the prompt: do you think you could write a yoongi x reader fic? Something with a situation/plot like Moulin Rouge?
category: moulin rouge au
disclaimer: all references and rights of moulin rouge go to it’s original creators.
author note: right so I watch the whole movie and there are like 7 different angsty plot twists. i skipped only a few. anyway this is a lot like the movie since it was fresh on my mind so i hope you don’t mind that. I also took a few things that I wasn’t comfortable with writing out. I hope you guys enjoy this because it’s my longest scenario yet at 6k+ words.
Damn , I really wish I had the skills to write a Moulin Rouge Sterek AU *sigh*
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”
The Moulin Rouge. A night club, a dance hall, and a bordello.A kingdom of night time pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the man I loved. Stiles.He sold his love to men. They called him the ‘Sparkling Diamond’, and he was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The man I loved is…dead.
I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge or Stiles. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution and I had traveled from London to be a part of it. On a hill near Paris, was the village of Montmartre. It was not what my father had said. But the center of the Bohemian world. Musicians, painters, writers. They were known as the children of the revolution. Yes! I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and at which I believed above all things, love. But there was only one problem…..I’ve never been in love!
It is fair to say that Traditional Craft, though containing earlier and folkloric elements, is as invented as Gardnerian Wicca, and by that I mean no disrespect to either.
Yet now we see the manufacturing of a schism between a supposed traditional craft and initiated Wicca. It is an attempt to separate the inseparable and rewrite a history of shared protagonists, as the example of The Regency demonstrates, and on an island of widely diverse practice that cannot be neatly embroidered into one gypsy myth. The new strands of ‘old’ witchcraft show where Wicca was remiss, namely plant lore, low magic and folklore. But to define oneself in opposition to your closest allies in a battle of authenticity seems fatally flawed, especially when most of our history is chronicled by our enemies and further spans the shifting landscapes of literature, poetry, vision and dream.
Furthermore, how is a Cain-Lilith myth any different or more valid than a Diana-Lucifer one? Who exactly enforces that Wiccans do no operative magic, or ensures traditional crafters have no religious or mythic under-pinning? In fact what we see now is a supposedly traditional Craft enthusiastically fashioning exactly the kind of ritual Witchcraft that they have decried the Gardnerians for. The reason is that they are part of a divided whole which is not simply true of witchcraft, but our entire culture’s schism and denial of the complete goddess whom we dare to know incarnate as Babalon.
This horizontal hostility between people who should share the same interests is exactly the tactic employed by COINTELPRO. It splinters, it dissipates, it prevents us engaging with the real enemy. There are more pressing issues than whether we work naked or robed. Enough. I say, my enemy’s enemy is my friend. When I say Apocalyptic Witchcraft I also mean the destruction of the false differences between the traditions.
Gerald Gardner’s witchcraft was not ultimately about the form, it was about the force. A culture crawling out of the bombed cellars of London into the new world of pill and possibility. The witchcraft of Jack Parsons was not about the form, it was about the force of the bohemian sexual revolution and entheogenic drugs. Traditional witchcraft is not about the form, it is about the harrowing loss of folklore, rural life and, crucially, meaning in a postmodern world.
The Moulin Rouge AU, for intolerablystruck (who asked for someone to write this and I volunteered (as tribute - this fic about killed me) and all I have to say now is - if I burn, y'all are burning with me). Don’t need a working knowledge of the movie to make sense of the fic, but if you do have a working knowledge of the movie - You know. You know. So, enjoy, or something.
when will i begin to
leaves London because—
Let’s start at the beginning.
moves to London for love.
because he’s in love; he’s never been
in love. No, he moves to London for the spirit
of love. For the revolution—the Bohemian one, not the one his brother fought
in. He moves to London to defend the rights of truth, beauty, freedom, and,
above all things, love.
brother fought for king and country and he supposes freedom, too, but he fought
with gunpowder and cannons. Killian hopes to make his mark with a pen, in ink,
moves to London in the spring, for Love, not in love; in love with the idea of love, but had thus far gone
through his twenty odd years without experiencing the feeling firsthand.
brother calls him a fool, tells him he’ll catch his death, starving over his
typewriter or—worse—will take up with a dancer or woman from a brothel, will
die of a broken heart or syphilis. “Nothing good can come from this,” he’d
said. “We’ll see about that,” he’d replied.)
takes up residence in a little flat, nothing more than the clothes on his back
and his typewriter, sets out to write, to think, to feel—
to find that he hasn’t anything to write about.
jeromeduran When I took this picture of @angelcandices a year ago in front of a mosque in Turkey, I naively did not fully appreciate the head scarf debate and the struggles that some of the women have there, but as we live in the information age, and continue to learn more about other cultures, I find myself aligning most with the ideals associated with the ‘Bohemian Revolution’ of Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and above all Love. ️ #HappyInternationalWomensDay
Sherrinford was recently come to Paris from his mother’s house in London. He’d traveled there to be part of the glorious Bohemian Revolution. He was a writer of music and desired nothing more than to write songs about beauty, truth, freedom, and above all, love.
Of course, Sherrinford had never been in love, making it rather difficult to write about. Luckily he was quickly recruited by his upstairs neighbors to write the music for their modern play Spectacular Spectacular.
And so they decided that young Sherrinford should play his music for Sebastian, the star of the Moulin Rouge so that he might take it to the owner of the Moulin Rouge and insist Spectacular Spectacular be shown there.
Sherrinford had never been to anything like the bordello. Beautiful young men and women danced ceaselessly with well-dressed clients. A hush fell over the crowd as Sebastian began his number. Sherrinford watched him with wide eyes, having never seen or heard anyone so beautiful in his life.