. You said you can.” 

Taehyung nods. Tears sting his eyes and he tries to take a deep breath. He blinks his eyes open, watching as the ceiling swims into picture, a little blurry from the tears. He takes deep, shuttering inhales, his lungs rattling as he does. When he looks down at Jimin, he wishes he didn’t open his eyes. 

He almost doesn’t recognize whatever it is that is laving at his weeping cock. Jimin’s face is crueler somehow. More beautiful, but terrifying. Taehyung swears the veins around his eyes are darker and the scrape of his teeth is sharper. 

The orgasm must have made him delirious. It’s the only explanation, especially as Jimin works him hard again, Taehyung aching to explode once more. 

Jimin pulls off of Taehyung and crawls upward. Taehyung thinks Jimin looks like an apex predator for a single, terrifying moment. And then Jimin is kissing him, making Taehuyng’s thoughts turn to white noise as Taehyung presses his tongue into Jimin’s mouth, tasting spit and cum and something like iron and salt.  

Something pricks Taehyung’s mouth. He lets out a surprised sound, his mouth filling with a warm, metallic substance. Jimin’s kiss becomes frenzied. The force of it startles Taehyung, fear wiggling its way into his mind as Jimin presses down on him. 

Jimin becomes overwhelmed. A force that Taehyung cannot escape, completely trapped and helpless, still dizzy and uncoordinated from the overstimulation. It excites him. Taehyung realizes with mild terror that he likes this feeling, likes being overpowered and pushed to the edge. 

He lets Jimin suck greedily on his bleeding lip. He’s too focused on the ache between his legs and the mind-melting way Jimin makes him feel to realize that Jimin is hyper-fixated on his bleeding mouth. He kisses Jimin back as best as he can, though it’s more of a slide of lips and tongue than an intentional kiss. 

“Turn over for me,” Jimin grumbles. He’s already gripping Taehuyng and trying to turn him over. Taehyung struggles to make his limbs work but manages to flip, mostly due to Jimin lifting him and turning him, once again showing how strong he is. “Gonna work you open for my cock.”

A pathetic sound escapes Taehyung’s mouth. His cheek hits the soft velvet. It’s grounding, feeling the gentle scrape of it against his sensitive skin. His cock is pressed tight between his stomach and the cushions, but it’s less invasive than Jimin’s hungry mouth, a brief respite. 

Wet lips trail Taehyung’s spine as Jimin descends. Taehyung’s breathing is ragged and heavy, gulping down cool air as he trembles under Jimin’s rough mouth. He likes that Jimin doesn’t handle him with kid gloves. That Jimin keeps Taehyung to his word, driving him into a manic state. 

Taehyung still feels like he’s on the edge of that mania when he feels Jimin’s fingers slip between his ass, seeking. He flinches when Jimin brushes against his tight rim, the muscles clenching, afraid. Jimin laughs but doesn’t push it, instead peeling Taehyung apart to spit noisily. 

A gentle sigh drips from Taehyung’s mouth. He feels the spit slide, the sensation heightened. Jimin’s finger traces after it, circling Taehyung’s asshole lightly. His toes curl at the light stimulation. It feels good, but it’s hard to control the muscle's instinct to reject and contract. 

Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He leans forward, his fingers pressed firmly in the seam of Taehyung’s ass, his mouth pressing butterfly-soft kisses to Taehyung’s spine. 

Taehyung feels like Jimin’s instrument. Jimin works him open slowly and gently, at ends with how he was driving Taehyung to madness minutes prior. The swing to gentle and soothing has Taehyung confused and reeling, his brain trying to keep up with the sensations tingling through his body. 

When Jimin slowly breaches Taehyung’s tight ring of muscles, he lets out a pathetic keen. Taehyung is too loose-limbed and fuzzy-brained to do anything but take it. The intrusion burns for a second, but levels out to be pleasurable. 

Cold liquid slides down Jimin’s fingers, easing the slide. Taehyung sighs, relief unfurling slowly as the burn goes quiet and all that’s left is the stretch and the pressure of Jimin working Taehyung’s walls open. Toe-curling pleasure sweeps through Taehyung. He bites his bottom lip, lifting his ass in small, half-hearted twitches to meet the push and pull of Jimin’s fingers.

“Mhmm,” Jimin encourages, teeth scraping Taehyung’s shoulder blade. His breath is cool on Taehyung’s warm skin. “Take what you want, sweetling. Open yourself up for me.”

It smells like sweat and orange blossoms, Taehyung’s skin covered in their mixed scents. His sensitive cock drags against the fabric of the couch, sparking pleasure and pain as he fucks himself into the palm of Jimin’s hand. Jimin’s fingers are small but do the job, pressing against the most sensitive parts of Taehyung, making his breath ragged. 

Everything feels like it’s on fire as Jimin pushes in another finger. Taehyung feels the wet schlick of lube or whatever Jimin has used to make the slide easier. He feels fuller, moaning like a whore as he chases the electric feeling under his skin, coming alive under the careful press of Jimin’s fingers. 

“So good for me,” Jimin whispers, biting Taeyung’s ear. His breath is hot against the side of Taehyung’s face. “Gonna take my cock so well, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck,” Jimin swears. “I can’t wait. This is what you do to me.”

Jimin pulls his fingers out. Taehyung complains, feeling the empty gape. Jimin shushes him and presses his clothed cock against Taehyung’s ass, letting him feel how hard Jimin is. Taehyung grinds his ass against Jimin’s crotch, making the other moan. 

A shirt flys past Taehyung. He realizes that it must be Jimin’s turning and angling his head to see the man in question. He is utterly divine, his compact body graceful and deadly, lined with muscle and delicate lines. Jimin undoes the belt of his jeans and pulls them down, palming himself over his briefs as he kicks out of his pants. 

Taehyung can’t help but stare, lips parted. Jimin is a vision, his face still masked in something lethal and terrifying that makes Taehyung excited and afraid all at the same time. The mixture is intoxicating, sending his thoughts somewhere distant and fuzzy where all he can do is watch Jimin pull his briefs down to reveal a thick, leaking cock. 

On instinct, Taehyung scoots toward Jimin. The other laughs, giving Taehyung a quick, harsh smack on the ass. His skin stings where Jimin’s hand connects, earning a whimper. Jimin tuts at Taehyung, fisting his cock leisurely as he does. 

“So needy,” he grumbles. “So hungry for cock. You’re just like Carmen, you know? Addicting, needy, breaking down my will to give you whatever you want. This must be how Jose felt, ready to give her everything. Pliable. So willing.” 

“And you? How do you feel?”

Jimin’s gaze is dark and heavy. Taehyung holds his breath, pinned to the spot. He feels Jimin’s cockhead nudge the tight rim of his ass as Jimin settles behind him, looking at Taehyung so intensely that Taehyung feels as though he will wither away. Ashes to ashes. 

“Like I want to give you the world.” 

“Please.”

“You have to give it back. You have to be mine.” 

Taehyung is nodding before Jimin even finishes his sentence. Taehyung will give him anything he wants, as long as it means Jimin will push forward and relieve the aching weight of Taehyung’s needs. He is filled with so much carnal desire he thinks he would do anything Jimin asks of him. 

“Yours,” Taehyung agrees. He tries to push back and spear himself on Jimin’s cock, but Jimin’s grip is iron, holding him in place. “Yours.” 

That’s all it takes for Jimin to sigh, pleased. He pushes in slowly, Taehyung gasping and grabbing the couch at the intrusion. His walls flutter around Jimin’s cock. It’s a tight fit, a slow, pleasure-filled agony that ripples through him. 

Taehyung is hyper aware of how full he feels. It is perfect, his mind turning to static as he lays his face down on the couch, breathing strained and heart hammering. Jimin praises him gently, coaxing Taehyung to calm down with gentle kisses on the back of his neck, shoulders, and head. Jimin is fully seated, his hips pressed to Taehyung’s ass. It feels good, the pain retreating and leaving nothing but bliss in its wake. 

Jimin pulls out, the rough drag of his cock sending Taehyung into a spiral before Jimin snaps his hips forward again. Taehyung lets out a desperate sound, feeling his eyes roll back into his head as Jimin starts to fuck him slowly. 

It feels hot. Jimin cages Taehyung in, his chest pressed to Taehyung’s back, humid air trapped between their bodies. Jimin’s skin is cool to the touch, such a contrast to the warmth radiating from Taehyung. The mix of hot and cold only heightens the sensations, everything feeling sharp and powerful. 

Jimin’s teeth scrape Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung doesn’t know why, but he leans his head to the side, giving Jimin free access to litter his throat with sloppy kisses. Taehyung feels broken under the weight of Jimin’s thrusts, the wet sound of his cock pushing deeper into Taehyung until it’s pressing against the deepest part of him, making Taehyung kick his feet as the pleasure builds.

It’s so good it hurts. Taehyung is reeling, having never felt like this when being fucked. Jimin chuckles darkly against his ear, tongue licking the shell of Taehyung’s ear before whispering, “You take it so well.” Taehyung whines in response, pushing his ass back to meet Jimin’s hips as best as he can. “Such an eager little slut. Everyone can hear you getting fucked - do you like that?”

Taehyung nods his head. Jimin grabs him by the hair, pulling Taehyung upward so that Jimin’s chin is slotted on Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung’s neck cranes painfully and he opens his eyes, looking at Jimin’s side profile. 

“I said do you like that?” 

“Yes!”

“Come here, let’s show them.” 

Everything goes off balance. Jimin picks Taehyung up off of the couch like he’s a ragdoll, spinning him so that his feet hit the ground and he’s pushed up against the balcony railing. He barely has the coordination to plant his feet on the ground and grab the railing before Jimin is pressing back in, splitting him apart for everyone to see. 

Taehyung casts his head back, eyes closed. He doesn’t want to look down, doesn’t want to see the faces of the onlookers as he moans loudly, feeling flushed and breathy as Jimin fucks him hard. Taehyung sees stars behind his eyelid, laying his head back on Jimin’s shoulders, his hands gripping the railing as Jimin hammers into Taehyung’s prostate. 

It feels like Taehyung’s blood is on fire. Something like glee unfurls in him at the thought of everyone below seeing how perfect he is for Jimin. That Jimin chose Taehyung and no one else. That Taehyung is the perfect, pliant partner for Jimin. He doesn’t want to see their faces - he’s too shy for now - but he silently revels in the fact that they’ll know from this moment forward that Taehyung is Jimin’s in some capacity. 

His mind hasn’t caught up to what exactly that capacity is, blinded by the way he teeters on the edge of coming again. 

“This is going to hurt at first,” Jimin whispers against Taehyung’s throat. 

There’s a brief moment of confusion. Taehyung is unable to think beyond the thick, heady haze clouding his mind, but then searing pain rips through his neck. His eyes fly open and he gasps, too shocked to scream properly where he feels blinding pain throbbing from the side of his throat. 

Taehyung’s hand shoots up to Jimin’s face, digging in his hair. Jimin’s mouth is pressed against Taehyung’s throat and it takes a moment for Taehyung to realize Jimin is biting him clean through the skin. 

Panic shoots through him. He clutches at Jimin’s hair, pulling tight at the strands to pull him off. Jimin doesn’t budge, his mouth fixed to the tender flesh of Taehyung’s throat. Then Taehyung feels Jimin’s tongue. The subtle pull of his mouth, the drag of his blood. 

The pain fades into something else. His neck tingles, fire replaced with numbness. Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as a high unlike anything else hits him. Jimin is still fucking him, his pace picking up, his thrusts becoming savage as he takes deep swallows at Taehyung’s neck.

Taehyung is vaguely aware that Jimin is drinking his blood. He can’t process beyond that acknowledgement, too caught up in the euphoria glittering through his veins, turning his blood to molten lava. His head falls forward, too heavy for him to hold up, eyes closed and sinking into the feeling. 

His orgasm comes swift and hard. Every muscle in Taehyung’s body squeezes tight with a force he’s never felt. It feels like he might collapse in on himself, a star going supernova before it implodes, sucking everything inward. 

Jimin lets go of Taehyung's neck, gasping as he feels Taehyung squeezes his cock. The wet gurgle of a moan from Jimin’s mouth makes Taehyung turn and look at him. Taehyung is bent over the railing now, sweaty chest sliding back and forth as Jimin’s hips jostle him. Jimin is standing straight, his hands gripping Taehyung’s hips to hold him in place as he fucks him viciously, chasing his high. 

But what freezes Taehyung in place isn’t the powerful body driving him into overstimulation. It isn’t the beautiful, lithe lines of Jimin’s chest and arms or the beautiful way his eyes drink Taehyung in. It’s the blood running down Jimin’s neck and chest that startles him. The crimson smear across Jimin’s mouth, which is parted as Jimin tilts his head upward, tongue coming out to run across his bottom lip. 

A glint of white catches Taehyung’s eyes and his heart stops. Two fangs, stark against the wine-red mouth filled with blood - Taehyung’s blood. His heart skyrockets for a whole new reason and he tries to think but his mind is too slow. Sluggish. Still crawling through the high that Jimin’s bite injected him with. 

“Jimin?” it comes out slurred and terrified as Taehyung watches Jimin lower his face, eyes finding Taehyung. He still looks beautiful with the lower half of his face colored in blood, but he is terrifying, and destructive. Taehyung thinks he might die of fright even as his stomach flips with arousal again. “What…?”

“Look at them,” Jimin grins, mouth a red gash. He grabs Taehyung's hair and forces the boy to turn toward the scene below. “Look how they waited so patiently for me to start. To fuck, to feed. They waited for you - to come and bleed. They don’t indulge until you’re done, my sweet Carmen.” 

It takes several moments for Taehyung to piece together the tableau unfolding beneath him. What appears to be a mess of blurry images and sounds morphs into something else, the edges of his clarity sharpening as Taehyung blinks through the fog of pleasure. What he thought was going to be patrons looking up at the balcony as he’s ravaged is not at all the case. 

Below is unleashed carnal energy. He sees bodies writhing. Scarlet ribbons of blood flowing down necks, in between thighs, down shoulders. His eyes sweep the landscape of bodies fucking and thrusting and bending, of screaming of pinning down, of biting. 

Vampires. 

The word suddenly comes to Taehyung in a moment of clarity, the word ringing out so clearly in his mind that he jerks upward underneath Jimin’s grip. The vampires below chase the humans in the room. Taehyung realizes that all of the patrons dressed in finery are slamming people dressed in plain clothes to the ground and onto furniture, fixing their mouths on them, and ripping their shirts open. 

“Oh my god,” Taehyung breathes, finally breaking free of the murky mist of lust. “What are you?” 

Jimin presses against Taehyung, slamming his hips in deep one more time as he comes with a feral growl. His hands are tight in Taehyung’s hair and his mouth is rough against his ear. “I’m yours,” Jimin answers, voice low. “I’m José and you are my Carmen.” 

Dizziness sweeps over Taehyung, feeling like darkness is racing up to greet him. “Yours,” Taehyung agrees, slow blinking as Jimin’s teeth sink into his shoulder again. “Your Carmen.” 

-

PERMANENT TAG LIST: 

@wobblewobble822 @idkjustlovingbts @teddytaee @jknoah @veronawrites @bts-ruu @tumeperds @ashtonkeller @ivyrosewater @secfir @hoseokshobagi

Please note: typically I would reblog with my tag list, but this drop is scheduled while I am traveling and I am unable to reblog and tag, so I’ve just done it as part of the main body. 

#vmin smut #jimin x taehyung #taehyung x jimin #taehyung smut #jimin smut #bts smut #member x member #vampire jimin #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jimin fanfic #minors dni #minors do not interact #happy halloween!!!

[copperbadge]

Watching Twitter implode, as an outsider who has hated Twitter for an extremely long time, is absolutely fascinating. I had a twitter account, now deleted, which I checked about once a month and posted to every few years, usually in a vain attempt to acclimate myself to a system I felt was hostile to any method of communication I was capable of. For about a year now even checking my notifications has been pointless, since I was quoted in a tweet by some corporate account that the spambots got hold of; literally all I saw in my notifications for a very long time was ads for various things attached to my name, retweeting that fucking train quote.  

I understand the importance of twitter particularly in uplifting marginalized voices and chronicling major historical events in first-person witness accounts; I know people personally whose small businesses are absolutely fucked because they depended on twitter for almost all their PR and a vast portion of their sales, and that truly sucks. It’s easy to glibly say “and nothing of value was lost” but a lot of value is being lost. 

But I also just hated everything about trying to use twitter. I can understand its importance and still hate it. I also don’t like the Mountain Goats even though they are vitally important to the emotional stability of like, half the people I know. 

The upshot of this is that I eventually had only a dim understanding of the way twitter culture evolved, since I wouldn’t go near it with protective gear on. So I was absolutely dumbfounded to read articles about the Verification badge being put up for sale and to see people saying, “Well, if Twitter’s no longer trustworthy, why be there?”

It blew my mind to realize that in introducing verification in the first place, Twitter had given its entire userbase explicit permission to abandon critical thought when they saw that alluring blue bird. Because twitter verified people, it seems a huge number of users thought they didn’t need to question anything on the site and, because of the way most social media works, the site also quickly became a series of personal filter bubbles. 

It makes the last few years make sense, in a weird way -- it’s not just that a massive chunk of culture abandoned critical thought, it’s that they were told that was okay to do, every day, every time their eyes hit the site. And Twitter is structured to offer diminishing returns on a hard dopamine hit, so a lot of people were on it a lot. I’m not throwing stones -- I’m physiologically constantly a quart low on dopamine, so I’m on Tumblr for much the same reason. And I’m not saying that anyone who is Chronically On Twitter has no critical thinking skills. But I am saying that it appears the vast majority of people who let their online critical thinking skills go slack did so because Twitter said it was okay. Twitter said, we’ll do the questioning for you. 

(Watching Twitter implode as someone familiar with the psychology of D/s relationships is....also fascinating.) 

The coverage of the Lilly tweet in particular is interesting in relation to this because it doesn’t seem like anyone is asking who made the tweet. Perhaps there’s no way to find out, but I don’t even see threats or attempts. Eli Lilly is suing Twitter and doesn’t seem even inclined to ask about the human who did it; nobody at Twitter, to my knowledge, has vowed to find and punish the perpetrator, which is hilarious given what Musk clearly wants to do to the people mocking him personally. No major media outlets seem interested in reporting on people discussing the question, let alone asking the question themselves, which indicates to me that nobody’s gone looking. If people are asking, they are not asking loudly or visibly. 

And don’t get me wrong, I don’t want us to find the person who tanked Eli Lilly stocks en route to reopening the discussion about price-gouging in the healthcare field. I wish there was a way to buy them a beer and/or a vial of insulin. But the fact that nobody seems to even be asking the question is weird -- until you remember it’s twitter, and nobody asks questions when it comes to twitter. Why would you? Twitter does the asking. 

And absolutely vitally -- where the fuck is Donald Trump? 

(Questions you never think you’ll ask.) 

Elon Musk promised to reinstate him; even if you claim staffing issues, he’s managed to kill all advertising on the site and switch off two-factor authentication, but he couldn’t flip the switch on Trump’s twitter account? Or personally offer him a new one under the aegis of the freest of speeches? Less than a day ago Trump was still trying to get the courts to give him his bluebird back. I don’t want him back on twitter, lord knows, but I’m perplexed that he’s not, because that was part of the package deal Musk was pitching. 

It’s almost like Musk knows what the bridge too far is. And nobody is asking about that either.

I hope people who come here from twitter find joy here. I hope the ship of twitter is righted so that my friends who love it can go back to it, so that the artists and writers I know can get back a vital tool for their creative self-support and the activists I know can regain a great tool for effective organizing. Twitter is a huge part of the cultural landscape and I hope it ends up okay, and I hope the staff still there can get some rest. 

But I also hope that this sharp cultural shock has been a reminder that letting someone else ask the questions means letting someone else control what answers you get.

[wraith-caller]

D, Hunter of the Dead, or Darian, is easy for a lot of people to hate. He’s rigid, allied with the Golden Order, and a hunter of the undead, who may be in need of mercies which the Order isn't interested in providing. I often see him written off as sort of bigoted, callous, an asshole, and given little in the way of nuance that is afforded to (almost all of) the rest of the cast of complicated characters we encounter. So I’d like to try to tease out those shades of grey, highlight the very human tragedy of his backstory, as well as make a few (hopefully interesting) observations about his parallels with both Fia and Morgott.

🚨🚨SPOILERS AHEAD🚨🚨

I. A quick recap

Players can first meet Darian near Summonwater, where he warns us about the Tibia Mariner and Those Who Live in Death. If we harvest the Mariner’s deathroot and return to him, he’ll offer to show us to the Bestial Sanctum and ask us to take his place as Gurranq’s servant. He will move to the Roundtable Hold and gives us a little info on who he is, who he serves, his bitterness towards Rogier, and will teach us incantations which are especially effective against the undead. We can summon him for help in two fights: one against a Mariner in eastern Liurnia, and another against a Black Knife Assassin in the Black Knife Catacombs. If you’ve kept up with Fia’s quest, she’ll ask you to bring the Weathered Dagger to its original owner. Interacting with Darian while having this item will result in him wondering where you got it, offering to take it off your hands, and thanking you for it. Next time you come to the Roundtable, he’ll be dead, presumably killed by the Fia’s Mist spell.

II. The allure of acceptance in an otherwise hostile world

As with most characters, we’re given very little info about who Darian and Devin were or where they’re coming from. Info from the Inseparable Sword tells us:

The inseparable twins found solace in the Golden Order, the only institution not to revile them as accursed beings.

The reason for the harsh treatment appears to be related to their strange nature. The twins share a single soul between them, living otherwise as distinct, autonomous persons. Per the Twinned Set:

The two known as D are inseparable twins. They are of two bodies and two minds, but one single soul.

Elden Ring is full of curses and shunned beings, so it’s not all that surprising that the world saw these kids with their weird spiritual situation and just weren’t having it. What is surprising at first glance is that the Golden Order, who are generally experts at reviling aberrant lifeforms, are the ones to accept them. But it makes some sense. Marika birthed not one, but two sets of cursed twins. And of course, Marika and Radagon have a very similar condition. In the fight within the Erdtree, we see them as one singular body, shifting between two aspects. It likely wasn’t always this way, and they were probably two distinct beings at some point, like Darian and Devin. Aside from how impractical it'd be to ask us to believe that no one noticed these two high profile rulers were never active at the same time, the wording of some of Marika’s echos indicates the two were not sharing a single body at some point:

O Radagon, leal hound of the Golden Order. Thou'rt yet to become me. Thou'rt yet to become a god. Let us be shattered, both. Mine other self.

All of this is to say, Marika and Radagon’s nature may have at one point been exactly like the D twins: a single soul shared between two bodies. This is further teased at by the fact that we receive the Inner Order gesture from Devin, and the Outer Order after listening to Marika’s words in a church. While the placement of these gestures was likely much more about illustrating the difference in blind faith versus an examined one, given Marika’s dialog there, it’s certainly interesting that we are given these paired gestures by these two characters. It’s not common knowledge to people of the Lands Between that Marika and Radagon are the same, but perhaps enough people in the upper echelons of the Order know this so as to recognize the similarity, and thus accept Darian and Devin.

It's clear why the Golden Order might make an exception for the D twins. It also conveniently sets the stage for some very fanatical devotion. It’s easy to write off fanatics. After all, they’re, well, fanatical. They’re rigid, unchanging, uninterested in adapting to new information which sheds any unflattering light on their new group. We’re all quite susceptible to this, our propensity towards tribalism once being a valuable trait which helped us to survive in our species’ infancy. The D twins get this kind of cranked up to 11 because they suffered a lifetime of being not just unwanted, but actively despised by everyone. They’re reviled for something they have no control over. We don’t know anything about their life as children, but it wouldn’t be surprising to learn they were abandoned by their parents if all institutions saw them as reviled. It could be that their parents were also adherents of the Golden Order, but given that they are Tarnished, and that the Inseparable Sword description specifies that they found solace rather than took solace or similar wording, it reads as though they may have only really had each other until the Order took them in.

What does something like that do to a person, especially if they lived with such cruelty as children? The need to belong is fundamental to our being, and shunning on a societal level like this would be pretty devastating. And it isn’t just one society that’s repulsed by you – it is every society except one. While the Golden Order has done horrible things, that becomes a lot harder to focus on when the hands that have committed those wrongs are the first to ever be extended to you in kindness. It’s hardly surprising then that Darian doesn’t just serve the Order, but has woven it into his identity. He doesn’t have any interests to share with us outside of his dedication to the Golden Order, like Rogier with his desire to be a scholar. He was given a purpose by the only people to show him acceptance, and he will pursue it doggedly.

III. Morgott and Darian – “Thy kind are all of a piece”

I mentioned before that the Order may have been accepting of the D twins due to Marika’s own 2 sets of twins. Malenia and Miquella have no significant similarities to Darian and Devin. And while Mohg shares a sense of instability with Devin, they don’t have much more in common beyond their cursed nature. Darian and Morgott, however, share a handful of interesting parallels.

They’re both reviled and rejected due to the circumstances of their birth. Cursed through no fault of their own, both were likely abandoned for it and kept from participating in society. Both serve the Golden Order fervently, with Morgott presiding over Leyndell as king while Darian hunts the dead on their behalf. In spite of being mistreated for what they are, they both perpetuate that mistreatment onto others like them. Morgott keeps the Merchants imprisoned, and leaves the Omens to wallow in the sewers. Darian hunts Those Who Live in Death while refusing to accept Rogier’s discovery that they are a result of a flaw in the very thing Darian has devoted himself to.

And both have a less than stable twin brother, one they never mention but for whom we might be able to reasonably assume they care about all the same as they were both likely each other’s only companion for much of their lives. When naming all of his siblings as traitors, Morgott notably leaves out Mohg from his condemnations. Darian, if killed by the player, begs his brother’s forgiveness, and keeps his very existence under wraps, with only Rogier appearing to know of Devin. Of further note, Morgott and Darian walk above ground, under the light of the Erdtree, while both Mohg and Devin live beneath the earth, in the endless night of the Eternal Cities.

IV. Rogier – “Such adaptability is more important now than ever...”

Besides Gurranq, the only other person we hear much about from Darian is Rogier. The dialog these two give about each other indicates that they meant a lot to each other before their fallout. I touched on it in my post about Rogier, but in essence, while Rogier appears composed and maybe even a bit wistful about their old days, Darian seems to stew and fume with resentment. He talks about Rogier as someone who used to be all of these positive things, but that he gave it up when he fell from the righteous path and took up with Those Who Live in Death, ultimately becoming a victim of them.

Yet in spite of their apparent split, we still catch Darian helping Rogier out with his research. He tells Rogier about the markings he found in Summonwater, and he fights a Black Knife Assassin in order to help us bring the knife print back to Rogier. There’s a strange little back and forth between them and I can’t help but read it as Darian navigating an internal conflict he’s not all that familiar with. After all, he’s unlikely to have had a friend like Rogier before, given how he was hated by everyone. So he’s even more unprepared to deal with losing that singular positive relationship he had with another person who wasn’t his own brother, or ordained to accept him. So he struggles, both resenting Rogier for his sacrilegious discoveries and maybe regretting parting ways to begin with. It has him fuming one moment then bringing back peace offerings the next.

They’re a classic case of opposites attracting, and the polarity between the refusal/acceptance of change was their downfall. Rogier encountered new information, was able to integrate that into his reality, made the challenging admission that he’d been doing wrong, and tried to fix it. Darian listened, but simply shut it down. It’s easy to write it off as bigotry, fanaticism, or whatever else – Fia indicates that the undead are unjustly persecuted by the Order, and Rogier tells us they aren’t malicious but rather unfortunate bystanders. Darian is too rigid in his beliefs to accept change, especially a change so radical as this. And he’d have to admit that he and Rogier may have been perpetuating an injustice in their brutal treatment of Those Who Live in Death.

I think there’s another pretty important factor in this which is often overlooked in discussions of Darian’s inability to adapt to the idea of a flawed Golden Order. And that’s in how much of his self-worth, his self-esteem, is going to inevitably be tied to the only people in the world to accept him and his brother as being fit for life. He wasn’t just exiled from his home after witnessing Grace like Fia or Roderika, he was reviled by everyone from day one. As I’ve said before, this leaves an indelible mark on a person, and such extreme shunning and forced isolation from society are a form of psychological torture. This is bound to leave a person with some trauma and maladaptive traits, and one that is relevant here is Darian’s inability to handle the Golden Order being mistaken about something so personal. This isn’t some mild administrative mistake, or even a major miscalculation in a war. It is a mistake about who is accursed and who isn’t, who is fit for society and who isn’t. And if they’re mistaken about the dead, who else are they mistaken about?

Normal people who have normal lives have a hard enough time accepting change. And those normal people have an even harder time taking in that change if it conflicts with some belief they already hold dear. So for someone like Darian, a change like this is not some trivial adjustment. It could be world-shattering for him, and would take loads of effort to accept, an effort he’d then have to make entirely on his own since his initial reaction was to flee from the conflict that brought it on altogether. He left Rogier, unable to handle this revelation, finding it easier to deny it altogether than accept it. And that in itself must tell us how painful this new truth would be for him – as someone viewed as accursed by all societies outside of the Order, Rogier very well could have been his only friend. Darian was willing to sever that link in an effort to preserve the reality where he has acceptance and a place in society. It is a very human reaction, and one that I feel deserves a little bit of reflecting on when we consider Darian and his motivations. This isn’t a standard case of someone being a stubborn ass because they can’t admit they made a mistake. This is something akin to cult indoctrination, when a traumatized person’s identity is far too wrapped up in people who told them that they are good, and that it’s everyone else who doesn’t love them.

V. Fia and Darian as caregivers

These two have more in common than you might think initially, since they’re positioned on opposite ends of the spectrum in the matter of death. While Fia seeks to uplift the dead, Darian would terminate them. One reviles the Order while the other reveres it. But both know very well what it is to be an outcast. Fia is exiled from her home after seeing Grace, and upon her arrival to the Lands Between is seen by some as “vulgar”. It’s her first taste of receiving the kind of scorn Darian would’ve known all his life.

But she still finds it in herself to care for others. And I would argue that Darian does too. Fia seeks to bear the hatred and disgust others have for the dead, to protect them from persecution. She has a gentle bearing that invites us to let our guard down around her, is soft spoken, steady, and calm. Darian shares a similarly placid disposition for the most part. Where Fia wants to protect the dead, Darian seeks to protect others from them. While he hunts the dead for the perfection of the Order, he clearly cares about the people the dead inflict themselves on. Upon first encountering him in Limgrave, we overhear him speaking to one such victim of Those Who Live in Death, saying:

I'm sorry, I cannot give you your proper rites... But at least you did not join Those Who Live in Death. Your soul will return to the Erdtree, in time.

He gives what comfort he can to this person, admitting that it isn’t much. And he does his best to warn us away from the village, trying to keep us from harm. When we return with the deathroot, he names us a comrade. Contrast this with Tanith or Varre, who ask us to kill for them to prove our allegiance. Darian does the opposite, telling us to leave the dead alone lest we fall victim, chastises us as foolish for taking such a risk to get the root anyway, and then invites us to serve Gurranq. He’s uninterested in pressuring or forcing us to join him, much less in having us bloody our hands for his own approval.

In his cut dialog for the Dreambrew quest, his thoughts go not to his own personal enjoyment of the drink we offer him, but to the victims of the dead. He says:

Alcohol, to make a libation? A fine idea. The Lands Between brim with the dead. If a drink can serve even as a small rite of remembrance, that is enough.

And then there’s probably the most blatant symbolism of this caring nature seen in the form of his armor and his posture with it. He literally holds his other half protectively in his idle stance, cradling the head of his twin as he is clutched by this smaller, frailer form. Even in death, repositioning the camera beneath him shows him shielding the bust as if to protect it from Fia’s fatal attack on him.

I often see Darian characterized as cold because of his distaste for the undead. But all of these little things about him add up to me as someone who is more concerned with being conscientious and caring of the living.

VI. Conclusion

I don't anticipate changing many minds about Darian. This is a pretty niche corner of an already niche fandom, after all, and it's super tempting to pick sides in search of which group in the game is right or wrong, which is going to pave the best way forward. Most characters in the game are doing something less than moral in an effort to advance an agenda, whether their own or that of who they serve. But at the same time, they usually have interesting and sympathetic motivations pushing them towards those goals. Fia murders Darian and never tells us her true goals until we find her with Godwyn, never letting us know that we were assisting her in killing someone, maybe even a friend, when she handed us that dagger. But she does all this in an effort to protect those she sees as persecuted. Darian is the one persecuting that group, but he does it as someone who has seen the violence the dead inflict on the living, as someone who has lived the very same persecution, as a servant to the only people to ever stay that persecution for him the way Fia would for the dead. This game is not interested in giving us neatly delineated good guys and bad guys for the most part, which is what makes their stories so compelling even when we're only given a few breadcrumbs. But it's also why it's strikes me as a bit short-sighted to write any one of them off as wholly irredeemable.

#d hunter of the dead #darian elden ring #elden ring meta #heres to hoping i dont get hate mail for this one friends!! 🍻 #lol who am i kidding there are 3 ppl in this world who would read a 3000 word essay about d hunter of the dead #but we dont choose our hyperfixations do we... #wraith meta

[josh-lanceero]

Just came back from Stuttgart Staatstheater‘s production of Cabaret and my first impression is that it was really dirty (in a positive and lovely way) but underwhelming in presenting the apocolyptical feeling that is the end of Weimarer Republik in comparison to other productions (London, Baden, maybe also Chemnitz from what I have heard). BUT, it is the kind of production that the more you think about it the more you realize how serious and grounded the sutle social commentaries are.

How this production deals with Tomorrow Belongs to Me/tbtm (a fictional Nazi propaganda music written by its jewish componist) is really really different from the other versions I personally have seen.

So, often, this music will pop up twice in Act I. The function of the first time would be to present the allure/charm of Nazism, its aesthatic and its feigned progressiveness, then The Emcree will mock it. This can be achieved by only singing the first two stanze of the song (just leave the VATERLAND part out), where the lyric is fairly unalarming and just nice to the ear, combined with having a harmony or a children's chorus sing it. The more beautiful and innocent this tbtm was, the scarier the reprise of it would be at the end of Act I. I also enjoy this kind of design, because it forces the auience to fight their own appreciation of the aesthetic and it is not that easy, you WILL catch yourself humming the melody unconsciously after the show and you will want to slap yourself for it. Because of how asthetically appealing this propaganda is shown, a huge group of esemble singing the full version of tbtm at the end of Act I also makes sense. People are drawn to this horrible thing, the audience can understant it because they would also feel the pull.

HOWEVER, in the Stuttgart production, tbtm was presented as underwhelming and unimportant, even quietened by Ludwig (that explicitly anti-semitic Nazi guy) after Kost sung it ALONE at the end of Act I.

The Stuttgart production of Cabaret doesn't go for the 'Nazi is asthetic pleasing/brainwashing' route for making sense of why would Weimarer Republik spiral into Nazi-Germany. It make the audience notice the chilling fact/warning that turning to right-populism can a case of making horribly wrong decisions for the right reason.

The character of Kost, the nazi sex-worker living in Frau Schneider's appartment, get alot more depth an nuances in this production. She get more stage time and also a new number, which is I Don't Care Much. Yes they move this song to the first Act directly after Frau Schneider threaten to evict Kost for bringing in the sailors. Kost acts like an asshole like in most productions, but the following number makes it clear that she was feighning her cheerful bastard personality. She doesn't enjoy sex-work and is always tailed by hunger and homelessness.

Her interaction with the jewish tenant Herr Schutz was also not explicitly enti-semitic. She did not evoke the stereotype of the greedy jew like in most production (and the original script), but insteat made a social commentary on how now in this world everything is about doing business and making money. For me this is her clear resentment towards capitalism, exploitation and inequality, which is a huge problem in Weimarer Republik. Because of this characterization of Kost, her singing tbtm ALONE at the end of Act I then being shushed by the explicit Nazi Ludwig is also very nuanced. The scene might feels underwhelming in comparison to other productions, but the constellation is clear: a proletarian suffering under capitalism full of hatred turns to right-extremism, and the right-extremist, while fully aware of the usefulness of rightpopulism, does not like how vocal she is with HER agenda.

Is Kost a lovable character in this production? No.

Is her turning to Nazism a right decision? Hell no.

Is her discontent with the economic system justified? Yes

Is her radicalization understandable? ...Yes

I never liked the simple 'nazi bad ppl were just brainwashed because propaganda was just that good' reasoning for why Nazi-Germany happened. The nuance of how rightpopulist political group exploits the ideology cultivated by (neo-)liberals and libertarians that their is no alternative ecnomic/socio-cultural system beside capitalism should be more present or become a common sense.

The choice of how to present the appeal of Nazism - through music or narrative - is also worth thinking about. The Stuttgart production seems to be intentionally avoiding the asthetic route. tbtm was actually presented twice in Act I. Besides Kost's solo number in the end, their is also this lovely lady/drag-queen Lena aus Essen playing it on a violin rather POORLY. Lena then said: "you weren't expecting this, right?" It is as if the production is encourage the audience to turn their attention to the mundane part of the dangerous (almost sensual in some hollywood films) appeal of Nazism presented by Kost: One would think that a party which doesn't dismiss their suffering and hatred like the current one, and even agrees with their irrational xenophobic/enti-semitic sentiment instead of trying to correct it like the current one, would eventually make their life better.

p.s. I remeber that in the original book Goodbye to Berlin by Isherwood there are actually some communist characters, also scenes about how they ran their activities in underground bars, and of course the indication of their terrible ends when the nazi got into power.

#ranting #cabaret #goodbye to berlin #Weimarer Republik #musical #musicals #christopher isherwood

[kurjakani]

Random intials, just go with whoever comes to mind first :)

P. L.

Ok so. Ik you prolly meant seperately as two characters. But thast Peter Lukas thats Plukas thats my Actual Husband thats. Hehheh hoo boy. So im doing Plukas TEEHEE

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: old salt who is themed around isolation and loneliness? Idk do I have to even explain it further (aside from canonical facts- I really really love playing with the ideas of him fooling himself about his absolute desire for loneliness. This is me mirroring: due to various reasons I isolated myself for years, and I had truly convinced myself I hated everyones company, and wanted to live as far away as I could- however this was a coping mechanism. And Plukas does have a lot to cope with, let's be real. He seems 2 have like. a startling amount of apathy abt a lot of things, which i find at points relatable, alluring and concerning) (additionally w how much he seems 2 talk endlessly when he actually gets the chance. Id imagine he would be way more to the point if he truly wanted 2 get tf out of there asap.) (I also do find his voice acting incredibly soothing. Could listen to him for ages.)

least favorite thing about them: I can't even comprihend such a thing. The fact that he's not in my arms rn?

favorite line: Ok i could listen 2 him for days but i think this one got me in some way: "I had no time for books or television, or any of the escapes and artificial friendships of fiction. No, I was myself, and that was enough. I would spend my days exploring the wide grounds and forests of our estate, finding the hidden corners I thought that none would have found before me –" He comes off almost as spiteful towards the idea of company of others. So insistant of his intentions.

brOTP: Salesa :3 Also Martin but like in a toxic yuri way.

OTP: prolly also Salesa?? mayhaps???

nOTP: shrugs i haven't seen a lot of ships for him in general tbh!

random headcanon: I tend 2 think he is rather immature. Socially and emotionally. We do kinda see that in the ep the last, his little tantrum when things don't go his way- but imagine what a childhood of isolation from all people and a cold shoulder from your parents does to you?? I dont have 2 imagine im that person girl its me im the problem its me. I imagine he's surprisingly easy to upset. You prolly wont notice it bc instead of bursting w anger he'll sulk, which is also not great. bottled up feelings etc.

unpopular opinion: idk what ppl think abt him eerally SOBS

song i associate with them:

Martin: (echoing) His only wish was to die alone. Also in general one of my favourite songs in all of existance so!!!

favorite picture of them: no offical peter jpegs but i always think of the every peter lukas line video on youtube it makes me so happy

#kanitalk #ask #anon #DEEP BREATH TYSM #SORRY #c:plukas #m:mag #sorry plukas brainrot real

[septembersghost]

When did you start to ship Kim and Jimmy on BCS? And why are they one of your favourite tv couples?

seven years is a long time from that first watch, so i'm not sure if i can totally pinpoint an initial when - it could easily be their very first scene in the parking garage, which i love SO much and tells us quite a lot about them with hardly any dialogue (they clearly already have a history and rapport, they don't even have to finish sentences to know what the other means, he doesn't hesitate to casually take her cigarette and there's an intimacy in that, like a prelude to a kiss, she fixes the trash can he attacks without second thought), it's perfectly lit and scored, they look like they've walked right out of a classic noir standing there together. i remember i immediately wanted to know more about her and about their relationship. but if it wasn't that moment, it was in hero. howard is extremely irked and (correctly) calls what jimmy did at the billboard "a damn stunt," and kim, looking up at the screen, back turned, smiles. it's tiny and fleeting, but it says everything. she knows it's a stunt too, but she's not mad about it. she's amused and fond and maybe even slightly proud in a very strange way. it establishes not only how she's his ally, but also that maybe there's a mischievous streak in her too. (this goes very badly for them later but! initially that's endearing and undoubtedly part of the attraction.)

i wrote a little off-the-cuff about them here (HOW did that post get so many notes?!), but something that appealed to me was always how very matched and grounded and REAL they felt. i'm a sappy romantic, i love a love story (happy or tragic), so it's easy to entice me with a dynamic that i enjoy, but something about jimmy and kim was really special in its approach. it isn't necessarily "epic" in that sense of grand gestures and dramatic swells of violins and world shifting kisses (not that there's anything wrong with any of that), it's something i've talked about before with their wedding. it's bare. there's no white tulle, no rose arches. and i'm a gowns and glitter kind of girl in many ways, but their lack of that made them so accessible to me, so...refreshing and honest. the thing that some people (*coughs at bird app*) complain about, the supposed lack of sexual chemistry, i see everywhere, and even prefer in the way they presented it. the way they gravitate towards one another and share glances and brush against each other just to touch, the way they're so obviously at home together. it's not ever objectified in the obvious way that romance is sometimes packaged for us. kim pushing him against the wall in the stairwell, her foot under the table, his hand on her shoulder in the hospital, the way he leans closer in to her, them companionably brushing their teeth and sharing meals and tending wounds, it's all so electric, but also has a sense of ease and tangibility. it's something in the fact that they're such different people on the surface - jimmy exuberant and talkative, kim restrained and listening, and yet underneath so matched and such complements. they have these pieces that fit together perfectly and form a whole. they're both fascinating characters individually, and together that dynamic is so alluring and touching to me. they've both lived with such lonely hearts and then find fulfillment with each other. it's something about it going beyond words and living in their expressions and unspoken language. it's something in always being on each other's side. their friendship itself is so connective that it makes their attraction and romantic love even richer. it's the way she's so loyal to him and wants to help him through pain, and the way he's so admiring of her and wants to give her a safe place to simply be. (and then we learned they would quite literally die and kill for each other and that is epitome, HEIGHT of Romantic, be still my heart.) it's the way no one else in the world truly sees them, for who they are and all they are, for all their good points and their ingenuity and their warmth, and in their flaws and shadows, and accepts and adores them even still.

bob said (of their final shared smoking scene, but it feels true throughout the story): "they can just exist next to each other. something that they very much like to do." there's something so beautiful and affecting in that to me. finding someone who is content simply to exist next to you. to be proud of you and love you, to stand by you, even at your darkest. to take your hand in front of filtered golden light. to lean quietly against a wall and be suffused with love, despite the pain and the trouble and the lost time, and just be glad you're there and alive with them. to spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you, and then to heal it, and recognize it wasn't so stupid after all. it's another version of a flower blooming in the sands of the desert, even after devastating sacrifice. something true and delicate and alive remains. that kind of love is rare and precious. it's knowing you'll have that love for the rest of your life.

#me writing this on three hours of sleep and a vaccine starting to kick in and praying i'm not delirious #this does not do them justice tbh but i love them so so much forever #anonymous #letterbox #jimmy mcgill #kim wexler #mcwexler #a legal arrangement #forever is the sweetest con #love is found in the breaking bad prequel!

[rose-arwen-padme]

Suppression: Chapter 19. The Meadow

I bit down on my lip as I quickly weighed the potential pros and cons of this conversation. "Alright," I acquiesced, diving into the unknown as bravely as if I were jumping into one of the cold pools of water behind us. "I was twelve." I looked over to see Anakin smiling in victory. Something about that successful grin prompted me to discover a new advantage in my answer. "His name was Palo. We were both in the Legislative Youth Program." My voice became more suggestive, and I purposefully drew out my description. "He was a little older than I. Very cute." Anakin's chin visibly clenched. "Dark, curly hair. Dreamy eyes—"

"Alright— I get the picture."

He shifted his gaze grumpily. I couldn't help it— I smiled.

Anakin still couldn't look at me. "So, what ever happened to him?"

He asked as if there were massive odds that anyone would still be with their very first kiss, twelve years after the fact. "I went into public service; he went on to become an artist."

"Maybe he was the smart one."

I knew Anakin's joking tone at this point. That wasn't it. "You really don't like politicians, do you?"

He visibly sized me up with a haughty raise of his chin. "I like two or three… but I'm not really sure about one of them." This was the jester I knew, and we chuckled lightly as his veneer broke. But I was surprised, although not unpleasantly, when he continued, solemnly saying, "I don't think the system works."

Anakin and I hadn't had a discussion yet about politics, amazingly. I was genuinely curious on his thoughts. As I leaned back on my elbow, I sincerely queried, "How would you have it work?"

He settled himself into position, as if he'd been waiting for me to ask such a question from day one and had finally found his moment. "We need a system where the politicians sit down and discuss the problem, agree what's in the best interests of all the people, and then do it."

I wasn't expecting such naivete from him. "That's exactly what we do. The- the trouble is that people don't always agree."

"Well then they should be made to."

This I openly balked at. "By whom? Who's going to make them?" He was mocking the idea of democracy to a woman who'd spent most of her life defending it.

"I don't know, someone."

"You?"

He judged me as if I was the ridiculous one. "Of course not me."

"But someone?"

He nodded. As if that cleared up everything. "Someone wise."

How could he not see where such a system would lead? "Sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me."

For the very first time, Anakin fixed me with a stare which— despite its familiar intensity— was neither charming nor alluring. "Well?" Cobalt eyes searched my face, tentatively seeking out a morsel of agreement from me. "If it works?"

He said it with the air of someone who knew exactly what kind of system he was talking about. Unexpectedly, especially given the warm sun, I felt cold shiver go down my spine.

He seemed confident in his question, which unnerved me to no end. However, the longer I looked at him, the more the gleam returned to his eyes, ultimately ending in a smirk. And he was caught.

The breadth of my relief stretched my cheeks back with my amazed smile. I owe an apology to a galaxy for my lack of foresight, and for what I said next. "You're making fun of me!"

He shook his head in a false show of defense, his foreboding look giving way to curved lips and white teeth. "Mmm, no! No, I'd be much too frightened to tease a Senator."

Anakin looked down at the blades of grass littering his lap, chuckling to himself still. The lightweight innocence returned to our picnic as if it had never left. My gaze lingered as I silently watched him, a soft smile adorning my lips as I reflected on how easy it was to feel this way around him. I drifted my focus back to the tall grass I danced with in my left hand, the tips brushing against the pads of my fingers.

"So, you think I should suggest my reformation idea to the Chancellor?"

Now I really knew he was teasing me. "Oh, you're so bad!" I reached behind his waist for the uneaten fruit in one of the drawers of our container. I threw it at him, but he caught it with a laugh.

"You're so serious all the time."

"Me? Serious?"

My intention inflamed, I reached behind him again and threw yet another ball of fruit, and another. Anakin reacted by juggling the weapons of assault with maddening ease. Determined, I grabbed the last two fruits Nandi had packed for our nourishment and tossed it at the jester. Finally overwhelmed, he let the balls fall around him in a rain of fruit. Two bounced off his shoulders and rolled into the grass, but I howled with laughter when one landed squarely on his head.

I listened to the sound of my glee as if the noise were coming from someone else. It had been an immeasurable amount of time since I'd heard myself laugh so freely.

Anakin rubbed the crown of his head, but he seemed to be enjoying the sound of my unrestrained merriment as much as I was amazed to hear it. After a moment, he asked, "Do you have anything planned for what we do after this?"

My laughs subsiding, I turned away in order to suppress yet another smile. He hadn't asked if I had anything scheduled for myself— the notion that whatever happened next, we would do it together was simply, naturally implied. Surprisingly, despite the fact that we'd spent almost every waking hour together for almost five full days, his presumption did not bother me. The only person I usually spent this much unbothered, consecutive time around was Dormé and— previously— Cordé, and despite the vast differences in their personalities, I still didn't find myself wanting a break from Anakin.

I finally met his gaze, and my smile grew again of its own doing. "No. Do you have something in mind?"

Continued at AO3 Link and Fanfiction.Net Link

Suppression

The forbidden tale of Anakin and Padmé's AOTC courtship. A detailed expansion covering the movie, known deleted scenes, and many new scenes. If George showed 20% of their screen time, this is the other 80%. Told in Padmé's POV with ROTS awareness. Written for the enduring fans of Anidala.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #anakin and padme #anakin x padme #anidala #padme amidala #padme #anakin skywalker #rosearwenpadme #anidalafic #Padme fanfic #attack of the clones #aotc #sw prequels #sw fanfic #padme deserved better #anidala fanfiction #Anidala fanfic #Anidalafic #Padme #anakin deserved better #SuppresionRAP #SuppressionPrologue #PadmeAmidala

[my-mt-heart]

[This is really loooong, but since your questions in both posts tie into one another, I figured you'd rather have it in one go. It's also speculative and I encourage anyone reading to do their own critical thinking.]

Late last year, like @kryptoniancape suggests, seems to fit the timeline for the change of gear, but I don't think it has anything to do with Melissa and her supposed leave. AMC doesn't mention this clean and easy out, and their press release would have had to pass through Legal. They struck franchise wide deals with the actors and the only reason you 'exit' a project is if there's a paper trail to complete. MMB was locked into the first season of the spinoff.

Remember when the talk about the subpar feature scripts resurfaced? Whatever options deal Gimple had with AMC expired at that point. That's when the studio had to decide how to bring Rick back.

Melissa might have wanted to have the summer off, but do you believe she's naive enough to assume she'd still have a career if she takes a leave of absence? An actress woman her age retires if she takes an extended leave. (A vacation after a crazy long season isn't leave.) We only have this assertion from NR and JDM, and honestly? It sounds like publicist spin to make an actor more likable, "Look, he has his costar's best interest at heart. Isn't he a sweet guy? Watch his show!" Both of these guys have quite a lot riding on those spinoffs being successful.

What is Lauren Cohan saying? She also has a stake with AMC. Has she told anyone that her good friend Mel needs a break, so quit being so toxic and watch her show instead?

Take what I say with a grain of salt since most of this is conjecture, even if it's based on my experience in the industry, but always pay attention to what isn't said. Most often, there's a wealth of information in silence because like MT has said before, TV operates on personal connections and you need to keep at least a glossy veneer with people. Circles are small. You don't want to make enemies if you can avoid it and we all love plausible deniability.

This whole mess is managed by studio executives and the legal department, and to a degree, NR and his management team. There's a host of people making a tidy sum off their earnings, so an actor's opinion in these types of situations is very rarely their homegrown output. There will have been meetings discussing what their opinion should be, with outcome probabilities for those options.

I don't think there needs to be crazy editing for the finale. Whatever we end up with is what AMC intended all along.

Remember how AK said there were discussions of how to end Leah and what we got was because "Norman wanted to just shoot her"? Take a moment to think about that and its implications. Good showrunners keep an open door to their actors, but they don't have an invite to the writers room to break the season arc. AK also isn't telling us who was part of that talk and most people probably infer it was an informal chat between her and NR. What's her point in sharing? Do we think that's a funny anecdote of how approachable she is and what a cool dude NR is?

The fact that Daryl has hoarded over a decade's worth of Clairol should also tell the viewer things. NR's team is trying to sell the image of a virile man in his prime, a panty dropper. That's why he hasn't wanted any romance for Daryl, claiming there's already enough of that on the show to go around. His brand is alluring bad boy and tying his character to an age appropriate woman who hasn't dipped into Daryl's secret stash of hair color?

His team is looking at the bottom line and trying to ensure their livelihood. Why do you think he's diversifying his income, with whiskey and novels?

I wouldn't be at all surprised if 'Daryl is the most popular character' is pure marketing. He's the only character original to the show (without a comic book template) so AMC owns the rights outright. I think viewers like Daryl a lot, but he's a reactive character, not an instigator and he needs Rick and Carol to come into his own. Obviously, I don't have access to AMC's market research, but I suspect that those two characters are the ones who are drawing an audience.

Think about TV shows in general (and a decade back in time), why would a show that keeps killing off its cast, keep Carol alive for the duration of its run? Whether you love her or love to hate her, the network has people talking about their show and Rick is a conventional hero, so you have another segment of the audience right there.

AMC will want to keep the Caryl viewership because it's not an insignificant number, so they'll dangle that possibility as long as they can. I have a few theories on what might happen and they're depressing enough that I'll just keep them to myself.

The only thing I can claim to know for sure is that the Daryl solo spinoff isn't a recent development. Pre-production takes too long for a shoot to happen this summer if you didn't start planning before April. That's the only thing I can say to be objectively true. Everything else I've said is subjective to varying degree and I hope I'm wrong.

Thank you for taking the time to explain. Like I said, I find your insight very helpful even if it is just speculation. You are always welcome to share your theories even if you think they're depressing. Honestly everything is just depressing now anyway.

#caryl #darylneedscarol

[blakegopnik]

THE FRIDAY PIC is “Comparative Juxtaposition, Nine Objects, Each with a Different Function” (1961–72), from the stunning survey of Bernd and Hilla Becher at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I just reviewed it for the New York Times, making the argument that the Bechers’ orderly inventories of industrial life actually point to the fractures of an industrial order that was fading in their day. (Read on for the full text of my Times piece, pasted at the end of this post.)

Newspaper writing didn’t give me room to touch on something else that struck me about the Bechers’ work. I believe, as is often claimed, that it echoes the great earlier “inventory” compiled by the Bechers’ predecessor August Sander in his "People of the 20th Century,” mostly worked on between the two world wars. But that echo doesn’t come from a shared interest in accurate inventories and orderings, which is the usual claim about these two bodies of work, but from the way both Sander and the Bechers reveal failures in ordering structures.

Just as the Bechers’ orderly photos wake us up to industrial order at the moment of its collapse, so Sander was pretending to catalog the German people when the smart thinkers of his era (e.g., John Dewey) were calling the whole idea of a “people” into question. As I argued some years ago, Sander’s supposed catalog of Germans quite deliberately fails to be a true catalog: He happily used the same friend of his to play several roles in his supposed inventory of distinct types; the categories he sorts people into can be arbitrary to the point of absurdity; his photos can be entirely unrevealing as to who their sitters are and what they do. Sander’s project, I once claimed, “implies a full repudiation of the kind of social sorting that led to the Nazis. It doesn’t merely ‘humanize’ that sorting, as the standard Sander cliche proclaims.” I’d say that the Bechers’ photos, following on from Sander’s example, imply a similar resistance to the industrial order that they’ve often been thought to embody.

(Image courtesty Estate Bernd & Hilla Becher, represented by Max Becher; via The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

And here’s my full Times story on the Bechers:

Photography’s Delightful Obsessives

The Met surveys Bernd and Hilla Becher, who turned Machine Age monuments into alluring collectibles.

 By Blake Gopnik

July 28, 2022

 One wall is gridded up with photos of industrial cooling towers, portrayed in wildly detailed black-and-white.

Another gives us 30 different views of blast furnaces, at plants across Western Europe and the United States. You can just about make out each bolt in their twisting pipework.

An entire gallery surveys the vast Concordia coal plant at Oberhausen, in Germany: Teeming photos present its gas-storage tanks, its “lean gas generator,” its “quenching tower,” its “coke pushers.”

These and something like another 450 images fill “Bernd & Hilla Becher,” a fascinating, frankly gorgeous show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met’s curator of photography, Jeff Rosenheim, has organized a thorough retrospective for the Bechers, a German couple who made some of the most influential art photos of the last half century. Bernd (1931-2007) and Hilla (1934-2015) mentored generations of students at Düsseldorf’s great Kunstakademie, whose alumni include major photographic artists like Andreas Gursky and Candida Höfer.

But for all the heft of the heavy industry on view in the Met show — it’s easy to imagine the stink and smoke and racket that pressed in on the Bechers as they worked — you come away with an overall impression of lightness, of delightful order, even sometimes of gentle comedy.

Wall after wall of gridded grays soothe the eye and calm the soul, like the orderly, light-filled abstractions of Agnes Martin or Sol LeWitt. The very fact of gathering 16 different water towers, from both sides of the Atlantic, onto a single museum wall helps to domesticate them, removing their industrial angst and original functions and turning them into something like curios, or collectibles. A catalog essay refers to the Bechers’ “rigorous documentation of thousands of industrial structures,” which is right — but it’s the rigor of a trainspotter, not an engineer. Despite their concrete grandeur, the assorted water towers come off as faintly ridiculous: Whether you’re collecting cookie jars or vintage wines — or shots of water towers — it’s as much about our human instinct to amass and organize as it is about the actual things you collect.

Consider the 32 Campbell’s Soups (1962) that launched Andy Warhol’s Pop career, which are a vital precedent for the Bechers’ ordered seriality. You can read the Soups as a critical portrayal of American consumerism, but a catalog of canned soups also reads as a quiet joke, at least when it’s presented for the sake of art, not shopping. Ditto, I think, for the Bechers’ famous “typologies” of industrial buildings, presented without anything like an industrial goal.

Indeed, the one thing you don’t come away with from the Becher show is real knowledge of mechanical engineering, or coal processing, or steel making. In long-ago student days, I cut out and framed a wallful of images from the Bechers’ glorious book of blast-furnace photos. (Their art has always existed as much in their books as in exhibitions.) After living with my furnaces for a decade or so, I can’t say I could have passed a quiz from Smelting 101.

Early coverage referred to the Bechers as “photographer-archaeologists” and the Met’s catalog talks about how they revealed the “functional characteristics of industrial structures.” There are certainly parallels between the preternatural clarity and unmediated “objectivity” of their images and earlier, purely technical and scientific photos meant to teach about the constructions and processes of industry. The Bechers admired such pictures. But however systematic their own project might seem, its goal was art, which means it was always bound to let function and meaning float free.

I think it’s best to imagine that they cast a doubting eye on earlier aspirations to scientific and technical order. After all, the Bechers hit their stride as artists in the 1960s and early ’70s, at just the moment when any aspiring intellectual was reading Thomas Kuhn’s “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions,” which pointed to how the sociology of science (who holds power in labs and who doesn’t) shapes what science tells us. The French philosopher Roland Barthes had killed off the all-powerful author and let the rest of us be the true makers of meaning, even if that left it unstable. European societies were in turmoil as they faced the terrors of the Red Brigades and Baader–Meinhof gang, so brilliantly captured in the streaks and smears of Gerhard Richter, that other German giant of postwar art. The Bechers were working in that world of unsettled and unsettling ideas. By parroting the grammar of technical imagery, without actually achieving any technical goals, their photos seem to loosen technology’s moorings. By collecting water towers the way someone else might collect cookie jars, they cut industry down to size.

Bernd and Hilla Becher at the Ensdorf Mine, Saarland, Germany, in 1979 (artist unknown). Their camera’s lens, facing Hilla, has been raised higher than the film plane that’s facing Bernd, a trick that lets them capture the tops of tall structures.

Bernd and Hilla Becher at the Ensdorf Mine, Saarland, Germany, in 1979 (artist unknown). Their camera’s lens, facing Hilla, has been raised higher than the film plane that’s facing Bernd, a trick that lets them capture the tops of tall structures.Credit...Estate Bernd & Hilla Becher, represented by Max Becher; via The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Bernd and Hilla Becher at the Ensdorf Mine, Saarland, Germany, in 1979 (artist unknown). Their camera’s lens, facing Hilla, has been raised higher than the film plane that’s facing Bernd, a trick that lets them capture the tops of tall structures.

The Bechers weren’t the only artists working that seam. Their era’s conceptualists also played games with science and industry. When John Baldessari had himself photographed throwing three balls into the air so they’d form a straight line, he was simulating experimentation, not aiming for any real experimental result: The repeated throwing and its failure was the point, not the straight line that could never get formed, anyway. When the Bechers’ friend Robert Smithson poured oceans of glue down a hillside, or bulldozed dirt onto a shed until its roof cracked, he was mimicking the moves of heroic construction, not aiming to build anything.

What made the Bechers different from their peers is that they did their mimicking from the inside: They used the language of advanced photographic technology to inhabit the technophilic world they portrayed. Their photos are almost as constructed as any “lean gas generator” they might depict. The just-the-facts-ma’am objectivity of their images is only achieved through serious photographic artifice.

Take the Bechers’ four-square photos of four-square workers’ houses. Several houses are photographed from so close that, standing right in front of them, you’d never take in their entire facades at one glance, as the Bechers do in their images. It takes a wide-angle lens to allow that trick, and only if it’s installed on the kind of technical view camera whose bellows lets lens and film slide in opposite directions. That’s how the Bechers manage to line up our eyes with the top step on a stoop (we see it edge-on) while also catching the home’s gables, high above.

The preternatural level of detail on view, and its glorious range of grays and blacks, require negatives the size of a man’s hand, a tripod as big as a sapling, lens filters and an advanced darkroom technique. And the couple were relying on such labor-intensive technology at just the moment when most of their photographic peers, and millions of average people, had moved on to cameras and film that let them shoot on the fly, in lab-processed color. With the Bechers, the “decisive moment” of 35 mm photography gets replaced by a gray-on-gray stasis that feels as though it could last forever — as though it’s as immovable as the steel girders it depicts.

But in fact those steel girders were more time-bound than the Bechers’ photos let on. “Just as Medieval thinking manifested itself in Gothic cathedrals, our era reveals itself in technological equipment and buildings,” the Bechers once declared, yet the era they revealed wasn’t really the one they were working in. In many cases, their factories and plants and mines were about to close when the Bechers shot them — a few were already abandoned — as Western economies made the switch to services and design and computing. The outdatedness of the Bechers’ technique matches up with their subjects. Both represent a last-gasp moment in the “industrial” revolution, which is why there’s something almost poignant about this show.

One of its most revealing moments involves a film, not a photo, and it’s not even by the power couple. The Bechers’ young son, Max, who has since become a noted artist in his own right, once captured his parents in moving color as they set out to document silos in the American Midwest. Max filmed Bernd and Hilla unloading their heavy-duty equipment, still much as it was in Victorian times, from a classic Volkswagen camper of the 1960s. It was an absurdly underpowered machine, but who could resist its colorful paint job or its mod lines and stylings?

To get the full meaning and impact of the Bechers’ Machine Age black-and-whites, they should really be viewed through the windows of their Information Age orange van.

 Bernd & Hilla Becher. Through Nov. 6 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, [phone]; metmuseum.org.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3.5/5

Book Blurb: The Shadows Between Us meets Six of Crows in this spellbinding new fantasy full of intrigue, romance, and pulse-pounding action, where the eldest daughter of a renowned family on the verge of ruin joins forces with a mysterious, rogue enchanter and a handsome, ambitious heir to win a deadly race.

Mikira Rusel’s family has long been famous for breeding enchanted horses, but their prestige is no match for their rising debts. To save her ranch, Mikira has only one option: she must win the Illinir, a treacherous horserace whose riders either finish maimed or murdered. Yet each year, competitors return, tempted by its alluring prize money and unparalleled prestige.

Mikira’s mission soon unites her with Arielle Kadar, an impressive yet illicit enchanter just beginning to come into her true power, and Damien Adair, a dashing young lord in the midst of a fierce succession battle. Both have hidden reasons of their own to help Mikira -- as well as their own blood feuds to avenge…

Steeped in Jewish folklore, This Dark Descent is a pulse-pounding new fantasy full of forbidden magic, sizzling romance, and epic stakes. In a world as dangerous as this, will the need for vengeance butcher Mikira’s chances of winning the Illinir … or will another rider’s dagger?

Review:

A high stakes horse racing competition, forbidden magic, political games, and betrayals await as two girls find their fates forever changed when their paths cross and they join forces with each other and an ambitious heir. Mikira Rusel is the daughter of a renowned enchanted horse breeding family. Yet despite her family's prestige, they have debts to pay and in order to save her family's ranch she is forced to enter and win the Illinir, a deadly horserace where raiders normally finish maimed or murdered. The prize money is amazing and the prestige won would be unparalleled. Yet in order to win she needs the help of Damien Adair, a dashing and deadly lord in a succession battle for the title of heir and Arielle Kadar, a illicit enchanter who has only begun to scratch the depths of her power. Damien and Arielle both have their own revenge plans and blood feuds and agree to help Ari. Yet winning was never easy and with so many people out to get them, can they trust each other or will betrayal destroy them? Mikira wants to atone for all the things she's done and the situations she's gotten her family in, yet she just keeps messing up. Damien is ruthless and wants the title of the house, yet he finds himself falling for Arielle. The lengths he'll go to to protect her and those he holds close is ruthless, yet so is the anger he has for anyone who betrays him. Arielle has spent her life an outcast, and wants nothing more than to get an official license to do her magic, yet she is beginning to hear a voice in her head and losing time, as well as the fact that her magic is growing as well as her blood lust. I loved Damien and Arielle and had a lot of fun with their story, the weak part of the story for me was Mikira, I just couldn't connect with her and found her to be so annoying by the end. I really didn't care that much about her story and was more interested in what Damien, Arielle and Reid ( Damien's friend/servant who works with magic and has a cat and is a bit grumpy) were up to. This is the first book in the series and I am curious to see where the next book goes. If you enjoy horse racing/magic/succession politics, then give this book a go!

*Spoiler: Mikira enters into a race to win a bet against Rezeh, the rich lord who wants her farm and is holding her father hostage, and in order to do so she needs Damien's sponsor and Arielle to make her a magic horse. She loses but Rezeh makes a counter offer, she spy on Damien and get him some evidence to get rid of Damien and then she'll be given another chance to race again in another bet. Reid finds out and tells Damien and Arielle. Mikira is angry at them all and says that they are her enemy now (girl look at what you did, you literally betrayed them all and didnt say or do anything, they have a right to be mad at you and the fact that you act so self righteous when you lie, cheat, and betray people too?? get over yourself). Damien does kill people and does end up winning the title to the succession but he finds out that Mikira was the one to have evidence of him killing the two men who had attacked Arielle. Arielle begins hearing a voice in her head egging her on and stealing her body, she later discovers it is a spirit taking over her body as her powers grow. Rezeh was sent to jail but the book ends with Arielle visiting him (only because the spirit in her body is controlling her). Damien and Arielle get together as a couple, while Mikara is hinted at being bisexual (but it really doesn't feel like she has any love interests which is completely fine). *

*Thanks Netgalley and Macmillan Children's Publishing Group, Roaring Brook Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #this dark descent

[2n2n]

idle thinking on the shape of love, endurance, persistence, and unconditional commitment in this manga.

rapidfur

!!!!! This is amazing! It's a little funny, but I always kind of disliked Akane, but... I feel like you have a knack for really looking deeper into the work and finding connections, and bringing out a complete story! It's a little funny, I think recent western fandom developments have made analysis for this series hard, since everyone is so quick to point out themes of abuse and such... which isn't necessarily bad, but when has real life ever been so simple. D:

HEY THANKS this is probably my... favorite of the posts I’ve made, I!!! even wish it was a little more coherent/organized lol.... but, I’m glad the messaging is there and interesting and got through!! I really-- feel most strongly, about this through line between all arcs!!! My jaw was.... on the floor, as Akane/Aoi happened, I couldn’t imagine their r’ship would also thread all of these themes into it. I also thought the manga would be a little messier, have a few more loose ends, some ‘randos’ if you will. I honestly thought Akane and Aoi would always remain boring to me, and I can’t believe the manga essentially popped me in the jaw about all my assumptions. The ‘twist’ of their personalities doesn’t even feel cheap, either .... I suddenly felt legitimately guilty for writing off Aoi as ‘just some normal girl, friend of Nene, nothing significant’..... I had to deal with Akane going from “god, some goober SIMP out here...” in my mind to “hhihihieeeek... why is he allowed to do hot things omg”

I’ve definitely seen some write-ups try to assert the theme is ‘abuse’, and responses to/conditions of abuse, but by god, if that were true, it sure would be gosche how often this manga uses punches and brutality as either a punchline (what is Akane + Teru in this lol?), or a spicey picante to an ultimately romantic scene

It would be so out of tune for a Manga About Abuse to sooooocapriciously depict the very ropes that symbolize isolation and ownership/control/influence of others as sexually alluring. Boy all the contexts of these, ropes... all these situations....

... but if isolation/ownership/control was at times allowed to be an aspect of some sort of, ultimate love, hmmmmm... hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

hmmmm...love....

hmmm... control

hmmmm... influence..... 

hmmmm... HMMM 

Not to be TOO cheeky, lol, but gosh.... devotional love bleeds through every inch of symbolism in the manga. Hanako himself compares being ‘bound’ to ‘like being in a relationship’ (I can’t... believe you say that....)

Hanako relates a curse to love..... 

can’t believe we come all the way back around to this concept, so many chapters later.

ohhhhhh famous bound-boy Hanako-kun can just say being ‘bound’ and ‘being in a couple’ are synonymous by certain definitions? you who are bound? to someone? GEEZ. I honestly hate this manga sometimes. It’s TOO linear. It’s almost blindingly direct.

Which is to say, there's a lot more to appreciate to a character than only thinking theyre worthless because they're annoying... ♡ devotion! I was starting to think AidaIro was writing a really confusing all-over-the-place story, but these analyses are really making me rethink my way of media analysis. Sometimes it's very easy to just parrot what other people say as fact, and not think about things deeper... anyways! Just offering my appreciation again. ☆ミ

thanks again!!! It’s.... rrrgh I’m just one person with one interpretation, in a sea of equally proposed ones, I’m just happy if anything I say feels like it ‘clicks’ or rings true to what you’ve read yourself, personally. If it goes down smoother than other things you’ve tried to perceive in the text. 

Its always a struggle for me a bit-- I love DOING analysis-- but I also dislike the way modern fandom tends to convene on analysis and defer to analysis, rather than engaging the manga themselves directly (and trying to interpret it for their own). On one hand I resent the pipeline of some reddit take becoming the penultimate western narrative (usurping the very manga itself), but also I kindof have no choice but to try to assert my own take, too, and influence other’s perceptions (for better or worse, as I’m just some shmuck).

I feel that modern-day fandom is sortof odd, I think social media winds up dominating and creating a singular discussion/interpretation of media  .... I saw it so much I did want to at least, prove that someone out there has a different take, that very different interpretations can exist....?

...but anyway, I do think. Love is this manga’s greater unifying factor than anything else. Sincerely!!! Really!!!

#avvy's JSHK

[askthedealmaker-idv]

🌹 ROSE - do they like valentines day? have they been confessed to before? have they confessed to anyone before?

. . . . .

specter hummed at the thought of the holiday - but there was a lack of fondness in it for the traditions that the day had actually in store. gifts, dates, dancing; any enjoyment from the activities were often merely derived from that of a wish being fulfilled and seen through, the fact was as simple as shaking his hand to make it occur in the first place. the dealmaker slowly tapped the wooden edges of the counter, evidently something of consideration in his eyes - it wasn’t as if he could merely seem apathetic towards the other yet. .

there was just always something so about the day that made his skin crawl slightly and his wolf ears upright - the thought of the people who flooded in, driven by desperation or perhaps madness arriving to him and willingly giving their souls on a silver platter or what caused it in the end, that indescribable thing called love. the dealmaker could only bring himself to entertain the thought to two things and two things only and be truthful: wick and the shop - and even then, it never sat right on the paper in a way. a haunted word that echoed the misery and anger from many - as if it was already one of his dolls. shaking his head, specter snapped his fingers.

Valentine’s Day, dear customer? I do appreciate it - my shop is much more busy during the month of it, for one’s true intentions tend to be more apparent throughout it, no? and as it seems,

abruptly, specter rose from his seat and picked out a doll from the shelves, one with dark red roses covering its chest and a heart mask covering its face (a well representative of those during Valentine’s - he thought). there was an alluring feeling shrouding the doll as glowing petals dripped from the roses, fading into nothing within seconds before it was placed down to face the other, an odd comfort found in its gaze. . it would surely be easy to grab it there and then, but the watchful wick at their stool seemed to prove otherwise.

this doll is desire. it will have all who have met you in the past or present to fall in love with you. why not take it? though - I am an exception to this rule, I have indeed received confessions that I must attend to and I cannot be distracted. another could afford to be, though.

. . . . .

#(a granted wish. ask answered) #identity v askblog #idv askblog #identity v Victor grantz #idv victor grantz #idv postman #identity v postman #identity v #idv

[musiast]

Why Lizzy McAlpine is Changing the Way I Listen to Music

A few months ago, I was browsing Spotify for new tracks to add to my playlist when I came across an artist named Lizzy McAlpine. McAlpine quickly became one of my favorite artists due to her unique sound. She has a voice so warm it could melt you into a puddle of butter, yet when she chooses to use it, her raw and raspy voice can bring out the underlying teenage angst in you (that is, unless you already are an angsty teenager). People have described McAlpine's musical style as being inspired by folk, jazz, and even R&B. It is most likely a mixture of all, which would explain the allure of her music. Most importantly, though, her lyrics are some of the most imaginative and genuine I’ve heard from an artist in recent years. Although McAlpine is steadily gaining recognition, I believe she deserves much more, especially for her songwriting skills. Allow me to demonstrate my point through a few examples.

The following are a few excerpts from Lizzy McAlpine’s most recent album, “five seconds flat”:

“doomsday"

Pull the plug, but be careful

I don’t wanna die too soon

I think there’s good in you somewhere

I’ll hang on ‘til the chaos is through

McAlpine starts off this verse by essentially telling her partner to go easy on her. The phrase, "pull the plug" evokes images of her laying in a hospital bed, presumably in her last stages of life. As listeners further explore the image, they can almost hear McAlpine's faint breathing and the intermittent beeping of the heart rate monitor off to the side. I believe this specific imagery is crucial to the theme of the song because McAlpine is implying she has already endured so much emotional pain and suffering from her partner. In a way, this is the final straw for her. Once he "pulls the plug", she will no longer be able to bear it. But despite her misery, she still wants to hang on to their relationship for as long as she can because she believes that there is still some good left in her partner. McAlpine anticipates that she will have to go through many sufferings as a result of her choice - as implied in the line, "I'll hang on 'til the chaos is through" - but she is still willing to do it.

The complex and layered meaning of McAlpine's lyrics may not be immediately obvious to audiences. But in my opinion, it makes the lyrics all the more impactful once we’ve actually taken the time to make sense of it.  

“chemtrails”

I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don't see the plane

What the hell is my problem with taking the blame?

'Cause I play with my food and then someone else takes it away

It's so hard to believe, but I'm trying to change

In this song, McAlpine describes her experience grappling with the passing of her father. She compares it to seeing chemtrails - visible trails left by an airplane and believed by conspiracists to consist of toxic chemicals used to harm the environment and its people. This is a very interesting choice of metaphor that could be interpreted in a few ways. Firstly, McAlpine could be referring to the fact that the plane had already passed (just as her father had passed away), leaving only remnants (or in McAlpine's case, memories) of what was once there. Another possible interpretation is that just as the existence of chemical contrails cannot be proven (it remains a conspiracy theory), so is the existence of her late father (who continues to be present only in her mind). She also describes taking the time she spent with him for granted, per the analogy of playing with her food just to watch someone else take it from her.

Similar to the last song, “chemtrails” may require a few times of listening before audiences can put the pieces together. It is even more challenging in the sense that, to understand the full essence of the song, you are also required to know about the conspiracy theory associated with chemtrails. I thought this was a very creative decision on McAlpine’s part, as it not only serves to deliver a more impactful experience for listeners but creates a more in-depth and multidimensional interpretation of the song.

Lizzy McAlpine’s lyricism is characterized by the frequent use of metaphors and vivid imagery used to evoke strong emotions from listeners. She rarely chooses to communicate her lyrics straightforwardly, but rather makes lyrical choices that encourage her listeners to think along with her as they are slowly transported into her world. So to answer the question, “How is Lizzy McAlpine Changing the Way I Listen to Music?”, I believe McAlpine’s music has been encouraging me to listen to music more actively rather than passively. Her use of metaphors, analogies, vivid imagery, and other lyrical devices has inadvertently forced me to pay more attention to deciphering the meaning of lyrics and “piecing together the puzzles”. Perhaps most importantly, though, McAlpine has inspired me to listen to what stories people have to tell.

References

Lizzy McAlpine. Lyrics to "doomsday". Genius, 2021, genius.com/Lizzy-mcalpine-doomsday-lyrics.

Lizzy McAlpine. Lyrics to "chemtrails". Genius, 2022, genius.com/Lizzy-mcalpine-chemtrails-lyrics.

#lizzy mcalpine #songwriting #lyrics #song lyrics #sad songs #music #indie music #alternative music #Youtube