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elryuse · 11 days

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Yandere Winter...arrange marriage?

The Arranged Marriage

YANDERE WINTER X MALE READER

Winter glared at the ornate wedding invitation, the embossed gold lettering mocking her. "An arranged marriage?" she spat, tossing the card across the room where it landed with a soft thud on a pile of discarded designs. The rejection felt good, a defiant roar against the archaic traditions her family clung to. Winter was a supernova in the K-pop galaxy, her name synonymous with electrifying dance routines and chart-topping hits. Marrying some faceless nobody chosen by dusty family pacts was laughable. There was no time for love, not when she was on a relentless climb to the very pinnacle of K-pop stardom.

"Winter, darling," her manager, Min-seo, a woman whose steely gaze could rival Winter's own, sighed, picking up the discarded invitation. "Your family is serious. They've even chosen a candidate."

"Let me guess," Winter scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Some chaebol heir with a nose for publicity?"

Min-seo shook her head, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Someone more… unexpected. Apparently, his family owns a chain of bakeries across the country."

"A baker?" Winter snorted. "Seriously? What's next, are you going to set me up with a street performer?"

"Stranger things have happened, my dear," Min-seo countered with a sly smile.

Days bled into weeks, a whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and promotional appearances. But beneath the carefully constructed facade of the K-pop machine, a gnawing unease began to fester. A dull ache in her side, dismissed as exhaustion at first, intensified into a searing pain that stole her breath away mid-performance. The stage, once her throne, became a torture chamber. The roar of the crowd turned into a distant buzz as she crumpled to the floor, the vibrant lights blurring into a disorienting kaleidoscope.

The sterile white of the hospital room offered a stark contrast to the glitter and synthesizers of her world. The doctor's words hung heavy in the air – liver failure. A life sentence of a slowly fading light, or a desperate gamble on a transplant. Hope, as fragile as a spiderweb, clung to the possibility of a donor, a life preserver in a sea of despair.

Days turned into agonizing weeks, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Winter, the idol who commanded legions of fans, felt utterly powerless. The awards, the screaming audiences, the carefully curated image – they all felt hollow in the face of her own mortality. Then, a flicker on the horizon. A donor. A match.

The surgery was a blur, waking up to a world she thought she'd lost. And then she saw him. Y/n. A young man, awkward and shy, yet his eyes held an undeniable warmth. "Y-youu s-saved me," Winter rasped, her voice weak but filled with a sincerity that surprised even her.

"I, uh…" Y/n stammered, overwhelmed by the sight of the K-pop icon in such a vulnerable state. "It was nothing. Just… a lucky match, I guess."

But the gratitude, a nascent seed, began to take root in the fertile soil of her isolation. Why him? Why not a wealthy heir or a fellow K-pop star? The questions gnawed at her, a relentless tick in the back of her mind.

Y/n, overwhelmed by the whirlwind that was Winter, disappeared after a brief visit. Her world, once filled with flashing lights and screaming fans, felt deafeningly silent. Obsession, a creeping vine, started to coil around her heart. She couldn't understand why the man who'd saved her life had vanished so completely.

Fueled by a twisted sense of entitlement, Winter used her vast network of resources to track Y/n down. He was found in a small town, flour dusting his clothes as he kneaded dough in a quaint bakery. The scent of cinnamon and warm bread hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the antiseptic sterility of the hospital room where she'd first laid eyes on him.

"Winter?" Y/n stammered, his voice barely rising above the clatter of the mixer. Her smile was dazzling, but her eyes held a glint of steel.

"Remember that wedding, Y/n?" Winter purred, stepping closer, the cloying sweetness in her voice sending shivers down his spine. "The one our families arranged?"

He paled. The memory of the preposterous agreement, something they'd both scoffed at in their youth, resurfaced. "Winter, I… I can't. I don't even…"

"Of course you can, Y/n," she purred, her grip tightening on his arm with a surprising strength. "You saved my life. Isn't it only fair I save you from a life without me?"

Y/n's breath hitched. The playful banter of youth, the easy dismissal of the arranged marriage, felt like a lifetime ago. Now, trapped in the gaze of this powerful, pale woman, he felt a cold dread pool in his stomach. "Winter," he stammered, "T-things have changed. I… I already have someone."

The smile on Winter's face faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing her features. But then, it was gone, replaced by a chilling steeliness. "Someone?" she echoed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me, Y/n, who could possibly compete with the woman that you had saved?"

Panic clawed at Y/n's throat. He knew he shouldn't speak of Mina, his childhood sweetheart who helped run the bakery with him. But the thought of Winter, with her fame and fortune, swooping in and taking everything away, was unbearable. "Mina," he blurted out, his voice barely a squeak. "She's… she's my everything."

Winter's eyes narrowed. "Mina, huh?" A dangerous glint flickered within them. "Then perhaps it's time Mina learned the true meaning of sacrifice."

Y/n's heart lurched. He knew, with a horrifying certainty, that Winter wouldn't hesitate to hurt Mina. He had to get away, to warn Mina. But as he lunged for the bakery door, two burly men in black suits materialized behind Winter, blocking his escape.

"Let me go!" Y/n yelled, his voice choked with fear and defiance. He struggled against the men's grip, but they were simply too strong. A chilling calm settled over Winter as Y/n was dragged away, his pleas for help swallowed by the rhythmic clatter of the mixer.

Back in the opulent prison that was now her mansion, Winter sank into a plush velvet chair, a manic glint in her eyes. Mina was a nuisance, a fly to be swatted away. Winter had the resources, the power, and a twisted sense of entitlement. She would see to it that Y/n understood that his life, his love, everything belonged to her now. The debt, she would convince him, was far from settled.

Winter wasn't above getting her hands dirty. The designer gowns and manicured nails were a facade, a chilling disguise for the monster that lurked beneath. The gifts, the trips, the suffocating luxury – they were all meticulously chosen to twist the knife. They were a constant, sickening reminder of the life Y/n had lost, a life he could never reclaim unless he bent the knee to his gilded prison.

The burly guards were ever-present, shadows flanking him wherever he went. Their stoic silence spoke volumes – a chilling reminder of his captivity, a constant pressure against his will. Winter reveled in his fear, a twisted aphrodisiac that fueled her obsession. His haunted eyes, once filled with warmth, were now a canvas of terror, and Winter found a perverse beauty in that reflection.

One evening, the silence in the opulent mansion was shattered by a strangled gasp. Winter found Y/n slumped on the plush carpet, clutching a single red rose – the same kind that bloomed outside Mina's bakery. A cruel smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across her face.

"Missing your little baker, Y/n?" she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Perhaps the croissants weren't so stale after all?"

Y/n scrambled to his feet, the rose falling from his grasp like a crimson tear. His voice, hoarse with terror, rasped, "Leave her alone, Winter. You don't understand."

Winter tilted her head, amusement dancing in her cold eyes. "Oh, I understand perfectly, darling," she countered, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "She's the weed threatening to choke the delicate flower of our love. But fear not, I've taken steps to ensure your garden remains… pristine."

Y/n's blood ran cold. He lunged for her, a desperate snarl twisting his features. But before he could reach her, the guards were upon him, pinning him to the floor with practiced ease. A sickeningly sweet scent filled the air, cloying and thick. Winter held a small, crystal vial aloft, the liquid within shimmering like a captured rainbow.

"A little… encouragement," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling delight. "A reminder that some debts are settled not just with sacrifice, but with obedience."

The truth slammed into Y/n with the force of a sledgehammer. The rose, the scent – it wasn't a coincidence. Winter hadn't just threatened Mina, she'd… incapacitated her. The realization shattered the last vestiges of hope clinging to his heart. Tears streamed down his face, a silent scream lost in the suffocating opulence of the room.

Winter knelt beside him, her touch as cold and sterile as the diamond bracelet adorning her wrist. "Now, Y/n," she murmured, her voice a silken snare, "tell me everything about your little baker. Every detail, every secret. Only then can we truly begin to build a future… together."

A single tear escaped Winter's eye, but it wasn't a tear of remorse. It was a predator savoring its kill, a monstrous artist gazing upon her masterpiece. The once vibrant idol was gone, replaced by a chilling puppet master. In her twisted game of love, Winter wasn't just the prize – she was the player, the architect, the god. And Y/n, a broken marionette, was forever condemned to dance to her macabre symphony of obsession.

The air hung heavy with the stench of disinfectant and a cloying sweetness that clung to Winter like a second skin. Y/n, a hollow shell of his former self, stared at her with a mixture of resignation and a horrifying flicker of something akin to acceptance.

"You'll leave Mina alone," he rasped, his voice raw with despair. "That's the only condition."

Winter tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips. The vial that once held the incapacitating agent was now empty, discarded like a child's forgotten toy. "Such a selfless offer, darling," she purred, her voice dripping with a mockery of sympathy. "But where's the fun in that?"

Y/n flinched, a tremor running through his thin frame. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Winter wouldn't hesitate. He envisioned Mina, her bright smile replaced by a mask of fear, Winter's cold hand clamped over her mouth.

"Alright," he choked out, the words scraping against his throat. "Marry me. Just… don't you dare hurt her."

Winter's smile widened, a predator savoring the kill. "Such a devoted little lamb," she cooed, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness. "But promises are meant to be broken, wouldn't you agree?"

With a flick of her wrist, a hidden screen on the wall flickered to life. It displayed a live feed – a quaint bakery, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Mina, oblivious, was humming as she dusted flour onto a counter.

Y/n lurched forward, a strangled cry escaping his lips. Winter, with a casual cruelty that sent shivers down his spine, grabbed a remote from the coffee table and pressed a single button.

The screen flickered, then went dark. A sickening silence descended on the room, broken only by Y/n's ragged gasps. Winter stood, her movements predatory as she circled him like a wolf stalking its prey.

A chilling laugh erupted from her throat, echoing in the opulent emptiness of the room. It was a sound devoid of joy, a symphony of twisted satisfaction.

"Consider it a wedding gift, darling," she purred, leaning down to meet his horrified gaze. "Now, shall we seal the deal?"

Before Y/n could react, she grabbed his face, her manicured nails digging into his skin, and slammed her lips onto his. The kiss was cold, a grotesque parody of affection. It reeked of victory, of a love so twisted it had curdled into something monstrous.

Y/n tasted blood, his own metallic tang mingling with the cloying sweetness of her perfume. When she finally pulled away, a single tear traced a path down her cheek.

"A beautiful beginning, wouldn't you say?" she whispered, her voice strangely devoid of emotion.

Y/n stared at her, his eyes hollow and dead. Winter had taken everything from him – his freedom, his love, and in a final, horrifying act, his very soul.

The opulent mansion, once a symbol of wealth and success, now echoed with the deafening silence of a broken man. Winter, the idol turned monster, had claimed her prize. But in her twisted victory, she had also forged her own gilded cage, a prison built on the ashes of love and the chilling emptiness of a heart consumed by a deadly obsession.

The world gasped. Winter, the electrifying idol, the epitome of sunshine and pop perfection, was getting married. Not to some fellow K-pop star, not to a wealthy heir, but to a simple baker from a small town. The news cycle spun with speculation, but the carefully orchestrated photos showed a radiant Winter, her smile brighter than ever, leaning on the arm of a shy-looking Y/n.

The wedding was a spectacle – a meticulously crafted performance. Winter, adorned in a dress that shimmered like a captured dream, walked down a rose-petal strewn aisle. The cheers and applause were deafening, a symphony orchestrated by her team. But beneath the flawless facade, a horrifying truth festered.

Y/n, his eyes as dead as the diamonds on her hand, was a ghost of his former self. His smile was a practiced rictus, a mask that hid the chilling emptiness within. Every touch from Winter felt like a branding iron, every whispered word a cruel reminder of the life he'd lost.

During the vows, Winter's voice, sweet and saccharine, spoke of eternal love and devotion. Y/n's response, devoid of emotion, echoed in the cavernous hall. Yet, the cameras captured a perfect picture: a love story for the ages.

The reception was a whirlwind of flashing lights and champagne flutes. Winter, a consummate performer, played the part of the blissful bride. Y/n, trapped in his gilded cage, danced with a practiced ease that sent shivers down the spines of those who knew him best.

As the night wore on, and the guests began to depart, the mask slipped from Winter's face. In the seclusion of their suite, a terrifying coldness settled in her eyes.

"You played your part well, darling," she purred, her voice devoid of warmth.

Y/n, a broken marionette, said nothing. There was nothing left to say. His silence was a deafening testament to the monster he was now chained to.

Winter leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "But remember, Y/n," she whispered, a cruel smile playing on her lips, "our dance has just begun."

The world reveled in the fairy tale wedding, oblivious to the chilling truth behind the glittering facade. Winter, the idol, had achieved her twisted victory. Y/n, trapped in a gilded cage with a monster disguised as a lover, was forever condemned to a dance macabre, his only companion the hollow echo of a love destroyed and a life stolen. The price of Winter's twisted obsession was a broken man, a chilling reminder that sometimes the most beautiful smiles hide the most terrifying darkness.

Months bled into a year, a year of gilded bars and a suffocating emptiness. Winter, however, seemed to grow restless. The sparkle in her eyes, once fueled by performance and adoration, had dimmed, replaced by a cold, steely glint.

One evening, as Y/n sat slumped in a plush armchair, a cold, clinical document landed in his lap. It was a fertility report, his name stark against the sterile white background. Winter stood before him, a predatory smile twisting her features.

"It seems you're perfectly healthy, Y/n," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling possessiveness. "Time to fulfill your duties as my husband, wouldn't you say?"

Y/n's blood ran cold. He understood now. This wasn't just about possession; it was about creating a permanent tie, a child who would forever bind him to her. The very thought of bringing a life into this twisted reality filled him with a soul-crushing despair.

But defiance was a luxury he no longer possessed. The guards, ever-present shadows, flanked him, a constant reminder of his captivity. He could fight, he could scream, but it would be a futile effort. Winter held all the cards, and Y/n was nothing but a pawn in her macabre game.

In the following weeks, the once vibrant mansion became a sterile prison. Doctors became regular visitors, their pronouncements echoing with a chilling finality. Y/n became a vessel, his body another stage for Winter's twisted performance.

The day the pregnancy test came back positive, Winter's smile could have rivaled the rising sun. Y/n, however, felt a cold dread settle in his gut. This wasn't a victory; it was a life sentence, not just for him, but for the innocent child who would be born into this gilded cage.

The world outside continued to celebrate Winter, the idol who had it all – a perfect marriage, a blossoming career, and now, a child on the way. But behind the carefully constructed facade, a monstrous truth festered. Winter, the idol, had become a puppeteer, her strings controlling not just Y/n's life,

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patricia-taxxon · 3 months

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synopsizing the movie that plays in my head every time i listen to nascent by alexander panos

this probably isn't as interesting to read as it is for me to imagine in my own head, but i wanted to write it down. maybe u will have fun imagining it too

1. Q Windswept

This is the intro to the album, you pretty much get every flavor of sound that the album has to offer in one short burst. This is the title sequence & opening credits, where all the nonexistent animators & vfx artists would go. I imagine big bunches of text popping into existence with each impact.

2. Cycles

This track is in a weird spot, it's the longest one & it was made much earlier. It sounds like it's in a different world, so I treat it as an establishing montage of the human world. We're introduced to the protagonist, who I'll call Alex for convenience but doesn't necessarily represent the real life producer behind the music, represented by a live action human actor for the time being. The track feels like writer's block, frustration, pounding on a desk, (the domp domp bit) pacing around the room, moments of existential fear in between the doldrums of solitude, the wubs and crashes are a transformation that is barely being held back. Twilight depression montage.

3. Sutter

Sutter begins the purely synthetic "internal" portion of the record. We enter a liminal/metaphorical space. Alex spasms and transforms into a 2D animated dog furry while floating far above a green field with too much synthetic blue in its hue. Huge wide shots of Alex's body flying backwards with the artificial landscape in the background, hitting with those massive manipulated vocal hits. The track ends with him slowing and coming to a gentle rest on the grass.

4. 36523_red/blue

Alex opens his eyes, sees only the pure "blue screen of death" shade of blue in the sky. Abstract glitches and squiggles zap across the screen in time with the music. Alex is beginning to ruminate, represented by him drawing patterns with his paws in the sky as the track begins to pick up a consistent tempo. The glitches and patterns are played with his fingers, building in intensity until the climax shows a vast mirror that fills the entire sky approaching rapidly, and then slowing, the dog boy in the reflection growing until it comes face to face with the viewer, and then a cut to black.

5. reasonsnotto

Lights are out, audio-reactive abstract animations shudder into being with the synthetic voice, warping and pulsing with the track's modulations. In the moments when Alex's real voice pokes through the synthetic mush, his dog form coalesces, still blurry and struggling to become fully contiguous until the very end, where Alex sings the album's thesis directly to the camera, against a pure black background.

6. Dream Extinction

He breaks the mirror here, the impacts are his fists striking the surface and releasing burning waves of fire and electricity. At the end, the part with the consistent bursts, he begins clawing at his reflection, screaming, seizure inducing flashing lights imply that this hurts him too. As the track calms down, the mirror disintegrates.

7. Equinox (Prelude)

This track begins the portion of the album that is trying to claw itself back into reality. He's not there yet, beyond the mirror Alex finds another liminal space, a primordial river, and as the track builds, more concrete images begin to flash into existence before crumbling again. He can't get out, he doesn't want to get out. He shields his eyes, cut to black.

8. Equinox

This is the bit where Alex says a poem to himself and runs back to reality with all his might. Emphasize the "You flake, you human life" line, he says it with gritted canine teeth and his doggy ears lowered, resolved to claw back to his humanity. After that exalted rush of light and color passes, he opens a door, and slams it behind him.

9. catch it

This track is resurfacing, coming back to reality. The synthetic glitches fall back completely, icons of a city street come into existence, populating the white void in time with those guitar chords. Alex isn't visible yet, but the images are revealed to be the view outside his window. The POV shot looks down, and he sees his human hands again.

10. re:Turning

Ok, this part is so cliched & shmaltzy that it makes me embarrassed to write it out, but there's only one conclusion this story can have. The glitches re-emerge, the synthetic elements that were previously contained come back again. It's his fur. The dog re-emerges, Alex transforms again like a magical girl before opening his front door & singing the final hook, walking through a live action environment with shapes and colors from his liminal space following him. The paradox is resolved. He is multitude.

thanks for reading.

#mini essay #cilantromixture #Alexander Panos

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bluebirdsboi · 9 months

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Nascent | Miguel O’Hara x Male Reader

Fandom: Spider-verse

Genre: Fluff | Florist/Tattoo Artist AU

Paring: Florist!Miguel O’Hara x Tattoo Artist!Male Reader

Warnings: Needles

Word Count: 933

Requests are open

GIF From: geamering (tenor)

The streets of Nueva York seemed bustling even in the evening. The warm light streaming through the window provided peace of mind as you drew up new flash designs while listening to music.

As time went by, you naturally became increasingly tired and you already finished with your sessions for the day, so you told your coworkers that you're heading out early. While walking down the sidewalk, you noticed a flower shop just two buildings down from the tattoo parlor you worked at. They weren’t closed yet, so you decided to walk in and browse. The designs you drew were almost always of flowers or an ornate design that somehow incorporated flowers, which is why you took the opportunity to find some inspiration.

The inside of the building was adorned with a multitude of beautiful flower arrangements. You were captivated by all the different types of flowers and different pigments, but there was one arrangement that had you completely enamored. It was an arrangement that had a Blue Spider Lily as the main flower. “That one’s one of my favorites.” A deep voice spoke from across the room. You looked up at its owner to see a tall man with dark brown pushed-back hair, and gorgeous, deep brown eyes. “Oh, yeah, it’s a really pretty piece.” A flustered chuckle accented your response. “I appreciate it. I’m Miguel, by the way.” His tone was warm as he extended his hand. “(Y/n).” As you shook hands, you could feel the callouses that formed on Miguel’s hand, but he was still gentle with you.

The following interaction between you two seemed to flow almost effortlessly, with you eventually admitting that you are a tattoo artist and you were perusing for inspiration. You just couldn’t help how easy it was to talk to Miguel, hanging onto every word he spoke. He shared some arrangements with some of his favorite flowers, which coincidentally were also some of your favorites, only drawing you more into him.

After leaving, you made a mental note to visit the flower shop on your days off or whenever you could leave the tattoo parlor early, both for inspiration but now with an added motive of seeing Miguel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks went by from when you first stopped by the flower shop, growing closer to Miguel with each visit. Seeing his smile always had its way of brightening your day, no matter how stressful it may have been. Miguel also made his efforts to connect with you by extending your conversations as long as he could, letting you stay a few minutes after closing to sketch, and even bringing you a mini bouquet when he stopped by the tattoo parlor.

One day, you were in the flower shop, with Miguel sketching another arrangement as the store was about to close when he made a lighthearted jab as you were drawing. “How many times have you come in here just to not order anything?” A small smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned against the counter with an eyebrow raised. You couldn’t deny the truth, as a breathy chuckle left your mouth. “Okay, how about this? I can give you a free tattoo to make up for it.” You knew Miguel didn’t mind your drawing and flower observing too much, but you still wanted to compensate somehow. The tattoo didn’t have to be an extravagant one, just something to show your gratitude. “Deal.” Miguel patted your shoulder with a smile on his face as he walked to the back of the store.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next evening, you took it upon yourself to close the tattoo parlor, letting your coworkers leave a little earlier and drawing up more designs to pass your alone time.

Around ten minutes before you closed the parlor was when Miguel walked in. Welcoming him, you let him settle into the tattoo bed while you gathered all of your materials. Once you were done, you transferred a flash design of a Spider Lily onto his shoulder and started your tattoo machine. The constant drone of the needle became background noise as you worked on Miguel’s arm. You could feel the finer details of his rather large shoulder under your gloves and the subtle warmth radiating from him. A faint heat crept onto your cheeks from the intimacy of the situation. Neither of you were uncomfortable, though. Miguel settled into your touch, stealing glances while you worked.

As a comfortable silence fell over you two, a question kept nagging at the back of Miguel’s mind. He’d grown fond of you over the past weeks and didn’t want to limit your interactions to whenever either of you were in each other’s shop. “Hey, can I ask you something?” Miguel felt vaguely nervous as he waited for your response. “Go for it.” You kept your focus on the tattoo while answering. “You’re a really great guy. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go out one day?” A tentative sigh linked Miguel’s sentences to prepare himself for a “no”. You removed the needle from his skin and sat upright to look at him for a moment. You had no idea if he shared the same feelings you had for him, and yet here he was asking you on a date. However, there was no doubt in your mind that you liked Miguel. “I’d love to.” Your disbelief peaked through your words and was shown by the somewhat shocked look on your face. With that, small chuckles escaped both of you as you returned to your work on Miguel’s shoulder with fond smiles decorating your faces.

- End-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey guys. So, first things first, I apologize if this fic isn’t that great. This is my first time writing for this AU (and really any AU in a long time) and I tried to keep Miguel as in character as possible, but I still think he’s an OOC. So overall, I’m sorry if this fic isn’t great, but in other news, I’m now writing for Triple Frontier so you can request fic for those characters. Also similar to my second blog, I’m opening a taglist, so if you want to be tagged in any future fics for any fandom, just send me an ask of a DM so I can add you.

That’s all for current updates, so as always, thank you for reading <3

#fanfic #fanfiction #Spider-verse #across the spiderverse #ATSV #x reader #x male reader #spider-verse x reader #spider-verse x male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x male reader #au

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alackofghosts · 8 months

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nascent flash

#haaaappy saturday #i keep thinking it's sunday for some reason #and every time i look at my phone and see that it is indeed saturday i get such a boost of serotonin lol #warrior of light #Ardbert #fanart #speedpaint #i draw sometimes #Final Fantasy XIV

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primojade · 1 year

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𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑.

“ he didn't expect he would rather liked being brought to his knees by you. ”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | in which Ayato quietly mused how your seemingly unimpressive self could hunt a fearsome warrior like him.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | gn!reader x kamisato ayato, fluff(?), self musings, slightly suggestive at some parts, possessiveness, prey/predator themes(?).

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | If you read one-shots from Quotev, you might or might not have encountered this piece before xD so don't worry, that's me, too. And yes, my Quotev have a lot of unfinished wips 💀

Masterlist

Breathtaking, that you are.

That was Ayato's line of thought as his silver blue eyes intently followed your form as you walked out of his study room after discussing a work-related issue with him, seemingly satisfied with its results.

You were about to step through the doors, but you decided to give him a quick glance for a moment and your gaze met his carefully narrowed ones, looking intently at your retreating form.

The eye contact was brief, short enough to leave him hanging as you flashed him a small, polite grin before turning your head. As you left, the shoji doors closing behind you with a soft click.

In that small fleeting moment, Ayato felt his blood was set ablaze. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, ringing in his ears; a welcome sensation that was starting to be a permanent side effect of spending time with you. Perhaps this exhilaration felt very close to the experience of chasing a...prey.

But there was a different tinge to thisーwhatever this is. Something new, enticing, unique and...deliciously addicting.

“...My, how interesting.” Amused, he muttered to himself quietly.

A spate of distracting thoughts took over his mind as he resumed his work.

Despite the turbulent emotions simmering under his skin, the leader of the Yashiro Commission maintained his façade of quiet excellence as he carried out his duties with enough enthusiasm befitting his coveted position.

As his body moved mechanically to sign his paperworks with practiced ease, his mind wandered to a thought that seemed impossible.

...Was he the one being hunted? Was it possible that you were the one luring him in...?

Ayato's grin widened a fraction, a sign of danger according to Thoma himself, and the same grin that sometimes earned the housekeeper's vocal derision.

Ayato revels in the excitement of these nascent, but strong feelings you brought him. He enjoyed your small talks, fleeting moments together and the soft touches that ranked on your skin a little bit more. Though Thoma and Ayaka had always been Ayato’s accomplices in a lot of his plans, his soft-spoken younger sister and bold housekeeper's methods were often quite contrary to Ayato’s. The three of them worked rather well together, but recently, Ayato was finding it equally fun being around with someone like you.

The physical closeness that was becoming more and more frequent of late was also a very welcome turn. Every touch you shared felt like seething fire to his skin, scorching deep and deep in his heart until he would find himself unconsciously coiling back as Ayato often catches himself idly thinking about your reaction if he kissed your lips or bit your neck.

He wondered how it would feel to hold your much breakable form in his arms and let his hands wander around your body. How adorable your reactions would be when he had you writhing beneath him and groaning out his name.

These rather...inappropriate thoughts kept him awake at night as he anticipated the new day that you would surely bring him new sensations and intrigue. Yet every time you parted ways, Ayato found his mood would turn a bit irritable, mind and heart almost immediately missing your presence by his side.

He could not pinpoint why he felt this way. Why his heart would soar at your smile, his skin aflame when your actions and attention was directed at him. And only him. You drew him in further and further like a moth to a flame, and now...he found himself utterly...hopelessly captivated.

Him, a fearsome warriorーlithe, influencial and powerful, now at the mercy of a seemingly simple and unimpressive human.

Ayato chuckled ruefully, crossing his arms, as he realised he rather liked being brought to his knees by you. He was rather curious to see if you could do more to him. If you could make him feel more of this smoldering...desires.

The thought sent a thrill down his body. What would you plan to do next? How would you drive him crazy afterwards? There was never a dull moment when being with you, and Ayato was thoroughly smitten.

For a moment, he considered consulting Thoma or Ayaka about this. But he purged the thought almost instantly.

Ayato would rather keep the electric feelings sparking between him and you a secret.

At least for now.

Some things could wait. He was a very patient and kind man in any way. There was no need to rush.

...After all, it would make the chase all the more thrilling.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (tell me if u want to be added!) | @samarill

#genshin impact #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin ayato #jaded moments—!#gender neutral reader #kamisato ayato #tw: suggestive

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profoundlyfaded · 4 days

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[HC] The Orb and Karsite Weave

(Or: How Mystra is Only Out For Herself)

This primarily comes from my head canon that I use in all cases about the The Orb, and well specifically the book from where The Orb was contained.

I think the book in which the Orb was contained arrived back on the Material Plane at the same time The Crown was heisted out of Mephistopheles’s vault, stored by the Archdevil because he knew it contained this nascent divine power and perhaps he was considering whether a time would come when he would use it.

The Book, and by extension The Orb, were accidental passengers in Durge and Gortash’s return from Cania, perhaps that one could not be without the other - however, they completely overlook this book. But the Book and Crown are a pair and had our two villains realised this, they’d have had something more powerful than even they originally conceived!

So, it lands in the world and it’s like a flashing beacon; ancient, almost primordial. At first, Mystra’s Chosen picks up on it because it’s his work, seeking out and destroying magic that would threaten The Weave. However, his assessment of it is that of the old Weave, Mystral’s Weave, before she unravelled to end Karsus. Restoring this would be a great boon to Mystra, and to him, increasing her opinion of him in her eyes as well.

Gale has no idea it’s Karasite Weave; he tells us this in Act III and there is absolutely no subterfuge on his part when it comes to his titbit of information. And this isn’t a ridiculous notion - all magic was destroyed that day, and the Karasite Weave probably only existed for seconds. It should have been wiped out as something too small to shatter.

The only person who knows what it is, is Mystra. And I have trouble believing she wasn’t aware of what her Chosen had found until it was too late. Mystra could have stopped Gale, saved him before he needed saving but she let him open the book.

I suspect her reasons stem from a ruthless decision that she was willing to let any number of people die to destroy this piece of magic. It’s a threat to her - something that has utterly destroyed her Weave in the past (Gale tells us this in the none-romanced version of this discussion). It’s important to note from the Audience between Mystra and Gale is she says herself that it was his focus on saving himself that caused her to shun him. So, in essence, Mystra has two things to fear - the Crown itself as well as her Chosen now being imbued with this terrifyingly powerful nascent divine power. She knows if Gale combines the two, he’ll probably outstrip her as a God in a very short space of time.

(As an aside here, I think Dekarios the Divine does eventually usurp Ao if you pursue Godhood - that’s my interpretation of Raphael’s ‘warning’.)

Mystra shuts herself off from Gale, hoping, maybe even going as far as praying that he’ll run out of artefacts and explode, destroying the Karsite Weave with him. Again, she doesn’t really care about the casualties, to her any number of dead justifies the destruction of the Orb.

But he doesn’t run out. Instead Gale crosses paths with the Mindflayers, their Netherse imbued tadpoles and in orbit of The Crown.

Mystra sees the opportunity - she knows Gale has no idea what he’s really dealing with. She can be rid of The Crown and Orb in one fell swoop, and Gale is the Chosen who fell in service to his Goddess. I get the feeling the Mystra thought Gale might be grateful and much more willing to do this than he actually is, and feels her path is assured. She doesn’t count on the leader of the pack (or in the case of a Gale Origin run, Gale himself) deciding not to kill the Elder Brain at that moment.

It’s the easy route, isn’t it - what is a little sacrifice to save the world? Why would these heroes opt for the harder path?

So she dispatch’s Elminster to deliver the news and provide Gale with the much needed relief to let the Orb feed off the Weave. Remember this is not a cure, it’s a temporary respite that she could take away again.

(Aside here - the Human!Gale Orb ending is actually, in my opinion a really double edged sword because he’s not cured).

I do actually believe that Mystra couldn’t cure the Orb before now. The quest information for The Wizard of Waterdeep tells us, regardless of Gale’s decision, that if he seizes the Crown, the Orb will answer to him. I think Mystra can’t outright cure the Orb until she gets the crown because other Weaves don’t answer to her - look at the Shadow Curse, her power is deeply limited within Shar’s domain.

Once she has the Crown, it becomes in her best interest to extract the Orb from Gale. She takes it for herself, and we don’t really know what she does with it - perhaps she locks it away in one of her Pleasure Domes; perhaps she ponders using it against a fellow God such as Shar - but she needs both the Crown and Orb together. She cures Gale because it suits her and she’s not outright malicious enough to kill him in the process. I do think she held on to lingering affection for him but she also views him as what he can do for her.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the orb #the crown of Karsus #Mystra #no good can come of this #headcanon

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worldbuildingwanderlust · 5 months

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Flash of insight

Eviscerate

This pernicious

Gloom

And nourish

Nascent nebulae

To light

A new way

#my writing #poetry #poem #spilled ink #creative writing #space #hope #insight #nebula #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #quick write

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scifigeneration · 4 months

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Westworld at 50: Michael Crichton’s AI dystopia was ahead of its time

by Keith McDonald, Senior Lecturer Film Studies and Media at York St John University

Westworld turned 50 on November 21. Director Michael Crichton’s cautionary tale showed that high-concept feature films could act as a vehicle for social commentary. Westworld blended cinematic genres, taking into account the audience’s existing knowledge of well-worn narrative conventions and playfully subverting them as the fantasy turns to nightmare.

The film centres on a theme park where visitors, in this case the protagonists Peter (Richard Benjamin) and John (James Brolin), can enter a simulated fantasy world – Pompeii, Medieval Europe, or the Old West. Once there, they can live out their wildest fantasies. They can even have sex with the synthetic playthings that populate the worlds.

This sinister idea went on to be explored further in later films such as The Stepford Wives (1975 & 2004), A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) and Ex Machina (2014).

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Of course, it all goes terribly wrong when a computer virus overruns the park and the androids become unbound from the safety protocols that have been encoded into them. The resultant horror climaxes with Peter being stalked through the park by the menacing gunslinger (Yul Brynner).

The film isn’t perfect. Westworld was Michael Crichton’s feature directorial debut, and it shows – as does the tight shooting schedule and frugal budget imposed by MGM. The studio was notorious at the time for mishandling projects and their directors.

Compared to some of the other notable films released that year, such as William Friedkin’s masterful The Exorcist, Nicolas Roeg’s terrifying Don’t Look Now and Clint Eastwood’s assured High Plains Drifter, Westworld has a B-movie aesthetic.

This is, though, elevated by a towering performance from Brynner, and the high-concept approach that later came to dominate the Hollywood system. The film also provided fruitful inspiration for an ambitious HBO adaptation in 2016.

Genre blending and bending

Westworld successfully blended science fiction with other genres. In this sense, it was a pioneering film, which made the most of its limitations due to the hugely influential imagination of Crichton and a postmodern masterstroke of the casting and performance of Brynner.

Today’s cinema is saturated with meta-textual references – moments when a film makes a critical commentary on itself or another movie. This was typified by Michael Keaton’s recent reprisal of his role as Batman in The Flash. But when Westworld was released, such creative choices were novel and fresh.

Bynner’s android gunslinger wears a costume almost identical to the one he donned for his role in The Magnificent Seven (1961). The choice adds dramatically to the thematic concerns of the film – the saturation of consumer culture and the postmodern bent towards repetition, simulation and cliche.

The simulated scenes in the theme park itself are built around cliched movie moments. The three settings which high-paying customers can enter represent film genres: The Medieval simulation, the “swords and sandals” recreation of the Roman Empire and the titular western.

When Westworld was released, each of these genres (the Medieval history, the Roman epic and the western) were already past their heyday, both in terms of popularity and reliability at the box office. Using them furthered the film’s comment on contemporary Hollywood – that it had run out of original ideas and was simply cashing in on nostalgia.

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Westworld and AI

Though other films, like Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), were exploring the concept of nascent AI around this time, Westworld arguably did so in the most accessible style. And its legacy in doing so is clear in subsequent films, such as The Terminator (1984), The Matrix (1999) and recently in M3GAN (2023).

Crichton later revisited the notion of a theme park turning perilous due to the Promethean human instinct in his novel, Jurassic Park in 1990. Steven Spielberg’s adaptation remains one of the high points in American action-adventure cinema.

The fascinating scenarios Michael Crichton explored in his work successfully embodied the societal anxieties and technophobia of the 1970s. And in Westworld, he demonstrated a flair for capturing such fears in visual set pieces. This is no more evident than in the iconic, uncanny image of Yul Brynner’s deadly, sentient killer cowboy. Fifty years on, it remains one of the most memorable images in science fiction cinematic history.

#artificial intelligence #technology #movies #science fiction #science fiction and fantasy #futuristic #Westworld #Sci Fi Time Capsule #Youtube #featured

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innocentlymacabre · 8 months

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THE CRESCENT OF FOOLS AND FORGOTTEN TIME ⤳ a wip intro

Mallory Fintan disappeared without a trace five years ago, sending the tracking world into a frenzy. For a while, the guild did what it does best: it tracked. They weren't going to take the absence of one of their best lying down, and hunted down every herring and goose chase they caught whiff of, but all was for naught. Whatever had caused Mallory to go MIA had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure every trail would run cold. Until Lot had a dream. A lost soul calling out. Glimpses, flashes of a prison. A surge of power that left a very real scar. Unsure of why she disappeared in the first place, unsure of who to trust - if anyone at all - Jayce and Lot go at it alone to solve a myriad of mysteries. Who took Mallory? What kept her there? Who sent Lot the dream? The Crescent of Fools and Forgotten Time is an urban fantasy adventure (with a human-dragon team up!) that’ll plunge Jayce and Lot headfirst into the seedy underbelly of the tracking world, tossing them into a tsunami of nefariousness, dubious double crosses, and a cloud of deception wrapped so tightly around reality, the fog may never truly lift.

STATUS: ideation (but I'm just so excited about this title I had to share it)

GENRE: urban fantasy / mystery adventure / (possibly) horror

LINKS: WIP tag (x) | Excerpt (x)

This is in such nascent stages this is really all I have to say at the moment, but I'm absolute buzzing about it so thought I'd breath it to life on the internet :)

Any boosting would still be much appreciated though!

general taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @caspersgraveyard @zephsthings @mrunmione @barqat @cloudofbutterflies @ozziesdisco @antiherogf @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @whimsy-of-the-stars @at-thezenith @desi-yearning @orgasming-caterpillar @rodentwrites @imnotcalledbutsummoned // newsletter

picture credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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dawnslight-aegis · 8 months

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1. envoy

As the snow of Coerthas slowly gave way to the forests of the Northern Shroud, howling mountain winds replaced with the rustle of leaves and the sigh of the breeze, warmth spread slowly through Kaede’s body, recovering sensation and feeling in the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes. She sighed as the gentle rise and fall of her companions’ conversation washed over her, though she was not truly paying it any mind. Her mind was elsewhere – or it was trying to be, and she was doing everything in her power to keep it anchored firmly on the uneven path under her chocobo’s talons.

A task made all the more difficult by the fact that every few moments she could feel Aymeric’s gaze lingering on her, warmer and more intense than even the sun on the back of her neck. Gods help her, the man was staring, and it was infinitely more distracting than it had any right to be.

They were on their way to a war council, there simply wasn’t time to be mooning about like a maiden, no matter how recently they’d become…whatever it was they were. Every time she had attempted to locate a word to encapsulate the nascent relationship, she had found her vocabulary wanting, all the options too shallow or too saccharine.

After a particularly long moment of silence, a sound from Aymeric’s other side caught Kaede’s attention as Lucia cleared her throat. “Lord Commander.” From her tone, she had been waiting some time for a response that had yet to come, and had grown impatient enough to let it filter into her voice.

“Ah… yes? My deepest apologies, Lucia. My mind wandered for a moment,” Aymeric murmured, somewhat sheepishly, but without even the slightest hint of regret.

The stoic Garlean made a noise that from someone else, Kaede might have been tempted to call a snort, then shook her head and urged her chocobo forward. “I can see that, my lord,” she muttered flatly. “By your leave, I will make directly for the city and see to our lodgings – I trust that I will see you both at the council this evening?”

A sharp green eye studied Aymeric and Kaede in turn, and the raen fought the rather ridiculous urge to salute as Aymeric nodded.

“Thank you, Second Commander. We shall endeavor not to be late.”

Skepticism flashed across Lucia’s stern features and then was gone as she spurred her bird into a canter, disappearing into the Shroud.

Kaede had scarce lost sight of her when a long-fingered hand shot out and caught Rose’s bridle, tugging the black chocobo closer to his own mount. As the birds bumped into one another with a quiet kweh of protest, Aymeric’s other hand slid against her jaw and tipped her head back, his mouth covering hers before she had time to react. Tenderness spread through her like sun-warmed honey, thick and sweet and golden, leaving her helpless to do aught but return his affections in kind.

When he finally released her, there was a hint of mischief in his expression – something that she was still unused to seeing in him, but that she was growing to cherish more every time she saw it. “Forgive me, my lady, but I have been thinking about doing that since before we left Ishgard, and I found myself unable to wait a moment longer.”

“Hmm. Well. I suppose I could be convinced not to hold it against you, but I don’t know that I can say the same about Lucia.” Kaede grinned at Aymeric as she nudged her chocobo back into parallel with his own, rather than risk the barding becoming entangled, but a full fulm closer than she’d been before the Second Commander’s departure. “You might have been a bit less obvious, you know.”

“I might have, but then I would not have been afforded a half-bell of peace and quiet with you.” The spark of mischief in his eyes flared into full-blown amusement, laced with pride.

Kaede shot him an incredulous sidelong glance, stifling a laugh behind her hand. “Are you telling me that you were intentionally acting the lovestruck fool in order to annoy your second in command into leaving us alone? All so you could kiss me? Halone forfend, ser.”

“’Tis not much of an act, I fear.” His smile turned a touch rueful as he caught her hand and brushed a kiss across the back of it.

Linking her fingers with his, they let the chocobos meander towards the city at their own pace as they soaked in the dappled sunlight and late spring warmth.

Though a part of her was loath to break the peaceful silence, the greater portion did not want to waste the few stolen moments before they assumed their roles, and so Kaede squeezed his hand and tipped her head in curiosity. “Have you visited the Shroud before? I must say, it’s somewhat strange for me to see you surrounded by anything but stone or snow.”

“I have, though I have not had the pleasure in some time. I have always been fond of it – Gridania is beautiful.” A faint look of melancholy touched his features and he sighed. “Coerthas was not always so gloomy, you know. I wish I could show it to you as it was. Cold, still, but green, with lakes warm enough to swim without losing fingers to frostbite. We used to spend summers in the country, my parents and I. They are among my fondest memories.”

Not for the first time, but perhaps the fiercest, Kaede wished she could control when the Echo triggered, so she could see through his eyes what he longed to show her – but whatever it was that made the visions overtake her sight lay quiet in the back of her mind. All that was left was her imagination, and try as she might, she could not picture the highlands as anything but austere, cold and harsh and magnificent.

Kaede let out a long breath and peered up through the pale green leaves above them, to the blue sky beyond. “It sounds beautiful. But I like the way it is now, too.” Ishgard’s cold made the warmth of her hearths all the more inviting, the standoffishness of her people making their welcome a treasure dearer to her than any gold.

They rounded a corner on the path, and the Yellow Serpent gate stood before them, Gridania all but hidden by the trees beyond. As if of the same mind, they both brought their chocobos to a stop, the reminder of exactly why they had departed Ishgard unable to be avoided any longer.

War was on the horizon once again, and the Twelve only knew what it would require from each of them, but it was near a certainty that their moments together would be shorter and less frequent than even now. Kaede could see in his eyes the same ache that clenched like a fist around her heart, the wish that the world could stop – or at least slow – for a while. But the Keeper waited for no man, and the Spinner had decreed their paths soon diverge once more.

Aymeric dismounted and stepped over, holding his hand out to Kaede. From anyone else, she might have been tempted to be insulted at the insinuation that she required help, but from him, the courteous gesture seemed as natural as breathing. As he pulled her from the saddle, he tugged her into his arms, and they stood clinging to each other for a long moment, barely daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the last gasp of calm before the storm.

Eventually, Kaede forced herself to loosen her grip around Aymeric’s waist, and in turn he stepped back and briefly caught her hands in his own. “Well, shall we?”

Summoning a faint smile to her face, Kaede nodded. “I suppose we must.”

It seemed to Kaede the first in what would be a long series of farewells, driven not by desperation, but by the inexorable tug of duty. To stand still in one another’s presence, but parted as surely as if there were malms between them.

Together but apart, they walked into Gridania, to face whatever awaited them on the horizon, beyond Baelsar’s Wall.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #wolmeric #warrior of light #aymeric de borel #ffxiv fanfiction #tales from the dawn #yay I did day 1!#how nice that I already had a to-do entry listed under the MSQ “an envoy for ishgard”#fluffy fluff they're being lovey dovey and gross

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