historynut101
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set me as a seal upon your heart by historynut101
Fandoms: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)
10 Jul 2024
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Summary
Because une goule, that is what she is. A ghoul, a spirit, a mouth. This word's meanings come from Old French, old fears, but Claudia wears them anew on her fresh, American, ever-young face. She is le vampire, the creature here to eat the night. She is la mademoiselle, the maiden that can never grow old, the death stopped in its tracks that yet still hungers, thunders. She is contradiction entire. She is the easiest thing in the world to love, to learn, to seek. As Madeleine realizes this, the force of her affection nearly bowls her over. It is dangerous. It will likely kill her.
Claudia looks up from her nails, casts her eyes slowly across a passing riverboat.
Who cares about dangerous? She’s done that kind of love before. Now she’ll do it again. This is her life, and she’s never felt more alive.
(or: Louis gave Madeleine Catholic guilt when he made her and that might change things or it might not)
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Sometimes, Ling Yi's mind feels as wide as an ocean whose waves traverse the whole world over. Her demons wear the faces of continents; her mistakes are monsters swimming in the depths, rising to crush whole ships in their maws. The currents move with her mother's downcast eyes. The roar of the tide is the same as Mei Mei's cries as she fell to the ground. Now that their world has come to make no sense at all, her mind can add to the torrent the image of her mother jumping away from her into the sea. And as she watches that loss happen again and again in her mind's eye, the coldest, loneliest feeling that she's ever had spreads from her fingers to her toes. On this cursed ship, it truly feels like she has become an ocean, restless and violent.
But here too is Olek with his head pressed close to hers, his touch comforting, his words unknown but gentle all the same.
(Or: a character study of Ling Yi and her feelings towards her situation as a whole and Olek specifically)
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“Write like this,” Madoc had adjured. Calliope scoffs. She cannot give him the erosion that whittled Sappho's poetic fragments down to a fine point anymore than she can turn back the clock to pull the poetry's full form from Helicon’s seams.
The Muses are of time and of power, but Calliope is just a fragment. She is not a whole but a one. To give Fry what he wanted, to give Madoc what he wants, she has to be wrung out, squeezed. It is torture, trying to create an entire call by herself when there used to be eight others, when there should be eight, when she can sometimes feel them shrieking into the dark for her.
(Or: what if the Muses were symbiotic?)
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Quynh’s eyes snap up to meet a collision of phenomena so strong it nearly blinds her, brightly wild and loving for eternity and heartbreaking in its loveliness and endlessly forgiving and deathless inky black. The full force of it pulls her in, like gravity.
It is quê hương, the home of her heart, her soul.
More than anything, Quynh wants to reach out her fingers to trace the edges of Andromache’s face, but something raw and red and raging instead commands them to lie still, so there they sit, not touching, not breathing, barely even being. Call it cowardice. Call it the anxiety of being harmed. Call it heady memory that sticks in the now. Whatever it is, it seizes her whole against her will.
Quynh wishes she could do more, but that’s not in her nature right now.
(Or: Quynh and the intersection of her past and future)
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Somewhere along the long journey, Yusuf had found a copy of the Aeneid. When they sit on bleached sand, resting their bones from travel and war and the perils of never aging, Yusuf pulls it from his bag and presses it into Nicoló’s palms.
Nicoló stares at it; he hasn't held a copy since he was young and in grammar school, tracing the words and worlds in his mind. He had whispered some of his favorites in his lover's ear when they were pressed tightly together over the years, decades sewn together by images of a Trojan’s wanderings and a Latin princess’ war torn country.
Then, Nicoló looks into Yusuf’s eyes, his own tongue bursting with thought but struck silent by the surety of love he feels rising in his skin. When he meets dark eyes, he sees a hint of trepidation and question, the sight of uncertainty thickening Nicoló’s blood to a roar. He catches Yusuf's chin and pulls it forward so he can whisper in his ear, “Amore sum viro mirabili.”
(Basically: what if Nicoló liked the Aeneid?)
Recent bookmarks
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I saw a girl one summer and thought she was ordinary, and the rest of my life was spent marveling at the fact that I could have ever been so wrong. [Finnick's POV, starting with Annie's reaping and ending during Mockingjay. Companion to 'Where Soul Meets Body']
Series
- Part 1 of Where Soul Meets Body
Bookmarked by historynut101
12 Jan 2026
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It isn't a decision George has taken lightly. In fact, when it had first occurred to him, he'd brushed the thought away, trying to bury it. But the tendrils of the idea kept creeping through and, before he knew it, had firmly taken root ‘til he couldn't ignore it any longer; he's made a mistake which must be fixed.
He's forty-three, rich as Croesus, and he's been so busy getting richer for the last twenty years that he quite forgot to get married. Something that he intends to rectify as soon as possible.
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all that glitters (is not gold) by indomitablelove
Fandom Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
13 Feb 2022
- Words:
- 135,829
- Works:
- 2
- Bookmarks:
- 425
Bookmarked by historynut101
17 Oct 2024
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Feign death is only supposed to last an hour.
or
Tav goes down in a fight.
Series
- Part 20 of Madly
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 18,217
- Chapters:
- 4/4
- Comments:
- 159
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- 3,843
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- 972
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Bookmarked by historynut101
14 Sep 2024
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Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.
But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”
—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—
So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 11,163
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 857
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Bookmarked by historynut101
25 Apr 2024