#something glowing and glistening something..effulgent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

impalementation · 3 years

Text

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way.

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality.

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it.

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful.

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go.

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist.

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

#romanticism series #s5 #gen #buffy #spike #this section is deliberately focused on spike's arc #but not to worry #the next one focuses on buffy's side of things and the role of spike's arc in supporting buffy's in the last three seasons #they just needed their own sections to breathe #btvs

192 notes · View notes

bangtansorciere · 3 years

Text

legacies | house information

Tucked between the third and fourth castle wing, the Hall of Fame is more a gateway than a passage. Your footsteps echo off the high, arched ceilings, the stone walls and marble floors refracting every sound until it reverberates off your skin. It’s warmer than you thought it would be, the large stained glass windows rich in color and texture, heat emanating from somewhere, nowhere. Along the walls, the founders’ portraits move, their eyes following your every step. They whisper together, laugh together, words passed between the boundaries of their gilded frames, peculiar in their silence. Imbued with remnants of their souls, the founders live on, ever watchful of Bangtan Sorciere’s initiates. The plaques of their histories, accomplishments - their lives - shimmer, eternally golden. Beside them, still portraits of the current professors hang lifelessly, though beautifully, waiting for their magic to ascend.

At the apex of the wall hangs a black frame – its obsidian surface polished to a glimmering sheen. A dragon figurine sits at the top left corner, its body - scaled in jagged plates of agate – lazily stretched over the top edge, and its tail – lanced in spikes of onyx – furls around the right length. Despite its languorous posture, it rests majestically, an air of nobility oozing out of its being. Limpid eyes of emerald stare at you, their chlorochrous lustre luminous – as though glistening with the knowledge of old.

Underneath the magnificent creature, is the portrait of Kim Namjoon, the founder of House Ajoonis. Wisteria-hued hair is swept back from his chiseled face, revealing a crisp undercut; while ink-blackened eyes glint through sharp eyelids: the unfathomable depths rich with wisdom, and something darker – something carnal. Pillowed lips of velvet tug into a wry smirk, and as his turbulent gaze locks onto yours, you find yourself swept away by their undertow.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Ajoonis.

Next is a frame carved from amber, and as light filters through the pellucid casing, it casts honeyed shadows of saffron across the wall. Phoenix sculpture perched in the bottom left corner, its wings are spread over the edges of the left and bottom length. Feathers of scarlet and vermillion blend with those of carnelian and jacinthe in a brilliant display – as though the tufted appendages were made of a radiant, blazing fire. Rubies encrusted in the eye sockets, the creature’s avid gaze bores into your soul, the ardent pools somewhat threatening – as though they could ignite your very being at any moment.

Depicted in the painting is Kim Seokjin, the founder of House Jincubus. Carob eyes twinkle: the murky pools swirling with barely contained desire; and framed by flavescent scarlet hues: the gold undertones of his complexion deepen, causing his flesh to shimmer with each movement. His lustrous visage has you gasping, and unable to tear your gaze from him, white-hot spikes prickle at your spine.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Jincubus.

The third portrait boasts a frame of copper - the burnished exterior incandescent with shades of sinopia and russet. Winding around the right side is a basilisk, it’s coiled body thick, and corded; the surface of its skin ridged in countless scales of rust. Under the gilded effulgence of the flickering candlelight the creature is resplendent: foiled plates glittering - the scintillation making it seem as if it’s languidly slithering along the edge. From the deep inset of its serpentine head, eyes of sapphire peer at you, the azure tincture gleaming in interest - as though it’s beckoning you closer in order to sate its curiosity.

The canvas itself is emblazoned with the likeness of Min Yoongi, the founder of House Yoonus. Sable tresses fall into his eyes, the tips brushing against the line of his brow. Partially obscured, the coal of his irises are shrouded in riddle, faint inklings of intrigue intermittently peeking through the fierce, defensive shield of his regard. The carefully guarded secrecy piques your own curiosity, and breath hitching, you step closer - endeavoring to unfurl the mystery.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Yoonus.

Pinned to the middle of the Hall of Fame’s wall, is a frame carved from sunstone - the mottled mineral streaked in pale shades of honey and gamboge. Stood atop the top right corner of the portrait is a griffin, its sharpened talons gripping the edge and its immense wings splayed out in all its marvelous glory. Entire body cloaked in down, mellow tinged light seeps through the feathers, causing them to glimmer in splendid tinctures of nacarat and citrine. With its head facing you, eagle’s eyes, chiseled out of heliodor, observe you carefully - the surreptitious reflections of light in the gems making it seem as though its gaze follows your every movement.

Beneath the creature is Jung Hoseok, the founder of House Seokubus. Dark hair, the shade of blackened umber, is parted at the side, and chin cocked in a display of power, he stares down at you. Gaze locking onto his, the edges of his lips twitch, and the shapely folds of his mouth tugging into an arrogant grin, he cocks an eyebrow at you. The gesture has you reeling, and throat constricting, you audibly swallow.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Seokubus.

A frame of silver - the argentite surface so refined it twinkles as though made of diamonds - encases the fifth portrait. Along the bottom edge of the casing lies a siren, its figure sprawled out over the entire length and its head peeking at you over its shoulder. Calcareous flakes encrusting its skin, the scales are lucent: crystalline hues of palladium and platinum blending together, and flaxen light spilling over them, they shimmer. Through half-lidded eyes, twin gems of aquamarine glimpse at you, the jewels glinting almost coquettishly - as though enticing you towards it.

Painted on the canvas above it is Park Jimin, the founder of House Jiminysus. Azuline hair, the colour of deep ultramarine, is tousled in deliberate waves, the tresses parted at the side and spilling over the right of his forehead. Blatantly leering at you, onyx eyes sweep over your figure, and as tempestuous depths lure you into its sensuous currents, he winks. Immediately, your breath hitches, and tingles of pleasure jolting down your spine, you’re ensnared in their riptide.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Jiminysus.

Another frame, this one made of gold so supple, so soft, it seems born of tenderness itself. Yet, even delicate, beautiful things like this are ripe with immense power: the reddish yellow texture giving away the pure rawness of the metal. At it's left corner, the frame's gold has been carved into the shape of a hippogriff; the auric tail-feathers burnished to a lustrous sheen that draws attention to their intricate patterns - each so clearly detailed it’s as though the metal itself has encased the creature for eternity. Amethyst eyes - glinting in the light in an alluring display of violet and indigo elegance - catch your eyes; almost as though willing you to swoon for it, to adore it.

Held affectionately within the frame is Kim Taehyung, the founder of House Taeros. His dark tresses curtain his regal features in waves, all the candlelight finds the high edges of his cheekbones, and he eyes you conspicuously down the length of his nose. Full lips set in a pout and long fingers wrapped around the edge of a tea cup, you get the sense you have interrupted him. Rather, that you have been invited, and that he has willed your company towards him.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Taeros.

The final frame seems to emanate from moonlight itself, emerging from the stone rather than clinging to it. It’s opal borders are iridescent, manifesting light itself without offering shadow. Resting in the bottom right corner, is a pegasus with its wide wings unfurled. As if illuminated from within, its diaphanous feathers gleam in nacreous pearl and its gossamre mane glows in prismatic moonstone; not unlike a haunting. Through soft, tourmaline eyes - the hues dancing in shades of blush and orchid - it watches you curiously, the sparkle in its gaze youthful and playful.

Illustrated in the painting is Jeon Jungkook, founder of House Koopid. Despite his boyish features, the curiosity in his expression runs deep - deep enough it bleeds into desire. Though tips of his dark hair falls into his eyes, you are certain there is nothing he does not see, nothing he would not take should he ask it of the world. Raising a single chalice, he studies you inquisitively, pointing a single digit at you as though demanding you drink with him, this drink a game of wit.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Koopid.

#legacies #house information

30 notes · View notes

sasorikigai · 3 years

Note

🛏️ It was time to repay the Commander in full. Yang now having left some candles out, light dimmed. And waiting in their shared bed, stripped down and fresh from a shower. Waiting.

silent NSFW starters! || @yetremains || accepting

🛏️ - …be found lying in bed, completely naked and smiling seductively

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The time will come, when with abundant exquisite elation, Hanzo Hasashi will finally greet himself arriving at the door of his personal quarter, in his mirror, as he will radiantly smile in gleaming scintillation, as the embedded starlight of his dark hazel will further darken and dilate with the proverbial rush of carnal want and wanton desire. All of Hanzo Hasashi - his face, his hands, his fingers will spread across Yang’s nude bareness, as he would soon moan a prayer. The rise and fall of his breaths will adhere to the muscled voluptuousness of her feminine form, while he would gradually be lost in a daze, trapped in the beauty of her loving gaze as her exquisite radiance beneath the gentle tenderness of basking moonlight contouring her like a porcelain masterpiece.

It is such a rarity for Commander to sink with such unbridled anticipation, radiating this raw, primal heat that precedes him and spreads beyond his boundary, as he too, would let his dark raven hair loose from the confines of neat and tightened bun, while similarly soaked bronzed skin, tantalizingly bared before her, will shine in the tender heat, as his countenance gradually morphs into something more lecherous.

How their bodies press together so tight as they melt immediately into one. Talia Jones kisses him softly, tenderly, and his eyes flutter shut. Instantly, he is transported into the blurred cloud nine, where everything becomes obfuscated with every facet of her being. The only thing that grounds him is the spark ignited by the force of their gliding, sinking kiss, as the bursting eruption of their firework bursting in bundles as he cups her chin delicately, deepening their coalescence. “Regardless of time, place, and state, I want to be with you, it is as simple, and as complicated as that,” the emanating buds of candlelights effulgently glow with the stifling surge of his own heat, that ball of glorious primal heat that he so desperately wishes to discharge now that the familiar pressure builds in his core as he stalks over her, presses himself into her as fabric of the sheets scrape against his knees.

Yang’s eyes dilate with lust, and Hanzo’s tongue swirls around the contours of her defined nape, feeling the minute fibrillation of her heart on her pulse. Warm fingers curling around the swell of her breast, idly drawing circular patterns, while his thumb gently toys and coaxes with the budding nip, while his lower half bucks like series of lapping waves, rippling in motion, dragging his half-erect length down towards the junction of her legs. Soon, Hanzo’s digits would be buried in her thick waterfall hair, as his breathless request would echo through their swollen lips. “Say you want me, how would like me to take you tonight?”

Beneath the radiating ebb and flow of aligned firefly lights, the sculpted contours of his musculature glistens with sweat and scents of his desire. If Talia Jones was a book, he would read her every night - kiss every page of her heart well and always see her spine as moonlight. If Hanzo Hasashi’s love could ever be bounded, they would always end up adhered; joined at the hips, with their hearts beating in synch, and intoxicated in another’s unshackled vulnerability and unbridled passion. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#✗ fifty shades of kombat (nsfw)#(blurred lines)#(relationships; yang)#(have dis poor attempt at sinday)#(at least I contributed lol)#yetremains

2 notes · View notes

darkjanet2 · 4 years

Text

Drusilla’s Soul: Chapter two

20 Years Later

Drusilla was now a vampire and travelled with Angelus and Darla walked down the street in London. There was a crying man ripping the paper as he trekked. In his distraction he bumped into a hulking, dark-haired man who was walking with a pair of women in the other direction, dropping his torn papers as he did so. The dark lady to the man's left smoothly parted ways with him to walk around the man, while the blonde to the man's right wrapped her arm around him more tightly. As he stumbled on after gathering up the pieces, the man sobbed out, "Watch where you're going!"

He strode on down the paved street, the tears rolling down his cheeks glinting in the light of the gas lamps. Pedestrians ignored him, and a man on a horse rode by without acknowledging, as the broken-hearted poet ducked quickly into a nearby alleyway.

The man named William sat on a bale of hay, tearing what was left of his poem into smaller and smaller pieces, until he couldn't continue, dropping his hands to his lap and looking at them despairingly. The dark lady who had avoided his path earlier approached, asking softly,

"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?" She tilted her head, inquiringly, as William looked up at her.

"Nothing," he lied, "I wish to be alone." He dropped his gaze back to the shredded pages in his hands.

"Oh, I see you," the woman said confidently, taking a step toward him. "A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory." William looked up at her, wonder dawning on his face at her words. He blinked tears away as he gazed up at her. She paused and drew back her shoulders before speaking again, accenting her next words with an odd dance to her own inner music, "That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head." The woman took another step toward him.

William, taken aback by her sudden strangeness, leapt up from his seat and took several steps back. "Th-that’s quite close enough," he warned her, one finger raised. "I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."

The woman bent down until her smiling face showed in a pool of light, before rising back into the shadows and assuring him, "Don't need a purse." She walked toward him, reaching out to lay a lace-gloved hand over his heart. "Your wealth lies here... and here," she said, reaching to lay the hand against the side of his head. Looking up, she gazed at him as she breathed, "In the spirit and..." She dropped her eyes and slowly trailed her hand down his body. William closed his eyes and gasped at the sensation. She looked back up at him from under dark lashes. "Imagination," she finished, her voice lowered into a sultry tone. She leaned in as if going to kiss him, before whispering slowly, "You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine," her head weaving and eyes half-closed as she wandered the pathways of his inner landscape.

William's body and heart burned with an unaccustomed heat at this strange creature's ability to see into his soul. Passionately, he whispered, "Oh, yes!" A moment later he came back to himself and shut his eyes, saying, "I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me."

The dark lady's hand tugged at his collar, and she gazed raptly at his neck beneath it. "I see what you want," she said softly, tilting her head as she drew closer to him. "Something glowing and glistening. Something," she began, then leaned back, her hand rising up, "effulgent." She grasped quickly at the air, her hand closing as it plucked the word from his thoughts.

"Effulgent," William mouthed, his eyes focused on her and an amazed hope on his face.

She gazed into Williams eyes, lifting his chin gently with a finger before asking, "Do you want it?"

"Oh, yes!" He laid one trembling hand on her breast. "God, yes."

She looked down as his hand lay on her, and a quiet cracking sound could be heard. She raised her head to look at him out of yellow eyes, heavy ridges marring her beautiful brow. He blinked in surprise, but didn't step away, his hand still on her. She leaned in slowly, tilting her head as she drew closer to the side of his neck. She opened her mouth, now bearing sharp teeth on either side where her human canines had been before. Tilting her head to his shoulder, she sank her fangs into his neck.

Still enthralled and unmoving, William exclaimed, "Ow!" He paused, briefly. "Ow, ow… ow, ow, OW!" His cries of pain became louder and more frequent, then became a moan of pleasure instead. A look of rapture crossed his face and he sank down with a sigh, the female vampire still coupled to his neck, riding him down as he fell into the darkness.

#Drusilla #matt ishida #tk takaishi #Btvs #angel the series #fanfic #digimon #crossover

4 notes · View notes

nobodyeverasked · 5 years

Text

me and you; xiao dejun

(2118 words) - medium

Summary: ‘I just want to pause this moment forever…’

“Junnie, this is so beautiful!” Y/N jumped out of the car, a fully loaded picnic basket clutched tightly in his hands as he let his gaze fall upon their cottage. The nice, stark building on the cusp of the intermingling meadows and sands of the beach, the ivory sunlight glazing the pale shores and weaving between the prismatic flowers spread thickly the grass. Y/N’s older boyfriend - Xiaojun - let his sandals set into the gravel path below him, a breath of satisfaction fading into the callow breezes of the summer afternoon. He draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulders, his lips littering kisses on the top of his head, and trailing down to his cheeks.

Xiaojun chuckled, seeing the embers of awe still dancing passionately in his boyfriend’s eyes making his smile even wider. “Thank God, my family and I are not spending nine-hundred dollars a month for ‘eh’, so I’m glad you like it.” He smiled, watching the jitters of happiness pulse through Y/N’s shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know… I would’ve liked a spot in the forest, or like, a large park or something…” Y/N huffed playfully, a peck on the bridge of his nose bringing a laugh to boil at the back of his throat. “Seriously, you don’t have to spend that on a guy like me.”

“Well, it’s our family’s anyways, so why not use it!” Xiaojun intertwined their fingers, his eyes littered with the sparks of adoration, the lithe fingers of the sunlight gingerly carding through his hair and festering a tender glow in his cheeks. “And plus, anything for my baby. Now, go on inside and check it out, I’ll get the blanket from the back and meet you outside, okay babe?”

“Okay!”

“This is really amazing, this is all so… So amazing.” Y/N sighed as he relaxed on the blanket, the blades of grass still tickling his arms. He has never felt so calm, laying in the meadow with the most special person in the world, the comforting arias of silence drifting around them and the sunlight encasing their bodies.

The older caressed Y/N’s knuckles, their fingers intertwining as they looked longingly into one another’s eyes. The tender flames of adoration writhed between their lips, singeing their skin and lighting their lovestruck stare ablaze. The white fabric rippling under them and their intertwined legs burning with a torrid passion as Xiaojun lifted Y/N on top of him. Brushing his hair back with a smooth stroke of his lithe fingers, he reveled in how the younger’s lustrous eyes shone with the radiant glow of the sunlight.

Their palms - searing with the embers of their boiling admiration - forged pools of molten devotion along their bodies, their delicate touches weighing heavy on the spring breezes coiling around them.

“I still can’t believe it’s been six months - only six - and I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.” Xiaojun cupped Y/N’s cheeks, their breaths writhing between their lips that were sheathed in the ivory sunlight, the flourished trees that swayed with the summer breeze carving the afternoon lambencies into tiny fractals, shimmers of light skipping stones on Y/N’s neck. All the older could do was imagine the supple skin running under his hands, seized between his lips, he could imagine the tides of fabric convulsing to their amalgamated bodies. He could imagine the euphoric symphonies of their low hums dance through his head, their tongues brushing together. “I love you…”

“I love you more.”

Their grins weaved together, the candlelights of ecstasy bursting in their chests and spiraling through their bodies. Mouths and tongues amalgamated into a windstorm of happiness and adoration, and flames of youthful admiration scorched their skin and enveloped their hearts. Sweet toxins of desire laced their lips, velvety pulses seamlessly weaving together as their touches grew heavier - Y/N’s fingers cradling Xiaojun’s cheeks and interlocking with his dark brown hair. The strawberries that they had only a few moments ago stinging the tips of their tongues and resonating in their throats.

The summer drafts whipping around them convulsed to the melodies of their heavy breaths, draping over their backs and brushing against their pressed chests. Xiaojun kneaded his torrid hands into Y/N’s thighs, drowning in relentless tides of bliss as he could hear the cacophonies of zealous ardor throbbing in his ears, the angelic kisses littering his neck bringing a breathy groan to boil at the back of his throat.

“I just wanna pause this moment forever…” Xiaojun leaned up, cupping the younger’s nape and touching their foreheads together, the air, blazing from their mingled breaths now nursing their hushed sighs. “You and me, in the middle of sorta-nowhere…” The older smiled as he could hear a giggle dig into his shoulder. “Nothing on our minds except each other.”

“That was the best idea you had since bringing those strawberries.”

“I knew they were your favourite, and now, they’ll always taste like you.” Xiaojun pulled Y/N back onto him, his chest heaving in alleviation as he could feel Y/N’s legs and feet brush against his, the feeling of his boyfriend’s skin amalgamating with his own making his smile shine as bright as the sunlight dripping over his body.

“That was cheesy as hell, babe…” Y/N buried his nose into the curve of Xiaojun’s neck. “Is it bad to say that I loved it?”

“Maybe… Hey!” The older’s chuckle spiraled into a yelp as gentle fingers pinched his shoulder. Xiaojun let his gaze fall upon the ivory sands by the shore just on the other side of the cottage, the radiant sunlight pouring over the sand making the beach shine with an effulgent beauty. The waves’ whispers grew louder as the sapphire waters stroked the shore, siren songs of rippling water beckoning the boys from off the blanket. Xiaojun postured up. Caressing the younger’s thighs that seized his waist, a hushed chuckle peeling from his tongue when he was nudged back down onto the ground. “You wanna go to the beach? It’s just on the other side.” He tossed his sandals further to the side, interlacing his fingers with Y/N’s not too long after.

“That sounds perfect.” Y/N hummed, the echoes of untamed satisfaction dissolving into the summer breezes sweeping against their skin.

“Great! Let’s go!” Xiaojun watched with a smile as his boyfriend rolled off of him and stood up with a groan, stretching out his limbs and fingers - still stinging with the beautiful pain of yearning and devotion. The older lifted himself up as well, his arm instantly winding around Y/N’s as the latter slipped his shoes off and wedged himself into Xiaojun’s side. The callow flames of adoration trailed their steps towards the beach, the grass below them tickling their skin, and murmuring in the breezes that wound around them.

“You know, I still can’t believe this is all yours- I mean, your family’s… It’s amazing.” Y/N let his fingers wander to Xiaojun’s, the gravity of their burning affection drawing their hands closer. The older strode in front of the younger, dandling Y/N’s chin between two fingers and angling his face up to annex their longing stares.

“Well, it’s ours now…” Xiaojun weaved their lips together in a deep kiss, their tongues swiping against each other in one, loving stroke before they parted.

“Xiaojun, really-”

“I’m not taking no as an answer.” Xiaojun clutched his boyfriend’s hands, swinging them between their chests, heaving with happiness and pulsing with excitement. “I mean it, every single time when I say I’d do anything for you, just wait until a year rolls around.” The older chuckled when Y/N closed the gap between them, resting his head in the curve of Xiaojun’s neck, a reluctant huff warming his skin and fanning down his back. “And two years, and three, four, five, six…”

“I get it…” A sigh of relief pushed past Y/N’s lips, a warm embrace winding around his waist and chaste pecks trailing down his neck. “You’re too good to me…” They melted into each other's touch before they turned around and continued walking to the beach, foolish smiles plastered onto both of their mouths, a lustrous joy shining upon their features.

“You deserve nothing more than the best - and my best.”

They finally made it to the beach, the cream sands cradling their footprints. The crisp, ocean air welcomed their presence, and the spray of sea salt tangled in their hair.

Y/N looked up, admiring how the sunlight caressed Xiaojun’s beautiful, soft skin, and how the ample bliss that always writhed in his body chiseled out his features. How his wavy, dark brown hair swathed his pale forehead, and how his eyes sparkled with the lights of grace. His smile melded with the light brushing over them, bringing Y/N’s gaze down to his thin, rose lips, and how they glistened with the sparks of their adoration. He looked at the man who captured his heart and loved him for everything he is - and wants to be.

“I can’t believe it’s been only six months…” Xiaojun kissed the top of Y/N’s head, slowly interlacing his fingers with the younger’s. Their gazes interweaved, the trance of their own untainted elation hammering their hearts and deepening their stare. “And I can’t believe that I lived almost nineteen years without knowing you, kissing you…” The older stopped once more, caressing Y/N’s cheeks with his fingers, his hands weighing heavy on the back of his boyfriend’s neck.

“Yeah, it felt so long ago since you yelled at me in the practice room, and then asked me out.” They both laughed sweetly, the symphonies of their happiness taking flight in the beryl blue sky. Xiaojun looked into those eyes, those gorgeous, entrancing eyes that he could stare at for hours, the eyes that rippled with happiness and told so many stories without the beholder having to part his velvety lips.

Those lips…

The lips that unraveled so many secrets, shared so many chuckles and drawled during their many midnight talks. The taste of Y/N always lingered in the back of his throat now - swelling in his mind - reminding who he belonged to, and who belonged to him.

“I said I was sorry, baby…” Xiaojun pouted, whining weakly when another giggle flew into the air. “But I don’t regret the second part.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N shook his head, settling into the touch digging under his shirt and running across his stomach, the gentle fingers that stroked his spine and delicately kneaded his supple skin. “I think you’re hot when you’re angry anyways… Brings out your eyes.” The younger smoothed over Xiaojun’s cheekbones with a nimble caress of his thumb, soaking in the brilliance of the older’s smile.

“So maybe I should be angry more often then?” Xiaojun cocked his head to the side, basking in his glory as he felt Y/N freeze in his arms. “Right…?” The older clasped his lips onto Y/N’s, the tongue that hooked him like a drug sliding languidly between his teeth.

“Uh…” The younger pulled back, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face, the heat of embarrassment and coyness crawling up his neck in a thick blush. Xiaojun couldn’t help but revel in his baby’s tiny grin, flames of ardor writhing between their coalescing breaths, tingeing the sparks in their eyes with an effulgent glow.

“I’m just kidding, babe!” Xiaojun frayed Y/N’s hair, peppering his brow with small, angelic pecks. “I love you…”

“Oh, really?” The older shrugged to the younger’s question, his arms winding tightly around Y/N chest as they swayed slowly on the sand, their feet carving circles into the ivory shore below them. “How much?” Y/N teased, a genuine edge of curiosity pigmenting his words.

“Hm~ Every grain of sand in the world!” Xiaojun lifted the younger up, kissing his chin before setting him back down, his hands sliding down to Y/N’s, and their foreheads touching.

“Wow, that’s… That’s a lot.” Y/N angled his head up, soaking in the lips that haphazardly grazed his nose and the tides that gingerly stroked his ankles. “Then I guess I'll love you… Just a grain more.”

“Oh really?” Xiaojun felt the swan song of admiration washing over Y/N’s smooth voice and his awe strikingly effortless words, his eyes fluttering closed to the tranquil breaths of the summer sky winding around them, and the touches that wandered across his nape and up to his cheeks. “You can try.” He could see the younger’s beautiful simper even through his closed eyes, their entwined bodies falling into the pool of ecstasy rippling in both of their minds.

“And try I shall…”

128 notes · View notes

spuffylatino · 5 years

Text

Oh William, I know what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... effulgent.✨

"Hell's Bells" Season6 #Btvs 😢💕

#btvs #spike #buffy #spuffy #buffy the vampire slayer #buffyverse #spike loves buffy #james marsters #sarah michelle gellar #Effulgent

20 notes · View notes

ao3feed-btvs · 7 years

Text

Glowing and Glistening

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2rbi2py

by Nicnac

Drusilla promised poor William something effulgent, and the evening delivers (though perhaps not in the way she had intended).

Words: 3908, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: William Pratt, Buffy Summers, Drusilla (BtVS)

Relationships: William Pratt/Buffy Summers

Additional Tags: Romance, Alternate Universe, Victorian

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2rbi2py

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs

0 notes

sasorikigai · 3 years

Text

@sonxflight gets this cause feels because of this (x), based on this response of mine (x)

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || His heart’s landscape is a land of great sorrow; a black sinkhole rearing ahead, as Hanzo Hasashi’s swollen eyes would close shut, slowly stealing precious limbs one by one, until the whole land falls shut. The kintsugi chambers of his heart are a war-zone gradually healing in recovery, the battleground reeking of great sorrow derived from mangled, sprawled cadavers long buried six feet under, despite there being autumnal effulgence, feasting to devour as the literal manifestations of flames would soothe the aching heart of his with sunburst stealing, as great darkness would peel away. He is constantly struggling with a diminishing breath of life, revivifying the world again. With all the circumstances that hurt him, after feeling the pain that numbed him, then after a while, he will start to feel like nothing happened in repressed forgetfulness. He will get hurt, he will silently cry and he will get numb; he will blame himself for believing that there is still good that is left on this Earth, that change will occur. There is a constant, perpetual exchange of eloquent conversation in his head; the value of trust and intellect, and perhaps lack thereof as rhetorics of his craft break and shatter to pieces.

Hanzo Hasashi does not even attempt to brace himself to this moment of impact; an impact of his flaws and imperfections of his being. There is no lamentations nor will there be sighs of despair, but the long-considered acceptation that turn into glistening revelation which become all the heavy curtains that darken the sun-drenched glow of his facade. And as Ryou Sakai’s familiar presence begins to move, gently breach through, Hanzo lets the imprisoning storm be summoned and sustain him beneath the splayed palms of his hands, as the plundered and pillaged mind translates to all the beautiful, broken poetry.

"You were the one who cared the most, my love, deeply and devoted. You gave and took in equal measure, a balancing act of perfect grace. You held a dignified nobility that so many long for, but a very few attain. You are a star, my beloved, and I am a neon sign; old, blinking in and out of life, a ticking clock waiting for the day that a static hum ceases, and that a fuse shorts or a tube cracks and at last, such strenuously existing remnants of my meager light would go out.”

“To remember is to discover without ceasing to search, and I still don’t know if my memories are something I can give up for lost just as I remember it, or if it’s something lost that I suddenly recover.” A sad smile lingers on his lips, as he grabs and clasps his beloved’s hand and pulls him with himself to run away from this endlessly falling rain. Silently hoping and pleading for grief to bid him farewell. How his anchored feet will plunge into a myriad of puddles lining his way, and the falling drops of water tug on these clothes of his. The torrential drench of cleansing rainfall chaining and sealing him to the ground, but he shall not yet cease to run from this endlessly falling rain. As he looks into Ryou Sakai’s obsidian eyes, perched atop the bar stool, his mourning soul, and all his heart, forever torn, continues to let the roaring fire rip through his being like a storm even through the glacier tomb, as the world he once built freezes like glistening glass. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ undaunted intensity of solar flare (old guard au)#(relationships; samurai jack)#(you get this because I'm not over this)#sonxflight

2 notes · View notes