Life captured in a painting.
I saw more people today, they came by to see the room. The same room everyone comes to see. I watched them briskly walk past all the silent painting and watching candles, they paid no mind to the dust and spiders, they never do, after all. A single goal in mind, they came to see the rusted beds, i'm sure. They all do. Countless pulled towards us by a never ending curiousity. Yet none ever leave. A shame, really. All those bodies have so many uses besides to carry one's mind from awful place to calm, serene dreams.
The light flickers everynow and then, it always has since that day... Well, no point in reminding oneself of things long since purposely forgotten. I don't know why. I never did. They kept me in the dark to stumble and fall, only to join me once they outlived the only usefulness they once had.
Everything was so much simpler when we used candles to light up the halls, back then the painting frames weren't so faded and the paint still held it's vibrant colors. Ah, but alas time eats away even at the most humble of hands.
Once the man died and our house fell into chaos and apathy, once we lost all we had left, then and only then did we realize that we witnessed the end of a bloodline. Years passed with no light, no human contact, and quickly, life as we knew it changed. Mankind has come so far from the last time our family ate together during Christmas, oh but i guess it's to be expected.
Now, we sit wordlessly, watching men and women gape in awe at our beauty. We watch them walk down the ancient, moth eaten rug in the hall, desperate to look at as much as they can. It's always been like this, visitors always looked around awestruck, never quite grasping all we had to sacrifice to obtain all this gold tinted bronze.
They never saw beneath the lies. They never realized. They never knew that our family, entire generations of lives lost to illness and war, was built on fickle lies, ones that would shatter like glass at the softest of touches.
Ignorance is bliss, and in some cases, it is all that stands between a life of luxury and a death of misery and regret.
Is that how they all died? In agony and longing? Longing for a better life? A second chance? A way to undo all the hurt and envy they caused to people that didn't deserve it? Not that we weren't without fault, of course. We always where too quick to judge, too quick to kill in the name of false justice and broken pride. That's how we made our way to the top. That's how it's always been.
Even now, as i watch people dressed in monochromatic tones walk by, strange devices lightning up their hands, i know that i am so much more than them. I've seen so many wonders of nature that their feeble mortal minds wouldn't be able to even comprehend. I've become what i always knew I'd be. Yet, it's so strangely melancholic to watch them freely walk, talking amongst eachother so carelessly, mindlessly laughing at words i can't seem to understand. Oh how i miss being like them.
The scenery before me always changes, the sun sets in such a lovely way, everyday the same yet changing, charming in such a disgusting way. Lives come and go, looking up at us like we're an attraction at a crumbling museum left to rot in it's meaningless sorrows. I, however, am eternal. I will watch a thousand years before i succumb to rot and decay.
For the view behind the picture frame may rot, but as the last of what once was a bloodline of pure power and might, i will last on far longer than the portrait they painted of me in my dying moments.
Some part of me knows they knew what a horrible fate they doomed me to. Some part of me feeds on the hatred they felt for me. Some part of me still feels it, pulsing a soft rhythm inside the now silent paintings.
And i relish in it. It's what kept me alive for so long, is it not?
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i know as well as anyone else that macbeth is not a happy story by any means, but i guess i'm just a stupid romantic, because all i can think of is this:
macbeth lost his hunger for power, for just a moment, upon hearing of lady macbeth's death.
macbeth, a man driven to madness by his insatiable lust for power and glory, who had no second thoughts about sending so many murderers after his opponents, stopped for breath for just a second after his wife died, and delivered the famous line, "Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player/That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,/And then is heard no more. It is a tale/Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,/Signifying nothing." (V, v)
this irredeemable, frenzied man, who could barely be called a human at that point, sobered up enough to numbly reflect upon the loss of his wife before completely losing faith in life and resigning himself for death on the battlefield.
macbeth is undoubtedly a tragedy, of course. all the gore and madness and death ensured that; but isn't it true that every love story was a tragedy, at some point, too?
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For the author ask thing L and M? ❤️
ooohh choosing violence i see, i approve 😂❤
L. favourite fic of yours?
gonna throw you a curveball here. while i love the question choices, i also don't want to tag someone with a post that's gushing about their story and then in the same breath talk about something i don't like. so! as you all know, i've been into KimChay for A Hot Min, so let's take a min to gush over one of my favorite lil fics that's been around since the beginning of the BOC airing:
reverence is a little collection of KimChay vignettes. it's what i would consider 'old' KimChay fandom because it has a lot of influence from the Filmania kp trailer and novel versions of them, but it still largely reads as Kim and Chay and everything's little snapshots that can be as connected or unconnected as you want to read them (ft the occasional AU chucked in for flavoring). i really like vignettes so it's very happy days for me whenever i feel like dipping my toes back into this fic for a reread 🤗
M. least favourite fic of yours?
i'm not gonna trash talk anyone's fic here, something that's not for me can just be not read by me, and that's that. so! instead i'm gonna call this the continuation of the Kim tea ask, because there was one important take i completely forgot about when answering that question lol:
☕ fic that shit talks WDYS
this includes: every damn fic that had some variation of Chay saying "YOU WERE THE ONE THAT LEFT". tell me you didn't pay attention to the lyrics without telling me you didn't pay attention to the lyrics. Jeff did not pour his blood sweat tears and more into that song for y'all to dismiss it like this. BOC did not completely rework Kim's storyline to include music so that he sung this to Chay as an apology for this. also, similar weird take that goes hand-in-hand with the dismissals: Kim did not """"steal Chay's song"""" -- WDYS is the song they literally worked on together. Kim is helping Chay write it on screen. Kim finishing it as an apology to Chay to explain Why He's Like This is a really good step towards a reconciliation between the two of them actually.
i just. aurgh. it's a fantastic song that is basically the thesis statement of kinnporsche: the series, for all three pairings, and it's just really annoying to see yet another fic ignore all of that to play off the one english line for a cheap shot at Kim. ik a decent chunk of my irritation here is the number of stories vs any story specifically, and it's not like there's ever a limit on how many times a concept will be used, but. ugh. i do not care for it At All.
[fic author asks]
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Life captured in a painting.
I saw more people today, they came by to see the room. The same room everyone comes to see. I watched them briskly walk past all the silent painting and watching candles, they paid no mind to the dust and spiders, they never do, after all. A single goal in mind, they came to see the rusted beds, i'm sure. They all do. Countless pulled towards us by a never ending curiousity. Yet none ever leave. A shame, really. All those bodies have so many uses besides to carry one's mind from awful place to calm, serene dreams.
The light flickers everynow and then, it always has since that day... Well, no point in reminding oneself of things long since purposely forgotten. I don't know why. I never did. They kept me in the dark to stumble and fall, only to join me once they outlived the only usefulness they once had.
Everything was so much simpler when we used candles to light up the halls, back then the painting frames weren't so faded and the paint still held it's vibrant colors. Ah, but alas time eats away even at the most humble of hands.
Once the man died and our house fell into chaos and apathy, once we lost all we had left, then and only then did we realize that we witnessed the end of a bloodline. Years passed with no light, no human contact, and quickly, life as we knew it changed. Mankind has come so far from the last time our family ate together during Christmas, oh but i guess it's to be expected.
Now, we sit wordlessly, watching men and women gape in awe at our beauty. We watch them walk down the ancient, moth eaten rug in the hall, desperate to look at as much as they can. It's always been like this, visitors always looked around awestruck, never quite grasping all we had to sacrifice to obtain all this gold tinted bronze.
They never saw beneath the lies. They never realized. They never knew that our family, entire generations of lives lost to illness and war, was built on fickle lies, ones that would shatter like glass at the softest of touches.
Ignorance is bliss, and in some cases, it is all that stands between a life of luxury and a death of misery and regret.
Is that how they all died? In agony and longing? Longing for a better life? A second chance? A way to undo all the hurt and envy they caused to people that didn't deserve it? Not that we weren't without fault, of course. We always where too quick to judge, too quick to kill in the name of false justice and broken pride. That's how we made our way to the top. That's how it's always been.
Even now, as i watch people dressed in monochromatic tones walk by, strange devices lightning up their hands, i know that i am so much more than them. I've seen so many wonders of nature that their feeble mortal minds wouldn't be able to even comprehend. I've become what i always knew I'd be. Yet, it's so strangely melancholic to watch them freely walk, talking amongst eachother so carelessly, mindlessly laughing at words i can't seem to understand. Oh how i miss being like them.
The scenery before me always changes, the sun sets in such a lovely way, everyday the same yet changing, charming in such a disgusting way. Lives come and go, looking up at us like we're an attraction at a crumbling museum left to rot in it's meaningless sorrows. I, however, am eternal. I will watch a thousand years before i succumb to rot and decay.
For the view behind the picture frame may rot, but as the last of what once was a bloodline of pure power and might, i will last on far longer than the portrait they painted of me in my dying moments.
Some part of me knows they knew what a horrible fate they doomed me to. Some part of me feeds on the hatred they felt for me. Some part of me still feels it, pulsing a soft rhythm inside the now silent paintings.
And i relish in it. It's what kept me alive for so long, is it not?
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