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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things 📍 Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman.

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm.

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming.

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her?

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.”

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction.

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that.

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock.

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her.

“Love” her.

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself.

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move.

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door.

A random memory flashed behind your eyes, washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value.

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response.

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.”

“Oh hey!”

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill.

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers.

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin.

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up.

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back.

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off.

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms.

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.”

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners.

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!”

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth.

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine.

Yes, he was a man.

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before.

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him.

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love?

And did that matter at all?

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words.

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours.

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant.

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens?

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely.

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge.

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe.

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession.

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful.

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others.

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust.

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him.

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below.

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough.

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.��࿔*:･

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magicaldice · 7 days ago

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Synopsis: Y/n goes to a party with her bestfriend without telling her toxic boyfriend. She unexpectedly meets Chris sturniolo & things start to unravel overtime.

⚠︎ : read at your own leisure.

any feedback, likes, comments or shares, are appreciated!

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 pt 6 pt 7 part 8 pt9

pt 10

"What are you doing?" Chris asks with a nervous tone. "Either shower with me or get out" I respond. And a few moments later he's taking off his shirt. I step into the shower, letting the water stream down my body. Chris followed behind me seconds after.

Chris and I face each other, our eyes locked. He smiles as he studies my energy. I step as close as I can to him, our bare chest's now against each others. I wrap my arms around his neck and soak in his touch.

"I missed you so much" he whispers. "I missed you more".

And seconds later our lips found one another. Soft kisses, thick air and deep intense emotions were making the water of the shower feel immaculate. Chris's lips move to my neck, pressing soft but intentional kisses on the delicate skin.

In this moment everything felt so precious. Chris's touch was so gentle, so soothing. Knowing this was so deeply wrong, but felt so deeply right drove me crazy.

There was officially no excuse for our current behavior. We couldn't blame our actions on anything. And I didn't care.

Chris held onto me, and I held onto him as we let the water wash away the past guilt we had once felt.

"Chris" I said looking into his eyes. "Yes pretty lady" he responded. "I can't lose you" I said, meaning every word. "I can't lose you either" he reassured.

"I'm going to ask a really big favor" I said. "What is it?" he questioned.

"Patience" I responded. "I know that you hate Jackson. I've gotten to that point as well. I just need you to be patient with me, okay?" I said, praying he understands.

He nods his head. "Your going to break up with him right?" He asked, his body language starting to display uncertainty. I nod my head. "Yes- I am- I just need time, okay?" I replied.

He looked away nodding his head. A moment of silence passed, Chris looking like he's lost in his thoughts. The only sound being heard is the water pouring down on us from the shower head. "Chris" I say, placing my hands on his chest.

He snaps back into reality as he heard me call his name. "Yes pretty girl" he answered. "What are you thinking about?" I asked. He didn't respond right away.

"I just- I don't want him to get to touch you anymore" he said. The hot water of the shower mixed with his hands on my waist still making me bask in the feeling of bliss.

"He won't, he won't get to touch me anymore" I say reassuring Chris. He looks at me, analyzing every move and facial expression. "Promise. That he won't get to touch you" he says, his eyes looking almost desperate.

"I promise, he won't get to touch me. Not in the way that you get to" I said before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

The rest of the shower we spent holding onto each other. Chris lathered the body wash onto my skin, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

There was nothing lustful about his actions. He attended to you like it was his life's mission. He wanted you to feel loved, cared for, valued.

He was quite literally the complete opposite of Jackson.

After the shower you gave him a pair of your dad's sweatpants that you stole from him almost 2 years ago. You put on an oversized shirt and panties before laying down on your bed.

He drew patterns on your skin with his fingers as he layed next to you.

You both fell asleep, holding onto each other.

3 days pass

It's been 3 days in a row that Chris and I have spent together. And I loved every moment of it.

3 days of feeling safe. 3 days I cherished with my entire soul. 3 days of shared laughter, shared touches, shared kisses.

But our 3 day sleepover came to an end when Jackson said he wanted to hangout tonight.

Me and Chris lay on the bed, not wanting to move. He's spooning me, holding me in his arms.

If only there was a way to stop time.

I know that once Chris left I would be stuck with my own thoughts. I was scared. Me and Chris have been attached to each other's hip for the last 3 days, which left no room for me to overthink.

But now that he has to leave today made me feel sick and anxious. I was attached to Chris. He was my safe person.

Even though we didn’t do anything sexual besides kiss, it felt like we had a chemistry and connection that not even sex could deepen. It was already deep, my soul craved his entire existence.

An hour passed and Chris had left. Katie was walking into the house as he was leaving. I knew she was curious, I knew she had wondered what the hell was happening based off her facial expressions.

I watched Chris pull out the driveway. I had gone to my room, bracing myself for any overwhelming thought that could come up. And as I sat on my bed scrolling on my phone I heard a knock from my bedroom door.

Katie. "Come in" I said. Katie walks into my bedroom and shuts the door behind her. "Sooo" she said. "You and Chris yeah?" she commented, giving me a look of curiosity. "Were just friends" I lied.

"Righhtt. Friends. You mean like friends with benefits or just friends" she said smiling. I jab Katies shoulder as she sits next to me on my bed. "Katie" I laughed. "What? I'm just asking" she laughed with me.

Katie and I continued to talk about what's been going on with our lives recently. We hadn't been able to hangout as much recently. And I missed her.

As much as I wanted to tell her about Chris, I didn't. I felt like I hadn't even properly processed everything between me and Chris. It all just kind of happened.

A couple hours later.

" We should go get stuff to make chicken alfredo" Jackson said. He's currently sitting right next to me, clinging onto my side. "Yeah that sounds good" I responded.

Jackson got up from sitting on the couch and went to his bedroom. I looked down at my phone checking the time. 8:54 p.m.

Jackson came back out of his bedroom with his car keys in his hands. I got up and put my shoes on. As I put my shoes on I felt Jackson grab onto my body, holding me from behind.

I felt sick. I hated that he held onto me, like he actually cared about me. Like he ever actually gave a fuck. We left his apartment and headed to the grocery store.

We walked down the aisles grabbing the ingredients we needed to make the chicken alfredo pasta. I hated how Jackson felt the need to touch me while walking. He wanted to hold hands, hold me from behind, kiss me even though we were in public.

He knew I hated pda. It always made me extremely uncomfortable. But Jackson didn't care, he never considered how I felt. Like usual.

I grab the pasta noodles that we needed from the shelf and I felt Jackson put his hand in mine. It made me cringe. We continued to walk, our hands intertwined.

We had got all the groceries and then headed back to his apartment.

Of course Jackson sat on the couch while I cooked everything for us.

Once I finished cooking, I made our plates and we sat in the living room together and ate. "This is really good babe thank you" Jackson said.

After we finished eating I cleaned up the kitchen.

I sat back down next to Jackson as he watched some show he's rewatched about 50 times. "Come here why you so distant" referring to how I tried to keep some physical distance between us.

He grabbed onto my body and pulled me into him. "I miss you" he said. I tried to keep my composure; I tried to act normal. I tried to pretend to enjoy Jacksons company. But I hated every moment of it.

Jackson's phone dings. He was focused on his phone for a minute. "Would you wanna go to a party tonight?" He asked. He knew I hated parties. In his eyes, I was able to go to parties- but only with him.

"Sure" I said. I only agreed because I knew that his friends would probably be there, which means I don't have to be close and personal with him all night.

After a while we had finished getting ready and headed out.

The party was on a street I recognized. I recognized the neighborhood a little too well. The party was a street down from Chris's house. I had let out a deep breath before walking into the big modern looking house.

The house was crowded, filled with obnoxious drunk people. I followed Jackson to the kitchen. He grabbed two red solo cups and filled them with some type of cheap liquor.

The night went on. I watched Jackson play beer pong with his friends from a distance as I continued to drink. I was pacing my drinking this time, not wanting to overdo it.

It amazed me how Jackson can seem like such a friendly person. He always had a way of portraying himself as a good man, outgoing, friendly, sociable.

I wondered if his friends knew how he actually treated people behind closed doors.

After a while Jackson and his friends stopped playing beer pong and he made his way over to me.

The booze had made me a little more than tipsy by now. Which made it easier for me to stand being around him. He grabbed onto my hand and lead to me the living room.

We sat on a couch, someone handing Jackson a joint. He took a hit of the joint and passed it to me. I took a hit and handed it to the next person.

Jackson grabbed onto my thigh, staring at me with a mischievous look. If I was sober, the way he was looking at me would have bothered me alot more.

He grabbed onto me, pulling me closer before kissing me. I kissed him back as if it was muscle memory. Being under the influence made this more tolerable.

He grabbed onto my body, pulling me onto him. His tounge entered my mouth, the taste of cheap alcohol lingering. His hands were placed on my waist, with his help, my hips started to rock back and forth on top of him.

Chris's POV:

I knew that y/n was at Jackson's house. Which left me all by myself, alone with my thoughts. I hated parties. But I needed to be distracted, plus the party host was one of my friends.

Matt and Madi also came with. They said they wanted to get out of the house.

We had walked to the party, since it was down the street.

Everything was how you would imagine. Drunk people dancing, being obnoxious. It genuinely boggled my mind how this was a normal thing for people.

Madi had handed me and Matt some shots. I would never get used to the taste of alcohol.

Some time passes and the alcohol has loosened me up enough to be more social. "Chris" I hear coming from behind me. I turn around, "Katie?" I say, watching her walk up to me.

"Oh my god it is you" she said. "What are you doing here?" She asks. "The party host is my friend" I said. "Ohhh. It's weird seeing you here. I usually only see you with y/n" she laughed.

I nod my head and laugh. "Yeah, were just friends" I mention, kind of awkwardly. "Yeah okay bud" she said laughing. "You want to take a shot?' she asks while grabbing a cheap bottle of liqour off the kitchen table.

I agree and we take a shot. And then another, and another. At this point I think Katie was trying to kill me. "I tap out" I said laughing, refusing to take another shot.

I wasn't drunk, but I was also more than tipsy. "You wanna go smoke?" Katie asked. "Yeah for sure" I responded. Katie and I walked through the crowd of people, making our way to the living room.

I followed Katie until I watched her stop dead in her tracks. She quickly turned to look at me, her facial expression looking worrisome. "What?" I asked, a slight laugh falling from my lips.

And then I looked in the direction that she had turned to look at. My heart fell to my stomach. Jackson and y/n.

I watch as Jackson's hands guide her hips as she grinds on top of him. Their lips in sync with one another. I watch as she continues to move against him.

I look back at Katie who looks at me with a look of sympathy on her face. I back away, feeling like I had just been stabbed in the heart. I quickly look for an exit. Needing to leave, to run, to escape.

I found the front door and headed outside without any hesitation. I hadn't realized Katie had followed me outside until I hear her call my name.

"Chris!" Katie yelled. She had quickly caught up to me. "Chris" she repeated. I stopped walking and turned around to face her. "Yeah?" I said, trying to keep my composure.

"She doesn't love him ya know" Katie said. “Right" I scoff. Katie rolls her eyes and sighs. "She doesn't love Jackson, I know y/n" she said. "It doesn't matter me and y/n are just friends" I said, clearly lying. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself right now ?' she questioned, sarcastically.

I couldn't come up with a response quick enough. I just stared blanky at Katie, not knowing what to say. "I see the way you guys look at each other, friends don't look at each other like that" she said.

Katie was right. Katie knew without us even telling her. Tears start to form in my eyes. There was so many emotions clouding my mind, I didn't know what to do.

If you didn't know, alcohol and heavy emotions don't mix well together. I sat on the curb, feeling defeated, hurt and betrayed.

Katie sat next to me. "I don't know what she's doing right now Chris, but I promise she doesn't care about Jackson the way she cares for you".

Y/n's POV:

After some time had passed Jackson had went to play some more rounds of beer pong with his friends. I walked into the Kitchen to grab another drink. Feeling the alcohol slowly but steadily influencing my body and mind.

I needed fresh air, it started feeling to crowded inside. I found the front door and made my way outside. I took a deep breath, feeling the alcohol a little too much for my liking.

I hear distant talking, I look in the direction it's coming from. I see two people sitting on the curb. Is that Katie..? I squint my eyes, trying to get a better look. Is that fucking Chris? I decide to walk towards them.

As I get closer I see the girl turn to look at me, it is Katie. Her face drops and she stands up. "What the fuck?" I said confused. Chris's head turns and our eyes lock.

Chris stands up. "What the fuck is going on? You guys are friends now?" I ask. "Y/n" Katie says. "You guys are hanging out together and shit, the fuck is that about?" I say, feeling the alcohol take over.

Chris looks away, refusing to make eye contact with me. I look at Katie who looks oddly nervous. "What? Are you guys a thing now?" I ask, jealousy seeping through my words.

"God y/n, no me and Chris are not a fucking "thing" are you serious right now?" She exclaimed. "Then what the fuck is happening? You guys are all secluded out here doing what? Just hanging? Just enjoying each other's company? Huh? What is it?" jealousy and confusion clearly speaking for me.

Chris's POV:

I didn't know what to say, or do. Y/n was clearly suspicious of me and Katie being out here alone together. It wasn't even like that. In no way shape or form would I ever get with Katie.

I couldn't look at y/n without remembering what I had just saw in that house. How she was all over him, without a care in the world. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream. I was trying to keep it together.

But y/n made that hard for me. She yelled at Katie and I, accusing us of being a "thing".

"I just can't believe you right now Katie" y/n had said. And then I snapped.

"Me and Katie aren't a fucking thing y/n. I was leaving because I saw you all over Jackson. You were letting him touch you like he fucking owned you, and Katie just so happened to follow me out here to make sure I was okay" I shouted.

Y/n's face twisted, like she had been slapped with reality. She stared at me, and I could see the heavy emotions in her eyes. "Me and you are friends Chris" she said, her voice shaky and tears in her eyes.

I shake my head and scoff "Right" I said. "Friends who kiss and hold each other to sleep at night" I said, our eyes still locked on each other. Katie had slowly backed away as she watches everything unfold.

Tears fall from y/n's eyes. "You said he wouldn't get to touch you like that" my voice trembled. Y/n looks at Katie and then back at me, breathing heavily. "Chris!" I hear my name being called.

I look to see Madi and Matt walking towards us. Fuck.

Katie and y/n noticed them walking towards us as well. Once they get to us they immediately pick up on the energy. Madi looks over at Katie. "Hey" she said smiling. Katie returned the greeting.

"What's going on?" Matt asked. "Nothing I was just going home" I responded, avoiding eye contact with y/n. "You okay? You look live you've been crying" Madi said looking at y/n.

Y/n shook her head. "Y/n!" a man's voice called. Jackson was over in the driveway looking confused. Y/n looked back over at me. The group looked back and forth between me and y/n.

"Did something happen?" Madi asked, completely oblivious to the current situation. "I gotta go" y/n said and then quickly walked towards Jackson.

I wanted to follow her, I wanted to scream her name. But I didn't. Katie had went back into the party and Matt, Madi and I walked home together.

I hated this. I hated feeling like this. I hated not being able to talk to y/n. She had made it clear that she didn't want me. Atleast not in the same way I wanted her. She made it clear that she wasn't mine.

And all I could do was cry, all I could do was feel the weight of the words that were left unsaid.

taglist

@overlygoin @riggysworld @mattstromboli

@nessaisabelartemas333 @xoxbunni @sturniolobananas1 @sturn45olo

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hannie-dul-set · 2 years ago

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could you do loud sungchan who gets quiet and shy around quiet and cool y/n please 🙏

[blizzard]. there is a storm in korean language department.

“midterms over! guess who’s throwing a party this friday?”

the storm’s name is jung sungchan.

“hey, man! see you!” he high fives with one of his peers, greeting them one after another like a hurricane sweeping everything along the path into his relentless torrent. “mrs. kang! wanna join too?”

loud and outgoing, friends with everyone, jung sungchan. from day one, he’s made a mark on the walls for skateboarding and crashing into the lecture hall— a literal mark, because the scratches his stunt left on the tiles are still there. the fact that he wreaks havoc in his wake is very fitting for the metaphor.

“that guy was talking shit about you the other day. why did you ask him to come?” one of his friends questions. sungchan simply shrugs and continues his series of thirst-second small talks with everyone he passes by in the hallway.

“you’re invited! and you’re invited! and you’re invi—”

that is, until something puts the storm to a halt.

“invi...invited...”

someone, rather. there’s only one person that can silence jung sungchan— catch him voiceless and stuttering, demoted to a mere drizzle by their mere presence. his eyes widen and he stops dead in his tracks, nearly stumbling over, like the sky clearing after a sudden downpour. the calm after the storm.

and that person is you.

“uhm,” he starts, eyes averted, pulling down his collar with a swallow to let some air in. “i have a party this friday. would you— would you like to come?”

when you don’t reply immediately, your silence and blinking eyes filling the air, sungchan feels his airways clog and head going dizzy. “oh,” you simply say. he can’t feel the muscles on his face.

“it’s— it’s not a birthday party or anything, no, it’s just to celebrate the end of our midterms and—”

“yeah, i heard you,” you cut him off. “i’m just surprised that you’re talking to me.”

what...what is that supposed to mean? jung sungchan is friends with everyone. he knows the name of the 8 p.m. security guard’s grandson, and how miss lee is going to get married next week. he doesn’t have any trouble striking up a conversation with a stranger, and awkward silences don’t belong in his vocabulary.

but awkward is the only way to describe the silence here.

the storm has died. it always disappears when you’re in the equation. it’s either your quiet nature just cancels out sungchan’s innate sociability, or perhaps your usual calm and unmoving face just makes him nervous and uncomfortable around you.

“w—well, everyone’s free to come! free booze, or whatever, haha.”

the answer is none of the above.

”i have an appointment in the evening,” you reply “but i’ll stop by if i can. thanks.” when you walk past him, you leave behind a pat on his shoulder, and sungchan suddenly hears thunder rip out— a turbulent, violent storm crashing in.

the answer lies in the fact that jung sungchan has a stupid fucking crush on you

your face slices off his silver tongue in an instant, and your touch makes his steady heart go crazy like there’s a cyclone shaking it up to oblivion. he he clutches the remnants of your warmth seeping into his clothed shoulder, a bright shade of red painting his face.

there is a storm in the korean language department. it’s in jung sungchan’s ribcage, and there’s no sign of evacuation.

#this was saur funsies! love it when men fall apart when feelings r involved.#blurbs #jung sungchan x reader #sungchan x reader #riize x reader #jung sungchan x you #sungchan x you #riize x you #jung sungchan scenarios #sungchan scenarios #riize scenarios #sungchan imagines #riize imagines #riize fluff

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11queensupreme11 · 6 months ago

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Hey!! I’m back😭😭😭was on vacation after my brutal exams!!! I passed!! But it was INTENSE! Anyway, I just read ur recent chapter and OMFG!!! WTF!! That was literally insane!! It felt like I was reading pure cinema! Like, I completely didnt think u were gonna have Demeter just straight up deleted like that💀💀😂😂.

(Although, not to be a hater, but she lowkey had it coming… I mean…that’s POSEDION’s daughter ur messing with hun. How else did she thing this would go?)

On that note, I DO feel a little bad for Persephone (only a little, tho, because who basically tries to get their cousin “date-raped” by their uncle so that they can get out of their own marriage 😑. Like girl don’t piss me off 😤👏) at the same time tho. Even tho I didn’t really like him, Zagreas (totally butchered that spelling😭😭) was still her son and I can imagine that no mother wants to have to chose between their kids like that.

(Even if she did have it coming)

With that thought tho…it does lead me to wonder…

If, hypothetically, Percy was ever put in a situation where she has no (absolutely NO) way to save all her yan children which group of kids would she choose to spare amongst the yan children?

Personally Im thinking…

Chances of survival (which group of Percy’s children is she most likely to chose all the way to least likely):

1: Anthonius kids (obviously)

2: Apollo kids- okay so I actually have a reason for this!!! Personally from what I can remember of past asks. Of all Percy’s children the Perpollo kids are the most likely to not turn out complete psycho’s like the rest of the yans because their dad actually raises them like a normal parent would. Apollo has experience with raising children too! And almost all of them were raised to be decent people. So their kids will have the most stable (as stable as it can get for a god I mean) household out of all the yans and are the least likely to be overly violent and sadistic.

3: Anubis kids- same as above^ honestly I think that Anubis’s kids will be pretty chill most of the time, like their father (unless extremely provoked), and stay pretty low key. They might be a little spoiled because Anubis seems like the type but not overly so. Like Apollo he also has experience so I think that their kids will turn out better than the other yans kids and I can’t see Percy as being the type to hate her children solely for their father’s actions towards her

4: Hades Kids- same as above.

5: beelzebub Kids- this is where things start to get…interesting. Percy loves all her kids but I’d imagine her kids with beelzebub will have it rough in a situation like this because if their anything like Beel… I’d imagine that they flip flop between cruelty, sadism, and/or indifference

6: Poseidon kids-bruh💀💀. With the way Poseidon be raising kids Percy would be lucky if they weren’t all sadistic monsters. She’d love them DEEPLY (I just don’t think she would LIKE them very much, you know?)

7: Loki kids- same as above

———————————————————-

8:Cu kids- I don’t know too much about their children yet but I don’t think they would be too bad so TBD

omg hey i missed you 🥺💖 i feel like it's been forever omg 😭😭

about your question, it reeeeaaaaally depends on the kid SPECIFICALLY in most cases. like for example, not ALL of poseidon's kids will be evil menaces.... or at least maybe not to a high degree lol, but since we're going my majority i'll judge them based on which yan dad are the most likely to have mostly unhinged kids 😂

1: anthonius obviously 💖 there's no damn way percy and anthonius would ever raise their kids to be evil, they would literally be the most normal, kindest, and empathetic of the bunch

2: cú chulainn! ok so i don't have much on sécy kids yet, but i plan on giving them more daughters and he sucks at handling girls cuz he's too clueless (he'll try tho!). but tbh, i think even the sons would just be huge assholes then psychos really 😅

3: anubis!!!!! you saw how he is with kebi, he's a really good dad 🥹 and he listens to percy (mostly) so he won't corrupt the kids too much.....

4: apollo! as long as they don't fall in love 💀

5: hades! hades is a decent dad so they won't be that bad.....

THE ABSOLUTE WORST WHERE PRETTY MUCH 90% OF THE KIDS ARE SHIT

6: loki. this guy is fucking crazy and unstable. YES HE IS A GOOD DAD but holy shiiiiiiit is he a bad influence on his kids

7: poseidon 💀

8: beelzebub 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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aroacenezhaanddainsleif · 2 years ago

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so i was rewatching the end of lmk s4 with some friends today, and i noticed that in 4x10 peng says smth to nezha like "let the demon child come out and play!" and like. if i knew more about nezha lore thatd probably be quite concerning to me as a lorehead. and you seem knowledgeable. so. any thoughts?

oh boy. (cracks knuckles) it's late and i should be sleeping but I'm also sad so Nezha interest go BRRRRR

i will say for any accurate/culturally referenced info, go check out @ruibaozha - i am simply summing up as much as i can and some stuff is missing/not elaborated on

let me break down the basic elements of the Nezha myths.

Nezha is born his mom and his military dad, Li Jing, and his older brothers Muzha (second) and Jinzha (first). but Nezha is like fucking. superpower baby for some reason? Apparently the heavens decided to bless Li Jing with a powerful son for his military prowess, and Nezha's mom, Lady Yin(?), was pregnant for 3+ years. Then Nezha popped out as a goddamn ball of flesh. His dad attacked him because hey! Flesh ball! But then Nezha's ball split open and he jumped out as an already formed young child (ages often unclear- ppl say he's 7, or 12, and in some cases he died after only 3 days(?) alive.) either way, Taiyi Zhenren swoops in to be Nezha's master, and everything is fine for some time.

at least til Nezha kills Ao Bing. this part of the myth is really what defines Nezha as a "demon child" or not. in Fengsheng Yanyi/Investiture of the Gods, ONE of the older/more well-known written versions of his story, Nezha washes his sash in the East Sea and causes the dragon palace to quake. Ao Guang understandably gets pissed and sends up his general to ask him to stop, who Nezha kills. then Ao Guang's 3rd son, Ao Bing, who Nezha also kills (and rips out his tendon to wear as a belt)! sometimes Nezha also kills a demon, apprentice of Lady Earth Flow, miles away on accident because he randomly fired a bow. yet in another cases, Nezha is the hero- a demon came up to eat children at the shore, and Nezha obviously killed the dude, then Ao Bing, same thing. but in other other versions, Nezha was friends with Bing and accidentally killed him while playing due to being ultra powerful...

and then Ao Guang threatens Nezha's town, because the kid killed his son. (sometimes Nezha goes and strangles Guang before he can talk to the Jade Emperor, so...) Guang demands an apology and/or Nezha's life or he'll flood the whole mountain pass. and Nezha decides to slit his own goddamn throat to apologize to his parents and "return his body to them". Aka: he commits suicide at like, seven(?)

From here on, stuff differs: Li Jing is a shitty dad (like he REALLY really hates Nezha. calls him a curse and beats him), Nezha gets a temple and Jing burns it down, Nezha gets reborn in a lotus body by his master and/or Buddha, goes on a murder rampage against his dad and Muzha (beats up Muzha w/ a golden brick), is forced to submit to his dad through a Golden Pagoda, making Li Jing the Golden Pagoda Bearing Li Jing, sometimes Jinzha gets to flog his brother, and Nezha's basically a bitter fire god (child) put into the literal armies of heaven. he's also got his 6/8-armed and 3-headed war form in the myths...

now, this is a very long yet still EXTREMELY short explanation of the myth(s), and the "message" really boils down to what version you tell- the boy who started stuff by (unintentionally) murdering people, or the hero. but a lot of the main point of nezha's myth was originally about filial piety, and can be told as a story to remind kids that the parents are always superior, but in more modern myths and stories, Nezha has ended up shifting more into a symbol of rebellion. He's the protection deity of children: the outcasts and the demon children, the kids who question things and are loud and outspoken and aren't what people (especially their parents) want them to be. Nezha's story entirely depends on region, context and intent, which makes him a very versatile figure.

Now, put that into LMK?

I have a lot of hcs abt why LMK Nezha is the way he is, but my main one comes down to that "demon child" line. I like to think that Nezha was basically an uncontrolled force of war power and killed Ao Bing (regardless of the situation).

But then he got put into heaven and 1. realized how he acted and had to deal with crushing guilt and self-hatred and 2. got groomed into a (then) child soldier 👍

He was still a general, but learned to channel all that destructive power into being a protector and how to defend instead (ex: his shields, sealing power, etc). He takes his current job very seriously bc he sees it as his only reason to still be worth existing. he also dislikes Wukong bc he sees far too much of a younger him in Wukong; doomed for destructiveness and chaos. this is also why i put parallels to Nezha and MK because. yeah. (and imo, although i know Nezha paid it back w/ his suicide, I'm a bit surprised Mei wasn't taught to hate him, due to how much family matters to dragons...)

so aka, my hc of: "dude was literally always seen as a demon child/symbol of destruction, and therefore after being used as a literal war weapon and then being made to guard a map for ages (probably because he didn't want to harm anyone else), DUDE'S GOT ISSUES!"

#lmk nezha #lego monkie kid nezha #monkie kid nezha #nezha lmk #nezha #nezha lore #lmk #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid analysis #lego monkie kid headcanon #lego monkie kid theory #lmk theory #lmk headcanon

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too-antigonish · 11 months ago

Text

The Classical Music of Ride, Part I: Mozart’s Requiem

You can’t trust anything or anyone in Ride. People aren’t who they seem to be. Every action, every event is just a cover for something else.

Is Morse one of the idle rich? An Oxford drop-out? A taxi-driver's son from Lincolnshire? A man who’s just finished a prison sentence? A policeman?

Long post....

Is Bixby the filthy rich head of a gambling empire? Is he just a front for Harry Rose’s criminal empire? Is he Charlie Greel looking to win back Cathy or Joss Bixby looking to seduce Kay? Is he even himself or is he his hidden, evil twin Conrad?

Are the denizens of Lake Silence really Morse’s friends—sheltering him after the storm of Blenheim Vale and prison? Or are they a bunch of dysfunctional philanderers and addicts? Even worse, are they suspects? Criminals?

Using Mozart’s Requiem in this episode must have absolutely delighted the music staff because while a great part of its fame and mystique rests on the sheer accumulation of stories and legends that have grown up around it, almost none of those tales can be proven—and all of them have been challenged at some point. You really don't know what's real and what's not—right down to the music itself.

Was the anonymous “stranger cloaked in gray” who gave him the commission the only sponsor Mozart ever saw? Or did he at some point become aware that the Count, Franz von Walsegg, was paying for the work? Some people today are shocked to hear that Walsegg planned to pass off the Requiem as his own work—as a tribute composed in memory of his dead wife—but that was a fairly common practice for the aristocracy of the time. It was considered slightly shady, but the proper thing to do was to just politely nod and go along with it.

Did Mozart, his mind disturbed by illness in his final days, truly come to believe that he had been poisoned and that he was writing the requiem mass for his own funeral? Or was that tantalizingly dramatic detail added by his widow Constanze to drive up sales of the score after the his death? The couple was catastrophically bad at managing money and when her husband died, the widowed Constanze was left with massive debts and two small children. She needed to maximize any possible source of revenue.

Her story certainly captured the public imagination. Pushkin took that little tidbit about writing his own funeral mass and wrote a very short but thought-provoking play in which he cast Mozart’s contemporary Salieri as the envious poisoner and Mozart himself as a childish, spoiled, and petty genius. Peter Shaffer later adapted Pushkin’s work into the play, and later film, Amadeus. A surprising number of people today believe Amadeus to be not the work of imaginative fiction that it is, but rather a completely factual story of Mozart’s life and death.

Mozart worked on the Requiem up to the day he died at the age of only 35. It was the last piece he worked on. Most scholars believe the manuscript we have contains not only the last music he ever composed but possibly the last words he ever wrote.

As far as authorship is concerned, we know for certain that Mozart himself completed “in skeleton” the Introit, the Kyrie, and almost all of the Sequentia (Dies irae, Tuba mirum, Rex tremendae, Recordare, Confutatis). The last portion of the Sequentia, the Lacrimosa, was completed was the up through the first 8 bars.

The last words that he actually wrote were "Quam olim da capo” — which instructed the musicians to repeat the "Quam olim" fugue of the Domine Jesu from the beginning. In yet another mysterious twist to the story of the Requiem, these actual last words were stolen—quite literally by tearing them from the manuscript—while the score was displayed at the 1958 World’s Fair in Brussels. They are still missing.

We are certain about the authorship of parts because we have the autograph manuscripts—the music in Mozart’s very own hand. The big question, however, has always been, how much the the rest of the Requiem can we consider his? The parts that were completed “in skeleton” basically had all of the “important” notes in place. Things missing include details like doubled parts that could fairly easily be extrapolated from what he had written.

In order for Constanze to receive her money from Walsegg, however, she needed to make it appear that Mozart had completed the work entirely or almost entirely himself before his death. Not only would this ensure full payment from Walsegg, it would also promote sales of the score to the public later. A work written by Mozart alone would far out-sell a work written by Mozart and “Mr. Competent-But-Lesser-Known-Composer.”

Today we know that at least two of Mozart’s students were involved in finishing the piece, with the majority of the work being done by Franz Süssmayr. What we don’t know, however, is how much of the completed work is purely theirs and how much came from Mozart’s notes and verbal instructions.

Some versions of the story indicate that Mozart gave detailed deathbed instructions and left many “little scraps” of paper with details of how to complete the composition. Other versions claim that this talk of “little scraps” is simply more of Constanze’s effort to maximize Mozart’s contributions and minimize those of others.

Regardless, we know that the completed Requiem was eventually sent (with Mozart’s counterfeited signature!) to Count Walsegg and dated 1792—which is rather odd in retrospect given that it was well-known that Mozart had died on 5 December 1791. It's always been yet another mystery.

The two excerpts used in Ride are the Lacrimosa, during the opening titles and establishing scenes, and the Confutatis, which Morse is listening to on his record player as he splits wood outside the lakeside dacha.

The Latin text of the first reads:

Lacrimosa dies illa, Qua resurget ex favílla Iudicandus homo reus: Huic ergo parce, Deus:

The equivalent translation (i.e. not the one used at mass, but a more literal translation) is:

Tearful [will be] that day, on which from the glowing embers will arise the guilty man who is to be judged: Then spare him, O God.

So Ride starts with tears and guilt.

I’ve always found it interesting that this text doesn’t even try to claim innocence, instead it very clearly asks that the guilty be shown mercy.

The Latin text of the second reads:

Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me cum benedictis.

The equivalent translation is:

Once the cursed have been silenced, sentenced to acrid flames, Call me, with the blessed.

This text always strikes me as coming almost from a child’s point of view. Basically one interpretation is, “Come and get me once you’ve taken care of all the bad guys.” I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions as to how that might apply to Morse post-Blenheim Vale and prison.

Next week: The Classical Music of Ride, Part II: Rigoletto or “Why keeping a person’s entire existence a secret leads to Bad Things.”

Special Bonus Section!!!

Parts of Mozart’s Requiem used in Endeavour:

Dies irae: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S4E4: Harvest (~2 min) (~3 min)

Rex tremendae: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S9E3: Exeunt(~1 h 11 min)(~1 h 11 min)

Confutatis: completed by Mozart in skeleton* S3E1: Ride (~5 min)

Lacrimosa: completed by Mozart in skeleton* through measure no. 8 S2E3: Sway (~0 min)(~1 hr 24 min); S3:E1 Ride (~1 min)

Lux aeterna: Not in Mozart’s MS; however Süssmayr reuses the Requiem aeternam written by Mozart almost note-for-note with just the different text S9E3: Exeunt (~31 min)

*skeleton: means full vocal and continuo parts, notes for prominent orchestral parts and musical bridges

#itv endeavour #endeavour morse #endeavour: ride #endeavour music #mozart requiem

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sheeezu · 4 months ago

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Hiii Hani :)

I’m not even sure how to phrase my question, or if it’s even a question, maybe it’s more of a need to reassurance.

About 2-3 years ago, at my mental & physical rock bottom where I was literally nearing death as my body was shutting down, I discovered law of assumption and Neville Goddard. And I think at that moment, I grasped at it like it was my lifeline - I didn’t even consider whether it was too good to be true, I was desperate, so I obeyed. I feel like now looking back at it, I’m embarrassed 😭 my dedication to the law saved my life in the most delusional way possible. As a person that didn’t have much to lose and possibly everything to gain, I was in it 100%, and lowkey I was brain dead because of malnutrition so I ate up every single possibility of living my best life on my terms.

I don’t want to go into too much detail because I’m embarrassed as hell. Anyway, what I want to say is that at that time I truly believed everything was possible, that I was in control of everything, everything around me was an extension of me, I’m basically some god and I can bend and create the reality as I please with no limits. Even after I saw the complete opposite happening in 3D, I didn’t even waver, because I knew, or thought, it wasn’t true. Anyway, after like 7-8 months of my daily devoted delusion I got a harsh reality check, and obviously all my faith crumbled lol and I got faced with the truth that I’m just a human with no power I believed I had. The unwavering and uttermost belief in the law of assumption saved my life, but nothing I so wholeheartedly believed I was going to achieve came true.

On the other hand, even after all that I’ve experienced with loa, I still want to believe some subliminals I’ve listened to a few years ago had power to in a way shape my physical reality, but maybe again I’m just deluding myself. There was an instance when my cousin’s sudden brain aneurysm ruptured a few months ago, she was in a coma, and the doctors said she’s going to die or become a vegetable at best. They’ve repeated that multiple times, but it never resonated with me, I knew that wasn’t going to be the case. As of today, my cousin is walking, talking, laughing, being a normal person. She just has memory issues, but I believe it they should pass still. I’m still scared to believe I could’ve “manifested that”, I’m scared of giving myself hope again when it could’ve been just a coincidence.

But, god, I still want to believe shifting is real. Even though, again, it sounds too good to be true. But then it’s crazy that so many people would be lying about it, no? I’m scared of putting my all into believing it just to be disappointed and faced with a reality again, a reality of having no power. I’m scared to even attempt to do it, because I know that if it’s real, it’s not hard, and I have this (once again, maybe delusional) feeling that it wouldn’t be hard for me. Whenever I read about people struggling with shifting for years, it doesn’t resonate with me. I feel sorry for them, but I have this inner feeling that if shifting is real, struggling for years to achieve it wouldn’t be the case for me. But it’s scary how similar it sounds to the delusional me that I was these 2-3 years ago.

I’ve never gotten this off my chest, I obviously can’t tell this to anyone in my life without sounding insane, even though people still wonder what happened these 2-3 years ago that caused me to still be alive. I’m sorry for dumping this all on you, I hope it’s not too heavy and you don’t mind it 😭 if you could have any advice, reassurance, anything that could help me not be afraid to try again, I’d be extremely grateful. I’m scared of missing out, but I’m even more scared of realizing I’ve planted a seed in my brain of a dream that could never become true.

It feels so good to see my name being used, hello-! First of all, imagine we're both having a calm conversation, over tea, you laid out your points and so will i. while loa is an important part of existential identity, it is just the name of a practice. I myself, am not centered around loa since it requires patient, not that loa requires it, the act of performing it can if it's information is misinterpreted. (basically i dont bother), therefore can i speak boldly and pick on "this" or "that" which you did wrong while performing loa? no. Reality's definition is on a blurred line. Tell me anon, what else argument you have which can define existence, what can you bring to the table which doesn't cross over to the "delusional" category? genuine question. isn't the concept of individual's own creation of reality not the most defining one? hence events are unfolding orderly, hence we are awake and alive in this moment, hence it'll keep raining until some logical aspect cancels it out. why do religious' people's prayer work? it's their assumption that whoever hears it has the unquestioned power to fulfil them, just as long as they think they're worthy enough on the receiving end. Isn't a form of manifestations? Everything which we chose to believe, and don't attach the tag of "out of ordinary", "loa", "assuming", "trying", "doing", in order words not making in seem as if our beliefs are being built by ourselves for specific purposes or motives then we'll notice those things ARE ALREADY THERE, like how manifestors affirm "i already have ___" those things already present, sun, mood stars and sky are a form of manifestation in which our belief unfolded in a natural way. I believe shifting is creation of reality, since we have been creating every little moment by ourselves. Therefore there is no "if" or "But" regarding it, reality is created when YOU create it yourself, take it or leave. It's not the "i prayed to the universe to let me-" "Oh! dear subconscious please allow me-!" just pure utter control and power, when you act upon it. My dm are open for you anon, if something is still amiss.

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safyresky · 5 months ago

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Wanna hear how UNHINGED Sunday was for me?

TRICK QUESTION. YOU'RE GONNA.

Got woken up at 6am Sunday morning to bring Dad to the hospital for a kidney stone flare up.

By a quarter to 7 he's like "I'm fine"

by a quarter to 8 he's like "nvm"

bring him through triage and all that, once he's ready to see a dr I dip to go shovel about. 7 driveways.

2.5 are already done. Finish the other 3.5. Grandma cancels hers bc her neighbour did it. Cool. Great. AH.

go home. have lunch. go to costco bc sometimes you just need to

(cheap gas)

(granola bars)

and you don't trust your grandma's neighbour to NOT half ass it so best be checking that out

it's fine. k great.

Pick dad up from hospital, prep dinner for the sickos since he's now on morphine while he passes the stone and mom's recovering from HIP SURGERY

leave to come home to ktown my beloved

only for my beloved (person) to suddenly get WILDLY SICK on the way back

get home and clear OUR driveway while husband explodes in the basement bathroom, only for neighbour-across-the-street's-dog who will henceforth be known as THE DOG to come barking when I get into my car to put it in the driveway

THE DOG is in the fenceless yard, off her leash, barking at me from across the street bc that's what she does. barks NON STOP.

her human does NOT come out to check on her when it's really important, like when he's literally being robbed or someone is on our lawn after breaking into the backyard

(true stories, both of them)

no. she just barks when we're on our own lawn

bc apparently our house is her house too (don't get me started. when we are asleep he is hanging out in our yard playing with his dog. I can see the damn tracks. Leading from his place to OUR PALCE since they never shovel the gd streets)

(I am this close || to building a fence in the spring)

nice dog. terrible human.

So SHE'S barking. Nonstop. A symphony. The Call Of Her People. It's echoing across the neighbourhood

her human does NOT come to check on her.

Old Lady Neighbour comes out to snoop. I sigh and tell her it's us we just got home and the dog is mad? excited? about that? who's to say

she claims she's just outside to bat carpets. at 10 o'clock at night. while looking w/concern over at The Dog (she is still barking)

okay Sharon, I see you! I know how to snoop on neighbours too!!!!

we start chatting

The Dog is still barking

Non-stop. NON STOP. at this point I am convinced she doesn't need to breath since it's just BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BAnd so on and so forth

Her Human is not in sight.

She keeps barking.

My Beloved (human) comes out and joins me, and says hi, and tells Old Lady Neighbour not to worry about leftover snow, he'll get to it

as if he wasn't just downstairs PUKING HIS BRAINS OUT

He goes to unload the car while I am slowly trying to escape the chat

The Dog is still barking

The Human is still missing

While chatting, suddenly Old Lady Neighbour looks over my head

"Now you see, that there is Hero, the dog three doors down from you."

"Huh? What?" I think. I turn around

A SECOND DOG HAS ENTERED THE ARENA

The Dog finally stops barking as they greet one another, excited, and Dog #2 IMMEDIATELY MOUNTS THE DOG AND STARTS FUCKING HER DOGGY STYLE RIGHT THERE IN THE FRONT YARD.

LITERALLY

BECAUSE THEY ARE DOGS.

FUCKING.

In my soul, I feel like the side eyeing monkey puppet. thing. And I look away

Old Lady has pointed this dog out to me bc in a sly, clever way last Thursday I brought up the whole "neighbour across the street keeps running around our property while we're asleep playing with his dog like it's his"

mans didn't even ASK

I would've said NO but STILL. IT'S THE PRINCIPAL OF THE THING

HE HAS MORE YARD THAN WE DO. WHY IS HE ON OUR PATHETIC LIL SIDE YARD! COME ON!

anyway

I brought it up in a not-naming-names way and she immediately lists every single dog on the block and says maybe it's them, as if I DON'T know every dog on the block and that they are inside houses with fenced in yards and NOT being walked at 3am and then treated to a dog park on the way that is actually just MY YARD

I know it's creepy neighbour, Sharon. STOP DEFENDING HIM

I finally escape

Run to the car to grab my iced capp

the dogs are still fuckin

the human is nowhere in sight.

My Beloved (human) pops his head out from the front seat of the car, says something, and immediately stops dead bc he has just looked over my head (am short, he's a giant) and seen the dogs going at it

"Oh! Well I'm not even going to ASK" and he looks away

"Huh?" I turn back, remembering as I turn the the DOGS are FUCKING

"Oh. Right. Yeah that's Hero from 3 doors down, apparently."

"Ah! Great :) Let's go inside :)"

We do.

Husbando is stable, for now, and I say I'll finish putting the last bit of snow in the back and he can sit and rest

I go outside to do that and then fight to close the gate

the dogs have stopped fucking and are now play fighting.

after care, I guess

I go back to fighting the gate

Suddenly I am hearing the loudest, most UPSET french yelling in my LIFE

I look up.

A woman is running down the street in slippers and pjays

SLEEP SHORTS SPECIFICALLY AND IT'S LIKE 20 BELOW 0

And she is YELLING at the second dog

He looks chastised, says bye to The Dog and makes his way over to the woman

The woman keeps yelling

The Dog's Human is still mia.

I run inside bc I do NOT wanna cross paths with the angry Quebecois lady and the fucking (literally) dog

My Beloved (Human) is at the door like "why is there yelling"

"Hero's mom picked him up and is v mad. I'm gonna do the front. Couldn't close the gate btw"

"I got it"

I go do the front. Angry lady and her dog are gone. I go inside.

My Beloved (human) comes inside.

"GUESS who FINALLY SHOWED UP OUTSIDE," he says

"The Dog's Human?"

"YEP! The Dog's Human."

#dani speaks #he did NOT come out when the dog was barking non stop #OR when the dog got quiet suddenly on account of getting FUCKED by a SECOND DOG #AND THEN. WHEN THE LADY CAME YELLING RIGHT ONTO HIS PROPERTY. STILL NO SIGN OF HIM #BUT THE MOMENT. THE MOMENT IT GETS QUIET AND RICHARD GOES TO CLOSE THE GATE FOR ME.#CREEPY NEIGHBOUR FUCKING APPEARS #YOU GUYS....I CAN'T S T A N D THIS GUY #the mature thing to do is to talk to him and be like 'hey dude. can u get ur dog to stop barking at us'#'and also maybe stop using our yard as an extension of yours'#but this man does not listen #he goes okok sure :) then continues doing the thing ANYWAY #SO YOU CAN SEE WHY I AM TEAM FENCE #PUT MY NICE FRESH BLANKET OF SNOW BACK N O W #when the blog becomes the diary #argh

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getvalentined · 10 months ago

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@sephirthoughts: my tumblr app isn’t showing your ask box for some reason so i’m asking here 😂 8, 12, 35, 47 for vincent please? 🖤🖤🖤🖤

(I turned it off and back on again so let me know if you see it now! I just turned it back on today after having it off for a couple weeks, so I'm not shocked it's a bit buggy.)

[For the Random Character Asks game.]

8. Unpopular opinion about them?

I mean my most unpopular opinion about Vincent is definitely that he's the single most compelling character in the entirety of Final Fantasy VII, but with regard to like...headcanons and character interpretations, it's probably that I don't think most of his monsters are actually entirely separate entities with their own unique personalities—I don't even interpret Chaos as sapient the majority of the time.

Aside from Hellmasker, who I've discussed before, any personality seen in Vincent's monsters is literally just a facet of Vincent's own with various traits and aspects stripped away based on the trauma through which they manifested. Galian and Gigas are more like partially-dissociated identities, not complete entities unto themselves, while Chaos has the capacity for periodic sapience only after decades of filtering itself through Vincent's consciousness via the protomateria. At its core Chaos is really just an animal, meaning any personality it might seem to express is the result of it mimicking Vincent over time, which is why it's just vicious and out of control when it manifests in Dirge without the protomateria. (I think my take on the protomateria is probably also wildly unpopular, but I actually can't remember seeing anyone else ever talking about how they believe it functions, so I'm not sure you can call something "unpopular" when there is no "popular" option.)

Fandom really likes portraying all of them as completely separate fully-fledged characters, and it's easier for my Vincent to refer to them similarly in most contexts, but he knows that's not really how it works—he just chooses not to explain it.

12. Crack headcanon?

Vincent is the king of Junon. No, I'm not kidding, this is consistent in basically all my renditions of Vincent. Even if it doesn't come up, if I'm portraying Vincent in basically any version of the canon universe wherein the Wutai War took place, Vincent is the king of Junon.

My version of Valentine family is founding nobility in Junon, which is a crowned republic, with the royal family basically operating as a ceremonial figurehead. The royal family has no actual ruling power at this point, but people like having them around—particularly the other noble families, who use their existence as a way of maintaining the right to a share of taxes and the like—and between the war with Shinra and everything else, nothing has ever really been done to change that.

I was going to try to explain the genealogy behind this, and then I remembered that I have a chart—and I'm gonna put it and the rest of this post under a cut, because this is stupidly long at this point and I'm two questions deep.

Vincent's extended family tree:

Okay so, Vincent's second cousin was Queen Adelaide, who took the throne fairly young due to her mother passing away; the one who "married in" doesn't keep rulership after the death of their spouse except in cases where their heir is still a minor, and then rulership passes to the heir upon adulthood. If there is no heir, the title gets kicked to the next royal-by-blood on the line. Adelaide died in the late '90s, unmarried and without an heir—but there were no other royals left. She was an only child, and all the others were dead.

...Well, probably. See, Vincent had been listed as missing in action since 1978. Because of the clandestine nature of the department, Turks that disappear aren't listed as dead until there's either a body recovered, or they've been missing for 50 years, whichever comes first. Legally, Vincent was still alive, and the Junon Society of Royals (aka the JSR, the group responsible for keeping Junonese nobility in their wealth) grabbed onto that to perform what's called a "paperwork ascension." These used to be pretty common back when heirs would get sent away to war or for school or whatever, gone for years at a time whether their ruling parent died or not.

The plan was for the JSR to plug Vincent in temporarily and proceed to dig back through the entire genealogical record to try to find some distant heir who was actually present and definitely alive to put on the throne instead (there is also a mechanism for this in Junonese tradition) but there was the whole war with Wutai, and then a bunch of terrorist nonsense happened, then everything went sideways with Meteor, then Geostigma, then Omega—and then King Vincent Vickalor Valentine VII, a man who should have been about 60 years old and whom everyone assumed was actually dead as hell everywhere except on paper, reappeared working with the WRO in 2010.

Vincent had absolutely no idea any of this had happened. He had no fucking clue that he'd legally been king of Junon for over a decade. Upon finding out via a very angry letter from the JSR asking him to pass the crown to another noble family and please do not come be King Cryptid the public cannot take it, he instead routed as much of the royal family's share of taxes as he was legally allowed to the WRO as a recurring charitable donation, including that same percentage from the escrow account into which that share had been fed since Queen Adelaide's death, and divvied up as much of the rest as was permissible to various other charitable causes. A good chunk of it is stuck just sitting there, which is annoying because he doesn't want it, but if he dissolves the monarchy then the WRO stops getting that funding so he can't do that just yet. He will eventually, since he can't die and thus the JSR screwed themselves over by putting him "in charge," but it will be a while before he does it.

This means that the king of Junon owns three pairs of pants, lives in an apartment that contains only a mattress and a radio, and hasn't gotten his hair cut in over 30 years. The JSR do not broadcast his existence and he doesn't meddle too much with their bougie nonsense, so it's not general public knowledge.

Reeve knew the entire time and just never said anything.

35. Their idea of a perfect day?

This one is actually really hard, because my Vincent doesn't really...think that way? He doesn't really make his own plans or have his own aspirations, because if he thinks about his future he won't stop and that's pretty crippling for him what with the immortality, so the idea of a perfect day hasn't crossed his mind since he was sent to Nibelheim.

If we're going outside his thoughts on the concept and into what would be a perfect day for him within the feasible bounds of his general existence immediately postcanon, it would vary depending on which headcanon universe I'm working with. Going with the one I've been playing in the most recently, it would start with cloudy weather in Junon and a short workday at WRO HQ—busy enough to keep occupied but slow enough that he can afford to head out early—followed by his mostly-monthly visit to Edge to help Tifa deep clean the bar and kitchen at Seventh Heaven. After that, he and Tifa and Cloud (and Barret, who is stated to live in Edge as well post-AC) would hang out in the closed bar and catch up, maybe have a few drinks; once it's dark enough, Vincent and Cloud would split off, finding somewhere quiet and secluded to recover from all that peopling. Maybe up on the roof, maybe a little ways out of town, and they'd stay out there until Cloud got sleepy, at which point Vincent would get him home. Maybe Vincent would stay the night, but realistically it'd only ever be to sleep. Someday maybe it would be more than that, but Vincent does his best not to think about the future.

A perfect day is being useful, getting to pretend he's still a normal person, and spending time with the people who won't call him out on the lie.

47. Their dream job?

Vincent's dream job is being a Turk. Period. It doesn't matter what point in time we're talking about, that's the answer.

Postcanon, this isn't because he wants anything to do with Shinra (the Turks don't actually work with Shinra anymore by then in my headcanon, the department was absorbed into the WRO just after AC), but because it was the only thing Vincent ever really wanted to do before. He and Tseng would butt heads too much for him to rejoin the department, but that doesn't even matter—Vincent is extremely mako-enhanced, among other things, and Turks aren't allowed to have any biological augmentations. His abilities may have been forced on him, but they're still very much enhancements, so Vincent's physiology bars him from the only job he ever wanted.

Vincent is no longer a Turk, and never will be again—no matter how much he might dream about it.

#vincent valentine #headcanon warning #ask game

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