#/i like how powerful it sounds!; there is a feeling of ruler-like-authority to it; i dunno how to explain it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsbychlo · 2 years

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under violet skies | azriel

summary; the dusk court has been hidden for many millennia. with a new ruler who no longer wants to hide, threats break out. azriel was tasked with protecting the high lady, the queen, of dusk court, from an assassination attempt.

word count; 9644

notes; I love the plot, I hate the smut, so be gentle with me, okay? ki just hit 3k, and a while ago she asked for something dusk court, and azriel, and hate fucking. I hope this lil gift meets all those expectations. 🤍

You really weren’t sure how you’d ended up here. In fact, everything felt like a blur. Surely, it had only been moments ago you’d been sitting at the table with Azriel, eating breakfast, laughing with the man who was your bodyguard as he whispered jokes about your court under his breath.

Now, you watched as his shadows swirled frantically, through bleary eyes that were beginning to blacken around the edges. The pressure on your back rose, your fingers digging so hard into the cold stone tiles that your nails were tearing. What was it that Azriel had taught you, in all those months of training? You couldn't remember, your head was spinning. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear him screaming, yelling, the chains he was locked by rattling and shrieking as the metal gave nothing.

Just when the darkness was reaching the middle, when you were so desperate for breath your heart was no longer racing, the pressure loosened. You sucked in a breath, so deep it hurt as it stretched abused muscles, and a cry fell from your lips. A steel-capped boot hit your shoulder, a rough kick that flipped you over onto your back, onto the wounded muscles that were already giving you hell.

The room was a mess, what had once been your dining room, what had once been beautiful pillars of carved marble and moonstone was destroyed; smoking and flaming, debris littering the room. The dining table was cracked in two, you remembered the centuries-old oak giving way as Azriel had been thrown right through it. The windows were smashed, the pretty stained glass at the end that had cast a lavender haze over the whole room, you remembered the way flames had birth through it like shooting stars falling from the sky.

Footsteps crunched through broken glass, following where you’d rolled to a stop, one arm twisted awkwardly under your body, and the feeling of hot, sticky blood dripping from it was enough to make your stomach twist. He had a crazed look in his eyes as he waved his free hand around the room, head tipping to the side as his feet came to a stop near your head.

Azriel pulled tighter on the chains, the accomplices holding him back yanked so hard you heard something pop, and you took a shuddering breath, as best you could. “Let him go. You only want me.” Cold pressed to your throat as he crouched, your eyes snapping back, lips trembling, skin burning from the tears pouring down over them as you met the eyes of your attacker. Of the assassin sent to kill you, the one you’d known was coming, had been preparing for, and yet you’d never have been ready for this.

“Let him go?”

“Yes. Let him go.” Your voice trembled, weak as you tried to assert authority, the power that was your birthright, your power as the rightful ruler of Dusk Court, and he only laughed, bloodied teeth from his bleeding lip showing, a result of the one punch you’d managed to land before he’d gained the upper hand over you.

“See, this is why we’re here. This is why you can never rule, you’re nothing like your father.”

“I take pride in that.” He sneered, eyes blazing with a kind of rage you’d never seen before, the insanity fuelling it terrifying you to your very core. You blinked back tears, refusing to let him see any more vulnerability from you than he already had. “Kill me now, or I’ll kill you for hurting him.”

He laughed again. The sound of it made fear strike down your spine, a cold slash that left everything alert with feeling, left every damaged nerve electrified and screaming. “You’d risk your life for a piece of Night Court scum? You change things, you are doing everything wrong. Your father knew how to rule, you’re nothing but a disappointment on that throne.”

“It’s sweet to know the family has such a loyal following.”

“You have no loyalty from me.” He spat, the mixture landing on your cheek, a searing hot reminder of just how powerless you were. Your eyes closed, bile moving in the back of your throat. Your hand shook so badly as you tried to lift it that you could barely smear it away. He stepped back, rounding your body, until he was hooking a hand under your armpit. Hauling you onto your knees, the rocks and splinters dug into your skin through the thin layers of gauzy, ruined dress, until you were facing Azriel.

His lip was split, a trickle of blood running down from it, dirt and soot covered his face, a bruise forming along the right side that made you wince as you remembered the kick that had caused it. His wings were drooped, his left arm hanging limply by his side, and you wondered if that pop had actually dislocated it. His eyes were wide, his whole body all but vibrating with rage, and he struggling against the chains once again.

“Look at him, an Illyrian. We all know of their reputations, of how they act. Bastards, monsters, degenerates, killers. You’d have, what, have our noble court follow in their footsteps? I hope dying for one of your precious Illyrians is worth it.”

Azriel was screaming now, shadows whipping in a violent frenzy as that cold knife pressed to your skin once again, not breaking the skin but enough that you could feel the blood throbbing in your neck against it. Your heart slowed, breath catching in a sob you tried to hold back, offering a shaky smile when Azriel’s desperate gaze met yours. “It’s okay, I’m dying for my mate.”

The room fell silent.

So quiet, you could hear your own heart beating in your ears.

“You’re dying for nothing.” His hand pulled back, ready to send the blade piercing into your neck, your heart, you didn’t know. Your eyes met Azriel’s, a shaky smile finding your lips.

Then, the room went black.

An explosion, swirling darkness like you’d never seen from Azriel before, barely catching glimpses of light through the hurricane of shadows closing in and in on you like a suffocating mass, until the light was gone entirely. Metal strained, shrieked, before giving way, and then blue cut through it. A solid burst of sapphire, a terrifying shot of power that illuminated the dark just enough for you to see him as he moved. There was a look on Azriel’s face you’d never seen before, a look that suggested that wasn’t Azriel at all, not the one you knew, not your mate, but someone else entirely. Someone much, much darker.

That blast hit the man behind you, the force of it sending your body flying along with his, and when you hit the stone was again, your skull collided with the ground. It was dark again, the power gone, and you were left alone. All you had to guide yourself with was the screams, the sounds of gut-twisting torture as bodies were torn apart, the wet sounds of flesh tearing, the sounds of bones breaking, the sounds of lives ending. You didn’t pity them, but it didn’t stop you from being terrified.

You did all you could, you pressed yourself close to the floor, forehead to the tiles as you wept, a hand over your body, body shaking so violently your joins scraped the rough floor. You could only hope it was Azriel who found you first.

You waited.

And waited.

Eyes closed, soothing yourself with the sounds of your own cries, until the screaming stopped, until only one man’s heavy panting echoed off of the wreckage of the room. You cracked an eye open, watching the shadows crawl back, slowly, slowly, until you could see your own hands in front of your face again, until you could see the wreckage of the room.

Blood, spattered everywhere. Across the tapestries and walls ad painting. Guts, hanging from bodies, the metallic smell in the air only making the queasiness worse. And then, Azriel, on one knee before the very same man who’d had a knife to your throat. The knife, still clutched in his hand, his hand clutched in Azriel’s, was now buried in his throat.

It was a sickening sound as Azriel pulled the blade free, wiping it on the thigh of his leathers as he stood, and sheathing a new blade on his belt. A trophy. Rivers of red ran from him, along black leather, along golden skin, from raven hair. You hoped none of it was his.

His eyes met yours, his shoulders still heaving, something cold and emotionless sitting in them, but as your gazes locked, you felt the bond in your chest hum. That golden thread that had been dead for so long pulled tight, and you watched his body stiffen, heard his sharp intake of breath.

The rush of it, it gave you just enough strength to get to your feet, to stumble over your shredded dress and the ruins of your home towards him. He remained still, so still it was like he was a statue, watching you move until you collapsed into him. Your hands smoothed up his chest, coming away red-coated, but you didn’t care, not as you cupped his face, thumbs smoothing over his cheek as you took in your battered mate.

“Az..”

Your lip wobbled. His didn’t. Instead, it curled down in a snarl, a sound that echoed harshly along your body. His hands come up, wrapping tightly around your wrists, yanking your trembling hands from his face.

“Do not fucking touch me.”

You gaped, the thread in your chest going dead once again as his walls snapped up. Cold and hard and heartbreaking.

You reached for him again when his hands let you go, only to watch as he turned, watching his back as he stormed from the room, shadows dragging with him like a cloak of pure darkness, until he was gone.

Once again, you fell to your knees, one hand clutching at your chest.

This time, you didn’t hide your sob, nor the loud wail that tore from you on a sore throat as you reached the ground.

“The threat is taken care of, so you’ll no longer be needing my services.” Azriel appeared as he always did, silent and terrifying, all but manifesting out of the shadows as he walked through the door, refusing to even show the decency of knocking. He was clad in his leathers once again, but no longer did blood streak down them, no longer were they torn and burned. He looked better than he had the last time you’d seen him, a week of healing had done him good, those Illyrian genes had fixed him up far faster than you had. There were still bruises along your back, your neck, your soul. He didn’t observe you the way you looked at him, he refused to look at you at all, stalking towards the desk on the opposite side of you and slamming a letter down onto it. “I expect you’ll be wanting this.”

He slid it with two fingers across the polished oak, before pulling back, hands tucking firmly behind his back, wings pulled tight. You didn’t pick it up, but continued to stare at him, watching him observe the space of your private office. He’d never been here before, not this close to your bedroom, the door behind you to it still wide open. You’d been on bed rest all week, waiting for him to visit you, to talk to you. He’d never come, so you’d had to pull rank and summon him.

A muscle twitched in his tight jaw as though he was thinking the same thing. Finally picking up the letter and running your thumb under the seal on the back, three mountains and three stares glared at you from within the swirling grey wax. It popped open, your fingers delicately folding it open.

It didn’t say much, a small, hastily scrawled letter in his unique cursive, bluntly explaining how he’d be leaving in the morning. His duties as a bodyguard and nothing more were completed, and when dawn broke, he would leave for the Night Court once again. Permanently.

He stayed silent as you read, only daring to glance in your direction when you pressed it down flat onto the wood before you, smoothing it out, reading it again. And again. Your threat stung, an entirely new pain from the one you’d been recovering from all week, and when you looked up at him, that same empty look was present in his gaze. Vacant, unfeeling, void.

“You’re leaving?” He only nodded, stiffly, maintaining the eye contact for a second before dropping it once again, holding his chin high and staring over your head. Azriel had never made you feel small, never made you feel weak or helpless, not like he was now. He was leaving, you’d laid everything bare for him, your bond, your love, your life, and he wanted none of it. “I see.”

You lifted a pen, dipping it delicately into the ink, the tip hovering for only a second over the paper before you were signing it neatly. He let out a slight sigh as he watched the signature be drawn. Whiskey-eyes narrowed on you, as though he’d expected more; a fight, and argument, a royal demand like the one you’d used to get him here in the first place, but you had no fight left to give.

“Thank you, Azriel, of the Night Court. Your services were more than I could have asked for.” It ached to even speak, to put a distance between you both like this, like he hadn't become your best friend, your confidant, the only man you’d ever loved. The only man who’s made you feel safe. This office felt far too small with him in it, and the palace felt far too big with the idea of him gone. “I’ll write to your High Lord, thank him personally for your services. I’ll be sure to send-”

Your voice cracked, his wings twitched behind his body as his head snapped back to you, and you only cleared your throat, putting on the same smile he’d trained you in months ago, to hide everything you really felt. You never thought you’d have to turn it on him.

“I’ll be sure to send ample rewards for your services.”

He lingered a moment longer, hands flexing behind his back, before one reached out, spinning on his heel. He was almost at the door, hand hovering over the handle, when he turned back to you. “How long did you know?”

There was only one answer. “The night of my coronation.”

He visibly blanched, shoulders locking so tight you swore it must hurt. “That was almost a year ago.”

It was your turn to nod. Almost a year ago, Azriel had found you, surrounded by piles of lavender tulle and silk, sunken down onto the floor with your crown gripped in your hands, unable to even breathe. Almost a year ago, scarred fingers had wiped tears from your face and told you how to be strong, taught you how to be fearless, promised you it would get better. Almost a year ago, you’d realised exactly where the shadowsinger belonged. It had always been right there, at your side.

“You’ve known for almost a year?” The cold mask of indifference broke, that simmering anger you’d known had been there breaking through as it rose, but at least it was something. You stood, walking around the desk slowly, intending to pour yourself and him a drink, but Azriel had other plans. “You kept this from me for almost a year?”

His shout was so loud that the glasses on the tray rattled. “Look at the way you’re reacting now, Azriel. You pretend to feel nothing, but you feel everything so deeply. If I had told you, can you say you wouldn't have run scared, let that fear consume you?”

“I have waited five hundred years for my mate, I have told you such, I had laid the deepest parts of myself and my wishes out for you to see and you still didn’t tell me? I told you how much I wanted you, and you never told me.” Beneath the anger, beneath all that fiery rage was hurt, just like the hurt you were feeling, and it bounced down that strained bonds between your bodies, no matter how much he tried to hide it or keep you out. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie, Azriel. I simply just didn’t tell you the truth.”

His scoff felt like a slap. “Oh, such a political thing to say. I don’t know what you were ever scared of, you’re a natural politician.”

That felt like a knife.

If he could make cheap shots, so could you.

“This is why I did not tell you. I knew you’d run away, like a coward. Just like you are now. I have waited for you for days, and for days you have avoided me, hidden away like a scolded child, and now you’re going home. You’re going back to hiding in your shadows, so you can observe the world from afar, longing to be a part of it, but never having the guts to join it.”

“You don’t know me!” It was an uncharacteristic burst, a few footsteps closer to accompany it, and you shrugged.

“I know you better than anyone. Including, perhaps, yourself.”

His shoulders were heaving, ragged breaths sucked into his lungs as he glared at you with such hatred it lit you up from the inside out. His wings flared, chest tightening, and then he was stalking towards you.

You backed up, all the way until your back was pressed to the wall, until he was so close you could smell the night lingering on him, the swirling mists and dewy forests, all heightened with his emotions, rolling off of him in waves.

“I hate you.”

The feeling was mutual, he was running scared, breaking both of your hearts because he was too scared to give his to you. “I hate you t-”

His mouth descended onto your own, a kiss that knocked the very breath from your lungs, that had your head slamming back into the wall behind you with the force of it. Hot and angry, he wasted no time, the months of tension building between you two finally coming to a head like the eruptions of a volcano. Large hands settled on your hips, pressing you back into the wall, a dull ache in your back forming, a cry on your lips, and then it was gone.

Gone, because in that moment of weakness, in that sound, he’d slipped his tongue into your mouth, powerful kisses growing deeper and wetter, overpowering you in every way as he crowded in closer. Close enough that you could barely slip a hand between your bodied, close enough that you could feel his heart racing against your chest, beating against his ribs, searching for your own.

Mates.

That bond was singing, pulling tight, wrapping around you both as you tried to keep up with him, to kiss him back with everything you had. To show him you loved him, you were sorry, you just wanted to make him happy after all, you didn’t want it to end like this.

To show him it didn’t have to end at all.

His teeth bit your lower lip, hard enough to sting, to draw another cry from you as pleasure and pain blended into a mix that made your head spin. His teeth all but knocked against yours, your lungs burning for breath once again as he took the trauma you’d felt a week ago, and rewrote it into something new. Every nightmare that had plagued you for days felt so small now, as he held you, as he caged you in, broad frame tall enough that all you could see was him, all-consuming and devastatingly handsome.

“I hate you,” He growled it into your mouth, one hand sliding up along your front, so confident in his touches that you almost whimpered as he grazed over your breasts, before his fingers were skimming lightly over the bruises on your neck, settling there comfortably. “I hate you for making me wait four hundred years for you.”

“I hate you for running away when you found out.” He squeezed, your oxygen cutting off for barely a second, and his lips moved down to your neck as you gasped. Biting, sucking, marking you as his with his mouth until you felt like every bone in your body was bending to his command. He let you go, let you take a breath, his lips grazing your jaw.

“I hate your smart fucking mouth.”

You brought a hand up to his face, pulling his lips back to your own, a grateful hum leaving you as your mouths met again, your sighs tangling in the middle, and the bond in your chest jerked happily at the contact.

It may not have been a loving kiss, it may not have been a kind kiss, in fact, every part of it was utterly brutal, but you loved it.

“I hate the way you never tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m doing it now!” And then it changed, the hand on your neck smoothing down, sitting over your neck rather than squeezing it, thumb swiping over the purple marks littering your skin almost tenderly, as his mouth slowed from fervent to deep, something so erotic that the world seemed to slip away around you, nothing but the feel of him, the taste of him, remaining. His hands moved, tugging at the strings on the front of your dress, and you supposed that yes, he was telling you how he felt. Desperate, needy, betrayed and hurt and most of all scared. It was there to read in actions like a book. “I hate all these fucking strings.”

Fabric tore, the simple ties on the front of your dress giving way, and you tore your lips from his to look down at the mess. The corset was laying on the floor by your feet, the simple undershirt pooled around your waist, barely holding onto your arms it slumped down to your wrists, taut nipples exposed, shining skin with a glisten of sweat as you panted, and Azriel merely smirked when you looked back to him. “I hate that you’re such a fucking brute.”

His hands skimmed down your body, silently pushing away the rest of the material until it could pool at your feet, cold air sweeping in from the open window and making goosebumps rise along your exposed flesh, nothing but your panties and your crown left on your body now. He was still dressed, it was entirely unfair, and you began to tug with unsteady hands at the clasps holding his leathers shut.

“I hate these fucking leathers.” The front came loose, your hands smoothing over his ribs to behind his body, drawing the two of you ever the closer as his hands roamed across your hips, toying with the lace scrap covering you.

“No, you don’t.” He knew just how good he looked in them, a spark in his eyes that said he knew what he did to you, the arrogant prick, and whatever semblance of softness had formed in the last few seconds was wiped back out by the smug look he wore, your anger sparking at him once again.

But, he was right, and when he snapped the elastic against your skin, kissing along every mark he’d made on your neck already, your gasp was submission enough for him. “No, I don’t.”

“Good girl,” He mumbled, a rasp to his voice that made you heady with the thrill, nipping at your collarbone enough to make you jerk against him. His body only pressed you further into the wall. His fingers skimmed down, over the front of your panties, pressing at your clit softly through the material, and you were putty in his hands. He dragged the drenched material covering you to the side, one finger skimming through your folds, and you swore you forgot how to breathe as the anticipation became suffocating. “See how much better it all is when you tell the truth?”

A single, long finger slammed into you, sheathed in a single movement and a scream tore from your lips in shock. Your back arched, body curling as his thumb found your clit, pressing in rough circles that had you gasping against the hand still curled loosely at your throat. “Oh, fuck, Azriel..”

His finger crooked, rough scars dragged against you as he pulled it back, only to slam in again. It was an assault, the kind of stimulation that made your breaths shallow, eyes rolling back in your head, hips jutting up to roll into his palm as he used that single digit to throw you into ecstasy. Your fingers felt numb as you continued to tug at his leathers, as those final buckles behind his back you hadn’t managed, tearing at them until your fingertips hurt and they finally came loose.

You shoved at them, dragging them from his body in a frantic motion to get your hands on as much of him as he had of you, your breasts bouncing with every rough pound of his finger into your core. A hiss left his lips as a buckle grazed the bottom of his wing, wings that flared out as you finally stripped him of his leathers, more heavy fabric dropping between you both and revealing miles of inked, golden skin for you to explore.

There was a dark look in his eyes, one as dark as it had been days ago, only for entirely new reasons, and instead of scaring you, this one set every cell in your body alight. He met you halfway, instinct acting for you both as your mouths clashed together, a hot mess of tongues and lips as he claimed dominance over every part of you. That free hand slid up, until he was rolling one nipple between a thumb and forefinger, pinching to make you cry out, and he chuckled darkly against your skin.

“I spent months imagining what kinds of sounds you’d make for me, but nothing compares to the sweet sound of my name on your lips.” He pressed a simple peck there, like a drug you were already hooked on you followed for more, and he slipped his hand back to your throat, pressing you back into the wall. His finger stilled for just a second, your body clenching ceaselessly around it, and you whimpered, needing him to keep going. “Say it again.”

“Earn it, and I will.” Your hips bucked against his hand, a challenge sparked in his eyes, and his hand moved. His touch left you entirely, until he was stepping back, only his hand at your throat keeping you from following him, from pathetically latching yourself to him as you stared. He looked like a god of old; rippling muscles flexing with every breath, whorls of dark ink, messy hair that matched, swollen lips still shining with your kisses, and eyes bright as he stared at you in the same way. “Azriel, please.”

“There we go.” He muttered, thumb swiping across your jaw in a soothing reward, your head tipped a little further into his touch as his hand slipped up to cup your face. He leaned in, dipping so close your lips parted, and he diverted just as his mouth brushed yours. A kiss to your jaw, to your neck, a flick of his tongue over your nipple as he lowered himself further and further, until he was mouthing at the sensitive skin below your navel. Your panties were dragged down your hips until you were stepping out of them, and when he looked up at you from his knees, you swore reverence and devotion lay in his eyes. He kissed at your knee, then the other, hands on your ankles yanking your legs apart and you grasped at the wall for balance.

“You’ve moaned my name for me, but now I want you to scream it.”

His tongue swept along your core, punctuating his sentence and your entire body keened, almost collapsing into him right then and there. He did it again, rough strokes that ended at your clit, your fingers lacing into his hair, pulling on it while pushing him closer. His lips sealed around the bud at the apex of your thighs, sucking harshly as fingers crawled up from your ankles once again, swiping through the mess you were surely making, swirling in the build-up gathered there.

You gasped, a whispered plea falling from your lips but even you didn’t know what for. He seemed to know, the tip of his tongue swirling lightly at your entrance, before sipping inside, wet muscle stretching you slowly, thicker than the width of that one finger, and every thought emptied from your head.

The cool breeze from the window did little to soothe the heat inside of you, did nothing to ease the tremors wracking your body as you jerked and pleased, his tongue fucking you as his thumb played with your clit, filthy sounds that would haunt you every night when you touched yourself for the rest of the night as he moaned against you. “Oh, gods, Az..”

“I thought I told you to scream, sweetheart.” Two fingers slammed into your body in place of his tongue as he moved his attention back to your throbbing bud, and scream you did. His name bounced off of the walls, and you didn’t care if every worker and every guard and every citizen in all of Dusk could hear him taking you apart, you needed him more badly than you needed oxygen.

He bit at you, just enough to tease, before soothing licks were taking over once again and you were rocking your hips again this face, holding him where he was, his name like a mantra on your lips over and over as he carried you toward the brink of the best orgasm you’d ever had. It was building, like an inferno, burning you up from the inside out, and when you came, it was with a scream that snapped off to silence, head thrown back and banging on the wall so hard it hurt. The throb eddied away, as everything in you focused on the way he kept going, riding you through it like it pleased him as much as it pleased you.

If the noises he was making between your thighs were anything to go by, he was.

He didn’t stop, fingers still going, your body spasming as he took your pleasure for his own, moaning against you as he licked up everything you had to give. When your legs buckled, he lifted one knee over his shoulder, supporting your weight with his own frame and diving even deeper.

Wet fingers pulled out of you, gripping your other thigh and hauling that one over his shoulder two, smearing your arousal across your skin as his tongue moved back to where it had once been, sending a sharp surge of pleasure so acute up your spine you felt like you’d been electrified.

“Azriel.. Az.. oh, fuck, I can’t- I-”

“I want you to come again, on my tongue this time. Let me feel you, sweetheart.” Your head was tossed back, whimpering weakly against the wall as he worked, your body never relaxing as he worked you right into another orgasm, dirty whispers from between your thighs with the abuse of his tongue and lips until everything was shaking and trembling, the room spinning with dizzy bliss.

A single finger, again, knowing it was enough that one finger could drive you wild as he pressed down on that spot inside of you that made a scream louder than the rest break free. He knew you, knew your body like he’d had you for years, and you called for his attention by yanking on that bond in his chest as tears welled in your eyes, so fucked out you could barely even draw breath. He ignored it, pace only picking up.

He didn’t stop, not the rough drags of his tongue over your clit, so sensitive every touch felt like delicious torture, not as you shook and pulled on his hair, hips bucking.

He didn’t stop, not until he was the only thing holding you up now, as tears streamed down your face, your desperate begging falling on deaf ears, until you pulled his head away from your abused core by a handful of his hair.

Golden skin glistened, and you took shaking breaths, head falling back against the wall as your body twitched. That one finger slipped out of you, a broken cry leaving your lips as a gush of your arousal followed, and he twisted his head, a wet kiss pressed to the inside of your thigh, marking you with your own scent.

He lowered one of your legs to the ground, the other following, and your knees buckled, his arm sliding around your waist and acting as the only thing holding you up as he rose to his feet once again. He kissed as he went, kisses that would taste like you, kisses to every twitching muscle, every spot that was still trembling, until his forehead was pressed to your own, soothing strokes of a big hand over your ribs as you calmed, hiccuping through your breaths as you recovered.

“What a mess you are, look at you,” His words were mean, but his tone was soft, and you whimpered, nudging your nose against his own, any shred of affection would warm you. You were scared, scared that he’d take you apart, break you down and reduce you to tears and then leave. “If only your kingdom could see you now, crying for the bastard.”

Your lips parted, words ready to roll off your tongue when his mouth closed over your own, a surprised moan leaving you as his tongue languidly spread the taste of yourself to your own mouth, his skin still damp with your juices, his slick finger tipping up your chin. A mess indeed.

“What was it you were going to say? You finally wanted to speak up?” He was mocking you, stealing your words from you.

“You’re-” He did it again, silencing you with his lips, lazy kisses that you could get lost in, hands exploring every inch of one another’s body slowly as that frantic haze had cooled into something far more passionate now.

“Try harder, High Lady.”

“I said, you-” Again, his mouth quieted you, and despite your whine, despite your desperation to speak, you clung to him, arms thrown around his neck as his found a home around your waist, hauling you his body until you were on your tiptoes to kiss him. His hips sat snugly to your body, his erection pressing firmly into your hip as layers of thick leather tried to hold him back, tried to hide just how much he wanted you.

His mouth left your own, lips soothing softer kisses over the drying tear tracks on your cheeks as you panted.

“I’m trying to say,” You paused, waiting to see if he’d cut you off again, but he didn’t. You cupped his face, pulling him back to be able to truly look at him now. His brows were furrowed, lips twisted in a frown; he was just as prepared for more pain as you were, and your heart broke at the sight. The last thing you’d ever wanted to do was hurt him, not when you loved him this much. “You’re not a bastard, Azriel. Not here. Not with me.”

He let himself sink into the moment, the love, for just a second, before adoration was glazing over with lust once again. It took little effort for him to scoop you up, for him to stride with you in his arms across the room, and to toss you down onto the bedding. Shadows writhed across it, encasing you both in murky darkness, sliding away to the floor in sated reams as Azriel stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at you.

You knelt up, crawling towards him and smoothing your hands up his chest as his own fingers toyed with the laces of his leathers, freeing his cock, and tossing his head back with a groan as he wrapped his fingers around himself. “Oh, fuck. You have no idea how many times I’ve touched myself, just like this, thinking of you.”

“Yeah?” You kissed his jaw, his free hand smoothing around your waist, over your ass, dipping down until he could thrust two fingers into you in a single motion, and your body toppled forward into his. “Oh, fuck, Azriel…”

“Imagined what you’d feel like wrapped around me,” his fingers moved, pounding within you at the same pace he pumped his cock, matching thrust for thrust until you were shaking against him once again. “How good you’d take me. Imagined my cum dripping out of you, making a mess on all these expensive silk sheets. I imagined fucking you dumb, until you couldn't lie anymore, couldn't even speak anything except my name.”

You were teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that was ruined as he pulled back, and your nails scraped lines into his chest as you clawed at him desperately, at his arm, pulling his hand back to your body, gasping his name as the feeling ebbed away. He kicked off the remaining clothes he wore, hands closing over your hips, turning you around and tossing you like a rag-doll, dragging you up to bed until you were where he wanted you.

Giving it all up, ass up in the air, forehead to the mattress, surrendering everything to him, and he teased the head of his cock through your folds, nudging against your oversensitive bud until you cried out, writhing in his tight hold. There would be fingertip-shaped bruises on your hips in the morning, you had no doubt.

The crown atop your head rolled off as you bucked back against him, the head of his thick cock gliding into you, thick enough to stretch you out, jaw going slack at the slight burn even that offered. He paused, fingers flexing on your hips.

“Put that back on. I want to look at it while I fuck you, princess.”

Indignant rage sparked in your chest as he leaned over you, planting the crown haphazardly on your head, having the gall to not only handle it, handle you, so roughly, but to demote you within your bedroom. “I’m a fucking queen.”

“Not in this room. In this room, you’re just my cock-drunk little slut,” He sheathed himself within you in one solid thrust, your fingers twisting in the bedsheets as nothing short of a pornographic sound left your lips. He didn't go slow, he didn’t go gentle. He treated you as he always had, not royalty, not something to be protected, but his equal.

He was angry, at himself and at you, at the world, and it showed.

Every thrust that had his hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin on skin bouncing around the room as you tried to push back, body trembled as you hurtled towards another mind-bending orgasm, every point he touched lighting up like standing too close to a flame. He was your everything, every sense and cell honing in on him, the bond in your chest glowing with so much light you felt heat pouring off of it, felt the vibrations as you panted, screaming his name in broken thrusts as he fucked you.

He was right, you were no queen in this room. You were debauched, ruined, covered in the smell of sex and cum, his mess, his mate.

Yet, despite it all, something far more important shimmered underneath. It showed in the softer touches, the smooth of his fingers over your ribs, the kisses placed on every still-fading bruise along your spine as he made his way up your body, covering you more and more. It showed in the way he held you, reverent and needy, even in his anger.

He all but smothered you as he leaned over you, needy pants of your name spilling from his lips as he reduced you to nothing but ash, sweeping away on the wind, and it became more than just sex. It wasn’t hate fucking, it wasn’t just two people giving up to the tension, it was mates finding one another, it was so much more. His hand closed over your own on the bedding, lips pressing to your shoulder as he fucked into you, whispers of your name in your ear.

“You might give the orders outside of this bedroom, but just look how well you take mine. Now, cum.”

Your body sparked alive, the knot in your stomach snapping and it was only his arm around your hips holding you up as he fucked you through it that stopped you from falling into a twitching mess on the bedding, your arousal seeping from you, dripping down your legs, making exactly the kind of mess he had wanted. His thrusts faltered a little, the growls and moans he’d been making were becoming needier, frantic, his wings flaring out and covering the two of you like a shield from the world as he neared his own high.

Your fingers parted beneath his hand, spreading until his own digits fell through the cracks, wrapping around yours in the bedding until he was holding on so tightly you thought he may even leave an imprint. You wanted him to. You’d get it tattooed if you could.

“Azriel..” He groaned, the only indication he was listening at all, and you twisted your head to him, his forehead pressed into your shoulder from behind as he sat snugly up against you, hips snapping together frantically. “Az, honey, I want to face you when you cum. I want to see you.”

“Oh, fuck..”

His motions were jerky, quick, like he couldn't trust himself not to cum as he pulled back, stepping away from you entirely. You rolled onto your back, propped up on weak elbows to look at him. He was destroyed, shining with sweat that made him look like he was glowing, wings drooped out by his sides, shadows twisting around his ankles and calves, cock glistening with your arousal, standing tall before himself, and he bit a swollen lip as he let you stare.

“Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful, and so fucking good for me..”

“Come here, Azriel.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, falling back into your arms, body crushed down, pulled in, by the weight of whatever was shifting between you both. When he slid into you once again, his fingers wove with your own, pinning you down to the bed and setting a harsh rhythm, chasing his own high as you both balanced on the edge. “I hate you..”

You could barely breathe, his gaze locked on your own, fingers squeezed together as you bucked up to meet him, back arching against the bed, ecstasy drowning you in waves and you were clinging to his words for air.

“I hate you, because I don’t hate you at all. I love you more than anything in this fucking world.” His confession sent you tumbling over the edge into another orgasm, your eyes rolling back in your head, crown tipped to one side, and when your lips parted, he dipped down, mouth meeting yours.

This was different to all the other kisses, it wasn’t threats and anger and hurt, it was promises and love and forgiveness, it was intoxicating, it was blissful, and you could barely kiss back, but it didn’t matter. His mouth stilled, groaning long and deep into your mouth, a cry of your name as his whole body locked.

Heat exploded as he came, filling you up so deep, so much that you could feel it leaking out of you around him even as he stayed tucked deep inside of you, his hips pressed to yours. You panted, tasting him on every breath as he came, your fingers running soothing touches along his body like he had done for you, until he collapsed down. Too weak to hold himself up, too weak to leave, strong enough to come back at all.

Your arms looped around his body, linking behind his back as his wings dropped their tension, following down, shadows crawling up over your bodies like a blanket. You stayed like that, long enough to catch your breath and calm your racing hearts. Long enough to clear the fog from your mind, allow you to think clearly once again. Long enough to feel the cold from the open window, to feel the weight of him pressing down, your only source of warmth.

Long enough to feel him start to grow restless.

You freed one hand from his back, selfishly stealing another moment or two for yourself before he was gone, running your fingers through silky, damp hair and trying to commit every part of him to memory, before he was nothing but a ghost, only living on in your memories.

He pushed himself up on shaky arms, his warmth leaving you as he rolled away from you and onto his back, wings tucked tight to his body, and he stared at the ceiling. You felt used, his cum still leaking from you, hating how good it felt when you knew the pain that was coming. It was almost enough to make you sick.

“I’m sorry, Azriel.”

His head twisted in your direction, brows furrowed, and you could see him from your peripherals but couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze properly. Instead, you sat up, crown discarded in the bedding, the last piece of armour taken off.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But, more than that, I’m sorry I never came to find you. I couldn't but that didn’t mean I never thought about you, before I ever knew who you were.”

His fingers reached out, dragging along your spine until they fell to the bed, a phantom touch you’d remember for the rest of your life. Comfort, even when you didn’t necessarily deserve it.

“For centuries, I’ve dreamed of meeting you, of meeting my mate. I walked to that border so many times, held my hand over the air until I was too close, until the spell burned my fingertips and warned me back, until the pain was too much to bear. So many times I wished I could come and find you. I knew you had to be out there, over the years I was sure if you were here, I’d have known you, you were right on the other side of that goddamn barrier and I couldn't get to you. When my father died and that wall came crashing down, I felt awful, because I didn’t feel awful at all. No sorrow or sadness for a cruel man, all I felt was relief, and happiness, and freedom, even if I was chained to a throne.”

You took a deep breath, no tears coming at the memory of your father or the kingdom you now had, but tears came at the idea of doing it all alone, forever. You’d had love, you’d had Azriel, and if come morning he was gone, you knew you’d likely never love again.

“If it’s been too long, if my cowardice of losing you when I finally had you pushed you too far, if it’s too late and it hurts too much, I will understand. I will love you no matter where you are Azriel, but I don’t expect you to love me back if it hurts, and I won’t blame you if-”

You felt the bed shift, turning to look at where Azriel was now sitting up, his hand finding your cheek as his lips closed over yours. The tears in your eyes spilt over once again as he kissed you, smearing between your cheeks as he gave his best to show you how he felt. “I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t know, what it was like for you, how scared you were. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words only brought a fresh wave of sobs, disbelief still etched into your mind, and he kissed along your cheeks, soft strums on the bond that felt like kisses to your spirit as he eased you across, back down toward the bed with him until you lay facing one another.

“I love you. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You said you were! You were going to leave me at dawn, you were-” He mumbled an apology onto your lips, coaxing you to kiss him back until the frantic fear you felt had ebbed away. He ran the back of a finger over your cheeks, wiping away the tears.

“I think it would kill me to leave you now.” Azriel lay his head down on the pillow you used, his nose brushing yours with every deep breath he took, concern still swimming in his eyes as he watched you. “I was scared too.”

“I know.”

“But you were wrong to hide it from me. We have to tell the truth from now on, I have to know your heart fully.”

“My heart is already yours, Azriel.” He only smiled, the first honest and genuine smile you’d seen since that fateful morning at breakfast before everything had gone wrong. “The truth, always, I prom-”

His hand cupped over your mouth, eyes wide as he stared. “Do you know what making a promise to someone from the Night Court means?”

“I do.” Your words were muffled behind his hand, his eyes only widening further. “And I promise, Azriel, to always be honest, even if it scares me. To love you the way you deserve to be loved, if you’ll let me.”

Your wrist burned, a sharp strike of pain before it was vanishing, and Azriel lowered his hand from your mouth, agape as you took in the new mark on your wrist. A small, perfect whorl now marred perfect skin, and you smoothed your thumb over it. He took your wrist gently, raising your hand to his mouth so he could kiss it softly. “I promise to match that, to match you, with honesty and love.”

He didn’t flinch as a matching mark formed on his own wrist, but when you kissed it like he had done for you, he smiled. That arm then snuck out, over your hips, tugging you in closer until there was barely a sliver of space between you anymore. Your hand smoothed through his hair again, before coming to rest on his cheek, a look of love on his face you thought you would never see. “I’m so happy I found you.”

“What made you come to the Night Court? When you realised you were in danger from one of your own people, you could have gone to anyone. Day would have been safer, Helion would have been able to trace the spell on you, and believed you right away. You wouldn't have had to convince him as you did Rhysand. Or Dawn, or even Summer. Why Night, when we had a reputation even you must’ve heard.”

You didn’t really have an answer, but he wanted one. “I don’t know. I just felt like that was the place to go. It felt like the right decision.” Azriel tugged twice at the bond between your bodies, already so strong, you could only imagine how much stronger it would get once you’d officially confirmed it.

“It’s going to be hard, y’know.” He rolled away, rasp in his voice as he untucked the blankets from your bodies, lifting them up and over you both slowly, his shadows pushing shut the open windows silently.

“What is?”

“This.” He waved a finger between your bodies as he settled back in, sitting up among the pillows and letting a heavy sigh out, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “Hiding this, I mean.”

“Why would we hide it?”

Insecurity crept in, and a ragged sigh left him as you felt his own equal insecurities come flooding toward you. It was accompanied by sadness, and longing for you, even though you were right there. It broke your heart, it broke his heart, and you had no idea why. “I’m.. I’m your bodyguard. I’m a hired killer from the Night Court, it would not be approved of. It would make your life so hard.”

It was like a splash of freezing water, like stepping in the crystal pools of Dusk in the depths of the winter season, frozen right down to the bones within seconds. Reality was a bitch. Pressing your lips together, you sighed, a single thought flittering through your head and as you tried to suppress it, the bond on your wrist burned, hot and painful until the words spilled from you; “I’ll abdicate.”

“No. You can’t.” He shook his head, you both knew it wasn’t an option. “You worked so hard to build this kingdom back up, to make relations with other courts, to make alliances, you love it.”

“I love you more.”

“I won’t let you give it up.” His voice was firm, an end of discussion, and hard boundary, but there was one more option. You didn’t need the prompt of your promise this time.

“Fine. Then you become King.”

A startling laugh left him, self-pitying and shy, and you stared, unwavering until he calmed. “I can’t be a king.”

“Says who?”

He didn’t laugh this time, he just lay, quietly, holding your gaze for as long as he could bare it before you felt his shame force him to snap away, swallowing thickly against the upcoming tidal wave of emotion he was doubtless fighting. “I can’t.. I wasn’t born for this. I was born for war and blood, I’m a bastard and a brute from the Steppes. I can’t rule. I’m not noble. I’m already a tarnish on you.”

“Do you know where shadowsingers come from?”

“What?” He was covered with confusion once again as he dared to turn back to look at you, at the change in topic. “They come from the dark.”

“No, Azriel, they do not.” Your fingers reached out, dipping into the swirling mass of black that surrounded you both, and a single shadow crawled up your arm, Azriel’s eyes widening as he realised it was not acting of his own accord, nor his, but yours. “There are no shadows in the dark, Azriel. Shadows require light to exist. Shadows do not come from Night as there is no light, they do not come from Day as it is too bright, nor Dawn, as dawn is the awakening, not the sleep. Shadowsingers come from Dusk. That is why there are so few in your world, because the genes stopped being passed down. I don’t know how repressed, how far back, but you, my love, have Dusk blood running through your veins. This is your heritage, right here.”

Azriel was speechless, a sudden breath leaving him as his chest deflated, and he turned to face you a little more. “There’s more like me?”

“Many more, Azriel. I had no idea you thought you were alone. I’ve met hundreds of shadowsingers in my lifetime.” He let out a wet laugh, shock taking over his face as he flopped back into the pillows, one hand scrubbing down his face. “You belong here, and if you want to go back to Night, I will abdicate. If you want to stay, I’ll crown you King myself. But I will not love you in secret, Azriel. Not when I have so much love to give you.”

“You have too much faith in me.” His voice wavered, but it sounded like he’d made his mind up as he took a shaky breath.

“Well, I have to have enough faith for us both until you believe in yourself.” Picking up the discarded crown, you knelt up, and raised it high enough to place shimmering gold into his hair, adjusting it perfectly and brushing the hair it flattened away from his face. “What a handsome High Lord you’d make.”

You teased him with his own wording, a term that had been overruled by your father to place distance between yourselves and the other courts, and one you looked forward to taking back. His grin split his face like sunshine through clouds, nervous laughter following as he reached up to touch it.

“And what a pretty smile. You’ll have everyone eating from the palm of your hand in no time, they’ll like you more than me.”

“Impossible.” He leaned in, sweeping you up and into a kiss, one that was bursting with smiles and laughter and love, and your hands came up, holding the crown firmly to his head as it tipped. You’d make him his very own, one that was his, that showed just how much he meant, and you’d place it on his head yourself. Crown him before everyone. Your love, your mate, your High Lord. “It’s heavy.”

“It takes some getting used to.” You whispered back, stealing a couple more kisses from him before settling back, admiring him lounging in the bed. Naked, silk sheets pooled low around his waist, crown sitting askew in his hair with a smile on his lips.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Rhys’ face when he realises he’s not the only High Lord in the family, now.”

#azriel/reader #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader smut #azriel/reader smut #acotar/you #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar x reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #under violet skies

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interconnectedmatrix · 5 months

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What if...?

"The Masked Cinderella" — what if prince charming never found his Cinderella? The lovely liege he encountered at the masquerade? What if a simple joke turned to be the most pivotal point in his rule? What if all he needed was to focus his eyes on something other than the mask?

♡.. Once upon a fairytale story, lived a young prince basking in his new found glory. It goes without saying that Diavolo had it all: his kingdom, his power, his influence and all the riches one could ever dream of. Oh sure the prince ironically possesses a kind soul, but, until then he was never satisfied.

♡.. Part of this many antics was a Fall Masquerade, to which all nobles and lucky peasants gathered around in celebration. What occasion? Even Diavolo wasn't so sure. Wouldn't it be funnier to think that the "prince" was nothing but a pawn in the crowd? How he loved that idea — MC suggested it afterall.

♡.. The prince would give anything to ditch all the formalities.

♡.. The tale was perfect; but who was this fine liege? A black sheep mask adorned in golden highlights. Diavolo introduced himself under a false facade, asking them questions like "how have I never heard of you before?" and "you dance quite well. Where did you learn this?"

♡.. The figure laughed. Could they see through his mask? Could they make out the silhouette of a lovestruck prince pining for their attention in these brief instances? Could they see the stars twinkle in pools of honey — stars that shine brighter than any gold this world posses?

♡.. In a gentle motion, they only teased:

— "Find me, my prince."

♡.. Who knew pretending to be a mere mortal could have someone tug at his heartstrings. Cinderella — they were. To think he chased after them after the event ended; to which all others were looking for him. Prince Diavolo. Ruler of the Devildom. Was it just for a tyrant to feel sympathy? He couldn't imagine chasing after another after his last love. Not until he felt the mask in his hand...

♡.. Porcelain, yet incredibly light to his touch. He felt determined, clinging onto it like his prized possession. He will find this Cinderella.

♡.. Like any ordinary day, Diavolo clings onto the mask, ignoring the concerned remarks of Lucifer or the subtle "ehems" of his butler. He carefully ran his fingers along the frame of the mask. How his black fingernails blended seamlessly with the colour. It felt as if nothing else mattered, not the meeting. Not the exchange program. Nothing. In a soft coo, he muttered, "I'll find you.. You'll be here eventually."

♡.. The only thing that catches him from his trance was a hand on the table, like a gavel echoing in court. Snapping of fingers alerted him to look back at the source of the sound. His favourite exchange student.

♡.. They'd tease, "who's the lucky girl? or guy? You seem pretty focused on that mask owner."

♡.. Diavolo would blush at that statement.

♡.. Days. Weeks pass by. Until then, was it worth ignoring his duties? He had pushed everyone aside. Someday. Someday he'll find them. MC's teasing proved as a sign to keep going.

— "What if they're not a noble?"

— "awww is the prince feeling lovesick again~?"

— "sheesh, you're probably scaring them."

♡.. Maybe when he'll find them... just perchance... in this instance... He'll finally be satisfied.

♡.. But alas, was it a lost cause? Barbatos knocked on the young master's door. A long sigh could be heard, before bringing the dreaded news. "My lord, I believe we have found Cinderella."

♡.. The Prince's smile then faltered into a solemn expression.

To quote: "He lost his breathe. He's losing conscience. Yet undeterred, he always comes to their feet no matter how bad the fall."

Sadly the prince isn't exempted from the author's rampant desire for angst 😔

This idea was actually one of the more fun but difficult ones to think about. I personally like to believe that Diavolo would purposely pretend to be a lower ranking noble just to get away with some of the formalities — it's a masquerade, afterall! Wouldn't the fun be ruined if you knew who the other person was?

I'd leave the interpretation of the ending for you guys :3 fair warning that this is one of my more sadder stories

Plus I am actually working on this as my own personal project, so stay tuned! ^^

That's all for this author's note! And have a great day 🫶

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me!#obey me diavolo #fluff? angst??? a guilty pleasure #obey me x cinderella-ish story #what's a happy ending?#cinderella story #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #maybe #maybe just maybe #fanfic ideas #ideas

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fortuna-et-cataclysmos · 1 year

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On Felix, Revolution, and Anarchism

I was absolutely flabbergasted by Emotion and this will be one of my most complex analyses, so hold on tight.

In Emotion, Felix carries a well-thought attack on the Diamond Ball, and unveils himself as the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous, Argus. I think that it is heavily implied that what Felix attempts to do is an anarchist revolution to topple the ruling elite. I know that this may sound too far-fetched for some, but there are some very apparent signs embedded in the episode, which I'll explain below.

First, let's talk about how this is a revolution.

The name Felix chooses for himself is Argus. Who is Argus? Maybe someone has already written about this given that I am quite late to the Emotion party, but I am pretty sure that this name refers to the Argonauts, which is a group of 50 heroes in Greek mythology. Argus is one of the heroes, the one who built the heroes' ship, Argo.

The Argonauts are on a quest to acquire the Golden Fleece, which is notoriously seen as a symbol of "authority and kingship" in the Western culture. Long story short, the Argonauts are trying to seize power from an undeserving king and to give it to the real heir to the throne.

That's what Felix attempts to do. He obviously sees the elite, ruled by Gabriel (who, as we know from Protection, is the organiser of the Diamond Ball) as "unworthy" to rule and topples them.

It's time for someone to put an end to your endless try to control people. [...] I'm freeing us from you!

His attempt is very much a seize of power, a revolution.

Then what is a revolution? It is a sudden and fundemantal change to the balances of power. The way that Felix has been planning it for a while (he says that he had been observing Adrien and Marinette for a while), the way he chooses a very symbolic event as target (exclusive only to the elites he intends to topple), and how he quite literally makes disappear everyone who is an obstacle to him, give a very revolutionary feel.

In addition, unlike Gabriel (and even Ladybug and Chat Noir), he does not even attempt to hide his true identity, nor his motives. His attack at the Diamond Ball makes sense only if everyone knows who he is and what he attempts to do, which is to topple the elite and fundementally change the world. Hence, Felix's attempt here is a revolution, which by the way, technically succeeds.

But a revolution for what? What was the system, what is the new system that the revolution intends to bring? In Felix's words:

I'll make a wish to create a better world, a free world, where no one will be under anyone's control anymore, where no one will be excluded like I was, a world without people like [Ladybug] to decide what is right or wrong, who gets power and who doesn't.

This idea of a world where there is little to no authority (who "decides what is right or wrong"), no inequality in distribution of power, is the textbook definition of this little ideology called anarchism.

I believe there are many hints in that direction.

The first and most obvious one (it is so obvious that I thought of it last!) is the fact that, his enemy is... Gabriel. aka the Monarch. As in, the King. The Ruler. The Authority.

Then, there is the colour scheme.

When the red moon sentibeing takes over Paris, her light colours everything in a red hue. There is a lot of red and black contrast going on in this episode, especially with the night sky. Red and black are also the two colours symbolic of anarchism (see: wikipedia page on Anarchist symbolism).

Third, and I acknowledge that this one may be a bit of a stretch but, the rising sun symbolism.

Maybe it is just me, but Argus' red moon totally looks more like a sun than a moon to me. Anarchism is generally perceived as a liberalist branch of socialism, so I will borrow from socialist symbolism here, where the rising sun is frequently used as a symbol of revolution. You can go to this wikipedia page on socialist-style emblems and scroll through, and tell me if you see the same parallel as me or if I am trying too hard. This also ties back to my previous argument, on how this is in fact a revolution.

Then there is this quote:

By now, the whole world has been bathed in the light of the red moon.

Just look at this sentence and tell me it doesn't seem straight out of a 20th century manifesto. It also vaguely reminds me of the saying "the empire on which the sun never sets", giving extra political vibes.

The fact that in 1871, Paris was scene to one of the first modern applications of anarchism (Paris Commune), also adds to my certainty that there is a strong to reference to anarchism here. The showrunners do not shy away from political and historic themes in France (Darkblade, Sangsure, Reunion, and Illusion all have prominently political themes that I have also analysed before).

Lastly, another visual clue of anarchism is Argus' character design:

He's wearing what seems to be inspired of royal suits (the buttons, the fancy pants, and all). But also, a hood! An accessory which is associated with rebellious figures, such as Robin Hood, or more recently, street protesters. It very much is an accessory that would be in the Anarchist Beginner's Pack. To make a small paranthesis, if you're wondering why the fancy overalls then; my theory is that they symbolise Felix's priviledged roots.

So if we agree that Felix undertakes an anarchist revolution, the question that remains to be answered is: why? How does it relate to the plot?

I guess at this point it is safe to assume that at least Adrien and Felix are sentibeings. Felix is disgruntled by the way sentibeings are treated: for one, the fact that they are called monsters is very disturbing for him. As I quoted above, he feels excluded. He also doesn't like the way they are created just to be used, and the way they can be disappeared from existence at a whim.

So he decides to reverse the roles, hence his line to Marinette:

Marinette: They're looking at me like I'm a monster. Felix: Look closer Marinette, they're the monsters.

His power enables him to disappear everyone out of existence at the snap of a finger, just like the way one would make a sentimonster disappear.

What starts as a disappearing-spree among the elites (who so obnoxiously label themselves as the diamonds, a gem associated with perfectness), quickly spreads to the general public in an attempt to coerce Ladybug and Chat Noir to give up on their Miraculouses. However, when Chat Noir fails to show up and Ladybug sacrifices herself rather than giving her Miraculous, Argus' initial to wish for a perfect world fails.

Even when he technically wins - for the first time, Ladybug's Lucky Charm offers no solution -, he quickly sees that:

Winning isn't always what we think it is.

His revolution succeeds; the balances of power have shifted. Now everyone is a sentimonster but him. Nonetheless, things don't go as he planned.

He is condemned by the very people he attempted to save (Adrien and Kagami). He accidentally hurts the very people he had wanted to protect (Marinette has disappeared and won't come back). And eventually, when he accepts his defeat, he must do the unthinkable: he must dissolve a sentibeing himself.

We know that that is the equivalent of murder for Felix, who identifies with the red moon tremendously:

Your power is terrible. What would happen if I lost control? Forgive me my friend, my sister.

This is a common pattern in revolutions. Frequently, revolutions lead to instability, the sheer force that enables them also grows out of control and turns against the people who undertook it too. We don't need to look far for it either; the French Revolution was followed by mass violence, both against the former elites and the revolutionaries themselves (la Terreur).

So all in all, we could say that Emotion is a micro anarchist revolution from start to finish.

Revolutions give a tremendous momentum that may end up getting out of control and perversing the cause, ending up leading to things opposite to the ideals that inspired them. A prime example would be the Russian Revolution, which, even though driven by the equalitarian principles of communism, gave rise to one of the most corrupt systems in the world.

Similarly, Felix tried to overhaul the system controlled by his uncle in order to make the world a better place for sentibeings, but ended up instrumentalising the red moon, and needing to free her out of existence himself.

The lesson he took from this experience prompted him to refusing to creating sentibeings even to save himself, a decision he voices in Pretension.

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml emotion #ml season 5 #ml analysis #from fortuna #ml sentimonster #sentimonster adrien #sentimonster felix #sentimonster theory

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creepylittlelady · 10 months

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Lord Zalgo headcanons! [PUPPET STRINGS INFO DUMP]

Hey! Thank you so much for the notes on my Slenderman post! I hope one day my AU can reach a lot of people, because I seriously need people to lore dump to!

If you're reading this and want to request specific characters, go ahead! I have headcanons for everyone, but not as much for characters like Hobo Heart, Nathan the Nobody, Jason the Toymaker, Candy Pop or Vailly Evans, sadly ;(

I do have tons on different characters, and if you want to ask a question about my AU then go ahead! I could rant about it for days lol (my uber autism speaking).

Anyways, enough self promo. Lord Zalgo is such an interesting character to me and it hits me right in my soul when I barely see any content of him and in most comics he's just the evil guy. I feel like his character should be more nuanced to I hope these headcanons fit that objective!

Lord Zalgo Headcanons

-Okay, to explain, Lord Zalgo is the Emperor of the Underworld. Not hell, because that word's got a bad connotation. No, the Underworld is a mixture of every dead organism that has ever lived. Demons and Angels live there alike, it's just all one United State (ITS NOT COMMUNISM). Lord Zalgo is the divine ruler, and his authority resides over every community residing in the Underworld.

(I should definitely make a post about the Underworld soon)

-He came to the Underworld in the year 1901, dethroning all former leaders, whether they be Angels or Demons, and quickly established himself as the new leader. He's immensely powerful and lives in a Castle, which is a Labrinth of its own, right in the Centre of the Underworld.

Well, enough cool stuff. LETS GET TO THE ANGST.

-Zalgo was born the child of a Lady of the Night and an unknown Priest. His original name is Ashton, although he can't really remember what his actual last name was, he rolled with the last name 'Morningstar'. Whilst his mother did provide for him and later on his younger half-sister 'Lily' (I'll make a post on her later), she left when he was 11 years old, and never returned.

-Due to growing up in the worst of the worst, in absolutely inhumane slum conditions, he's used to seeing things such as Dead Corpses and most bloody conditions in general. He's completely desensitized to Gore and Death in general, which is why most people believe him to be cruel and sadistic.

-He once worked in a factory, and suffers from constant nightmares about his experiences there. He's acquired a lot of nasty permanent injuries from that place, and has nightmares about being beaten or being refused food. Yeah, the dude's really traumatised.

-Although politically he has to say that he hates Slenderman due to their political differences, truth is they're each others only friend. Since Slender is well aware of the horrors he's seen, he has an understanding of why he is the way he is, but it doesn't mean he condones his behaviour.

-By 'his behaviour' he means his constant misuse of lust (he's not a rapist he just has a bunch of kids with random mortals) and his wrath. He's not a sadistic person by any means, but copious amounts of violence is sort of how he copes with his own memories of violence.

-Since he was born extremely poor and by such he never got an education, the dude's a really slow reader. He's very intelligent, and was slightly more literate than the other kids in the Factories, but he's still an incredibly slow reader. He has a Servant write his letters for him and makes other people read messages to him out loud. He's quite insecure about this, so he's pretty grumpy every time he makes Stripes read out a text message for him.

-He became Lord Zalgo due to willingly sacrificing himself to the Operator, and because of his already traumatised soul became a Pure Demon. The Zalgo body is made, symbolically, out of his worst insecurities and traumatic experiences. That sounds edgy and confusing as hell but I promise when I put the concept into actual words I'll make a post about it someday.

-Due to being the sole provider for his little sister, Lily, at one point, he's basically used to being a father. Although he has many children he deems most of the male children as illegitimate. He only claims the female children, although he only has three of them. This is also his way of coping with a particularly bad trauma that he suffers from.

When he lost his sister and only remaining biological family, Lily, to a horrific death, he basically tried desperately filling that hole inside of him by having female children and taking care of them. He feels immense guilt as he feels that if he simply had protected her more he could have saved her from her fate.

Stripes, Sadiya (I HAVE GENUINELY NO IDEA IF SHES ZALGOS CHILD OR NOT BECAUSE APPARENTLY SHES LAZARIS COUSIN BUT THEN WHO TF IS SHE THE CHILD OF???), and Lazari were basically made to fill that void. He tries to take care of them, but he often fails. Lazari's custody went to Slender for that exact reason.

-He basically went insane when Lazari's mother refused to give her to him (Lazari's backstory is changed a bit in my AU).

-As for his relationships with the Proxies and the Pastas (that's just what I like to call them), he's generally just known either as Lazari's dad or as Slenderman's MAYBE-Boyfriend. Most people were confused as they thought he and Slender were dating when they weren't.

He particularly has a good relationship with Nina. She accidentally ended up in Zalgo's Castle after following Stripes back there after visiting Lazari, and the two of them hit it off, as Nina didn't really show fear towards him. He claims that Nina's his favourite one out of all of the Slender residents.

He also feels pretty bad for the Proxies and their situation, but he's not particularly on good terms with any of them.

-He's on HORRIBLE terms with Slenderman's brothers, especially his father. Since they all reside in the Underworld and have been trying to track down Slenderman for years, he basically has to lie to them as Slender doesn't want to talk to any of them. He particularly hates Slender's dad as he doesn't obey any of the laws of the Underworld.

-He likes to pretend to be an evil mastermind, but he's not really all that serious about his 'Evil Plans'. They mainly consist of stealing Slender's Books or putting them in the wrong alphabetical order.

-He actually can be evil at times, he's definitely capable of it. Due to the fact that he can be considered as the literal Devil, he's done his fair share of abhorrent deeds, such as Genocides and Executions of rebels.

-The dude's had so many coups and assassination attempts against him that he can spot them from a mile away. He's had people executed WAY before they even went near him. Due to his experience with Assassins, he's crazy stealthy as well.

-'Zalgo text' is just something he made to encrypt any letters that he sends. He uses Zalgo Text to make sure to make important messages are unintelligible to enemy interceptions. His handwriting is terrible anyways, so it just makes it even harder to read.

-His catchphrase 'HE COMES' is basically plastered on most things in the Underworld. It's like a brand at this point.

-He's very touch starved, so he's overly affectionate to people that he likes. When he's in a more stable mood he smothers Lazari with hugs (when she's allowed to visit) and basically doesn't let go of Slender, ever.

-Although he states that his birthday is on Halloween, it's actually on the 27th of July. He isn't used to celebrating his real birthday, so he just doesn't.

-Due to the fact that he's so used to being dirt poor, sometimes he just forgets that he's rich and can basically do whatever he likes.

Another incorrect quote format to demonstrate this.

Zalgo: Ah man looks like I don't have enough to get McDonalds today. Slender: What do you mean just take money out of your bank vault in the basement Zalgo: BANK VAULT? I HAVE A BANK VAULT? Slender: ...Yes? You're the Emperor of Hell? Zalgo: Wow you learn something new everyday

Once he was panicking about how he didn't have enough cash to pay the entrance fee for a restaurant, and was just SHOCKED when they let him in without him needing to pay.

-He's definitely not a great person, and is definitely one of the most mentally unstable characters in my AU, but dammit he's trying his best.

-He often has to keep Slenderman inside of a basement whenever the Operator takes control and gets too violent. it's basically his job to beat it into sedation, which he doesn't feel guilty about in the moment but then he remembers that Slender can also feel the pain.

The Operator's the only being that he's afraid since it directly holds power over him, and is basically holding his friend hostage. Him and Slender made a pact that if the Operator got too unbearable, that he has to try and kill him.

Alright, hope you enjoyed! I wanna explore his character more soon, so stay tuned for that!

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jackoshadows · 2 years

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The amount of big names in the fandom immediately discarding the strong possibility of Jon becoming king is baffling to me. They claim that Jon won’t have time for disputing over a title because he’ll be busy fighting against the Others and when duty calls he’ll choose to fight the Great War instead of ruling and that’s his fate. I ask: who the hell is more prepared to fight a war than a king? Who’s better at managing everything than the ultimate authority? That’s why it sounds so silly to me. Specially when tempered with “he loves his siblings, that conflict was solved, that’s why he’ll give up on Robb’s will”. Yeah, sure, George set that all up just for Jon to say “nope, I’m good”. That’s not how a complex story like ASOIAF works. Controversial but I have the feeling that they only say that as an excuse to shove Jon aside so S4ns4 can be queen even though she lacks half of the experience Jon has as a ruler. When they know they’re stretching it too far, they’ll say “why can’t all the Starks rule together like a sweet loving family???” so S4ns4 won’t be excluded and they can look reasonable and less awful in the eyes of the fandom for shoving Jon aside for S4ns4’s sake, like they used to do to Bran the Eternal Tree and Arya the Eternal Sailor. I personally can’t wait for Arya to crown him.

Exactly!! This is pretty much it.

And also, I would like to point out that these bnfs are also big Stannis fans! That's what so hypocritical and ridiculous about this. Jon's support for Stannis is entirely predicated on the acknowledgement that Stannis has the power of a king and therefore the ability to unite people, gather an army and make important decisions for the good of the realm. And Stannis knows about the threat from beyond the Wall and is still engaged in battle and politicking south of the Wall.

If that is okay for Stannis to be king, why does the same not apply to Jon with the only thing standing in his way being his bastardy? Unless they think that being a bastard disqualifies him in some way that it does not for Stannis.

Also, the implication that the only reason Sansa would oppose a King Jon is because of sexism is 🤣🤣🤣. That’s right, book Sansa who has never, not once, pondered on the inherent sexism of Westerosi patriarchal ideals will be opposed to king Jon on the basis of it being sexist and not because Jon is a bastard. Classism and discrimination against bastards is totally okay - Jon should be precluded from power because of his bastardy. But sexism preventing a younger and less experienced Sansa from getting it over Jon? Oh no, how unfair 😱.

Jon is the oldest, most experienced of Ned’s children (the only one who can rule without a regent) but if he gets rulership in the North over Sansa, who does not know the first thing about what is happening all over the North - it must be the sexism that Sansa is outraged about, nothing else right? 🤣 The same Sansa who in the most recent book thought that because Lothor Brune’s birth was very low he would be a good fit for a bastard girl like Mya Stone....

And then there's the fact that they think these characters don't evolve and change at all over 5 books! The mind truly boggles. So 9 year old Arya at the beginning of AGoT going all 'eww boys!' and telling her father that she will never marry and have children apparently means that's permanent! And this is in a book series that liberally uses a rule of three, meaning, characters end up making different choices the third time.

Jon Snow himself is a perfect example of this:

Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran. Forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. ” Jon Snow, AGoT

You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he’d left Jon’s mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night’s Watch - Jon Snow, ASoS

I want my bride back … I want my bride back … “I think we had best change the plan,” Jon Snow said. If this is oathbreaking, the crime is mine and mine alone - Jon Snow, ADwD

And there is also a deliberate ignorance of the chapter where Jon does make his decision to refuse Stannis. I have already written plenty on this - the reason Jon refuses Stannis’ offer to be legitimized as Lord of Winterfell is because the King wanted him to convert to the Lord of Light and burn down the Winterfell Godswood. Ghost’s timely appearance with his white fur and red eyes reminds Jon of the Weirwoods, that Ghost himself is a gift from the Old Gods and of his sworn oaths in front of the Godswood.

When Jon later brokers the marriage between Sigorn and Alys, their wedding is a mix of two cultures and religions - that of the Lord of Light and the Old Gods. Because unlike Jon Snow, Sigorn the magnar of the Thenns has no issue converting to the Lord of Light, as far as we know.

There is a clear difference between Stannis offering Jon Snow Winterfell and Robb Stark doing it. The emotional weight behind Robb doing it is simply immense for GRRM to not tackle that in Jon Snow’s POV

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.” - Jon, ASoS

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.”

“Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.”

Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North.” - Catelyn, ASoS

There’s every chance that we get a rule of three scenario here as well. I can foresee for instance :

1. Jon refusing Stannis offer

2. Jon’s emotional upheaval with Robb’s decree and wanting to accept it for protecting the realm with the power of a king, but conflicted because there are some Northern houses supporting Rickon Stark and his baby brother is the rightful heir

3. Arya Stark turns up with Robb’s crown, names him king and we get Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and KITN.

And yes, for all asoiaf fans proclaim that the books are complex tomes unlike traditional high fantasy and subvert tropes and all that, it’s ridiculous that they box these characters into specific roles like the show did.

The TV show did it simply because it’s an adaptation which combined plots and characters for budget reasons and because D&D are simply bad writers. So, if Jon Snow was doing everything his book version was on the show, what would they do with Sophie Turner considering they binned the Vale plot for not having more book material? They can’t ask Turner to sit out seasons. So they take away from book Jon’s plot and skillsets, and hand it over to show Sansa. Same with Arya and Bran. They put these characters into boxes: Arya: Assassin, Bran:3ER, Jon: Military man: Sansa: politician.

However, that’s not how it is in the books at all. If one has read these 5 books, imagine how ridiculous it would be for book Jon Snow to take any kind of advice from the 13 year old book Sansa we last see in the Vale!!

It was already ridiculous on the show because of how badly they shoved Sansa into Jon’s plot. It was not enough that show Sansa was the ‘politician’, she also is suddenly a military expert and demands that Jon ask her advise on offensive battle techniques, instructs northern armorers on the best way to make armor and lectures Yohn Royce on the strategic value of castles as a first line of defense!!

It’s doubly nonsensical in the books. Just like most medieval and feudal European monarchs (from whom GRRM has borrowed) had an education that was as well rounded as possible, so too are the noble rulers and leaders of Westeros and Essos. Jon, Arya, Bran, Dany and Tyrion all have political arcs with military aspects. Dany, Tyrion and Jon have participated in military defensive and offensive battles. They have ruled and administered over city states and institutions. They have made trade deals and negotiated political alliances. They have used both hard power and soft power in their dealings with allies and enemies. Arya’s arc has intersected with politics - both southern and northern - since she left for KL. Bran had an entire arc as defacto Lord/Prince of Winterfell in Robb’s absence.

Jon, Dany and Tyrion are competent leaders in their own right in all aspects and if Bran, Rickon or Arya do need an adviser or a regent because of their age then that regent will be an older, experienced person - ex. Davos. Not the least qualified 13 year old!!

#asks #Jon Snow

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faelapis · 2 years

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Is there any story trope you personally dislike aside from redeemed by death/ the ultimate evil?

oh sure, plenty. everything is context sensitive, there's very few i'm gonna straight up say is bad in every iteration, but here's a few that stand out to me as "usually a bad sign":

brainwashing. if the central conflict between the characters is just due to your friend being brainwashed rather than having real disagreements with you, thats typically weak.

hate sink-characters. the more "emotional" a trope is, the more difficult it is to define... but sometimes you can just. tell. that the author despises a character and wants the audience to feel nothing but hate towards them. this can be so pushy and exaggerated in the narrative that i defiantly find myself doing the opposite - removing all emotion, analyzing them from a purely meta perspective of what, exactly, makes them "hated" by the narrative.

torture porn. what it sounds like - excessive, gory violence which is so uncomfortable to look at it distracts from the story. this is, of course, appealing to some, its just VERY not for me. and if it focuses on the bodies of female characters, it oft becomes the more general societal ill of sexualized violence, which is its own can of worms.

can be deconstructed or reframed to call attention to sexism and the violence against women, such as in works like the handmaids tale. however, these tend not to be sexualized violence in the same way, because they're not framed to be tittilating.

strong woman = femme fatale. aka "badass woman as written by horny man." i tried to not pick too many tropes that are just "sexism", but i had to say something about this. and yes, i know there's plenty LGBT+ fans of this trope. i know that its not always bad to see sexualized characters. even if those characters are mainly women.

but there's just... something very annoying, when a male author is trying to do female empowerment, but it HAS to be in relation to her sexuality or attractiveness. its just such a "tell" that that's your main lens of looking at women. like ok. good to know "using your sexuality to lure men" is the only way you can conceptualize women as active characters. definitely doesn't just mean you need every female character to be hot.

characters being too smart / self-aware. by that i don't mean being "mary sues" or whatever. i mean when theyre so self-aware of their own flaws and issues that you don't really buy them as characters. this can work in a comedy, but it can be frustrating when employed in drama and works against the conflict.

a reason i can only "like" but not "love" atla is that i feel the characters would do this a bit too much. like when zuko explains directly to the camera how even at the age of 12 he totally knew the fire nation was evil and bad, despite all his cultural socialization and education pointing to them as rightful rulers and liberators.

think also when characters speak like their own therapists - totally aware of their own flaws and insecurities, like they were objective outsiders with writer clairvoyance rather than someone actually living through those problems. this CAN be earned, but often, its not.

endless escalation of villains. especially in relation to redemption.

i wrote this one last because i have a lot to say here. what i mean by "in relation to redemption", is this: lets say you want to redeem an antagonist. but you also want that former antagonist and the good guys to go on adventures together.

what do you do? you write in a BIGGER, BADDER antagonist, who is higher up / more powerful than the last one.

and if you defeat or redeem that one, you write in an EVEN BIGGER, SCARIER villain to be the True Evil, who is not afforded any of the humanity of the "lesser" villains and exists to be hated. usually someone who abused the previous antagonists.

i was actually a bit worried steven universe was gonna do this for a while. namely, when peridot had her confrontation with yellow diamond, and when it was revealed pink diamond was abused by the other diamonds. but thankfully, the show was consistent enough to humanize even its "worst" antagonists. it understands that the point of a "cycle of abuse" story isnt to destroy the source, but to see how everyone are products of their environments and capable of change.

unlike horde prime in spop / the fire lord in atla / the storm king in mlp / the core in amphibia / bill cipher in gravity falls / the beast in over the garden wall, etc etc etc.

its not that this trope can never be done well. its just that its an overdone cliche, and when continued in perpetuity, gives the impression that the only way redemption is possible is if there's someone "even worse" out there you can blame everything on. it reinforces black/white morality "but with rare exceptions" if you were a sad abused woobie rather than a true villain.

#not su /#(well not mainly)#tropes #writing

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mochibdsm · 3 months

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on total power exchange

If “the erotic submission of one person to the will of another” (Guy Baldwin, Slavecraft) is the soul of the Master/slave dynamic then the exchange of power is the blood that flows through its veins. It is the presence of a power exchange that differentiates a bona fide Master/slave dynamic from mere role-play. A power exchange between a Master and slave can vary from a few hours in a scene to a 24/7 dynamic. It also varies in degree according to the consensually negotiated boundaries of the particular dynamic in regards to how much power a slave wants to give up and the amount for which a Master is willing to accept responsibility and have placed under his authority. The dynamic I have with my slave is one that is described as a “Total Power Exchange” as it governs not only all aspects of our interactions with one another but also the day to day activities of our relationship.

So what exactly is a “Total Power Exchange” (T.P.E.)? A Total Power Exchange refers to the consensual exchange of personal power between a Master and slave. That sounds easy enough on the surface but, as is too often the case within the kink, leather, and Master/slave communities, words and phrases travel at the speed of social media but their definitions and meanings get left behind. This can cause misconceptions, bad practices, misinformation, and lead to injury and abuse in any D/s dynamic. Coming from a military background and having been influenced by the way in which Army Regulations were written, I always feel it important to start a discussion on any subject matter with a clear definition of the relevant terms and how they impact the subject matter. Therefore, before we can claim to live within a T.P.E., we need to understand what is actually meant by the term.

What is Power?

The standard dictionary definition of “power” usually contains two elements. First, power is defined as “The ability to do something or act in a particular way, especially as a faculty or quality”. Second, power is defined as “the capacity or ability to direct or influence the behavior of others or the course of events.” Conveniently, these two elements reflect remarkably well the differing but complimentary and reciprocal nature of power within the context of the Master/slave T.P.E. dynamic. The definition also suggests the way power is transferred and the end to which the power exchange is directed within the dynamic. Power, by its nature, must also contain the ability, capacity, and willingness to act.

For slave, his power is reflected more within context of the first element as it is his power to do something which he gives to Master. For Master, it is his power to influence or control which he exerts of the slave. These are the two elements of power, one located within the slave and one within Master, that are exchanged.

Closely connected to the use of power within this dynamic is the exercise of authority. Authority is defined as “the power or right to give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience.” However, this power or right is understood to be given, not innate. For example, in many cities when a governing body is authorized either by vote of the citizenry or local government to have power over a particular function we call it an airport authority, housing authority, or utility authority. Like power, authority has a second element. It is defined also as power that is “given or derived from knowledge of a particular area”. However, unlike power, by definition, both elements of authority can only be located within Master. Within the T.P.E. dynamic, there is no exchange of authority as there is with power; it is a giving and not an exchange.

By its nature, authority is given and not innate, being derived either from someone or an organization or from expert knowledge of a particular area. Therefore, for authority to be legitimate, it must be recognized as such by both “the ruler and the ruled”. This also means, despite how many Masters (so called) may speak to a potential slave, particularly on social media, authority cannot be demanded, presumed, or imposed. Within a T.P.E., legitimate authority only exists when it involves power that is consensually given and consensually received. It should always be remembered just because I have the power to do something does not mean I have the authority to do something. A Master cannot perform in the dynamic properly without authority.

In other words, power is the ability to do something. Authority is the right to do something.

What is Personal Power?

Having defined “power”, this still leaves the question as to what is at is meant by “personal power”. I like the definition by Stephen Bavolek in his book, The Nurturing Family, where he says, “Personal power is…the use of our knowledge, thoughts and feelings to act in a manner to get our own needs met in a positive way.” Therefore, personal power is when someone directs their ability to do something or act in a particular way (power) to meet their own needs.

What is Exchanged?

An exchange, by definition, must involve the action in which one person gives something to another and receives something else in return and vice versa. In an exchange, there is a giving and there is a getting. It should be emphasized the T.P.E. is indeed a real “exchange” of power, not just a “giving” of power. This may seem obvious but it is necessary to make this distinction in light of the fact almost every definition of the T.P.E. is done only in relation to the power the slave gives to the Master. This ignores the fact that within the T.P.E. there is a measure of reciprocity, meaning personal power is not only transferred from slave to Master but also from Master to slave. If this were not the case we would call the dynamic a Total Power Giving.

When the T.P.E. is defined only in terms of the personal power slave gives, this creates an inherently flawed M/s dynamic. In fact, if the dynamic is actually lived in such a way so as only one person is giving personal power within the relationship then it is something else entirely and should not be called a Master/slave dynamic. The slave gives power to the Master and the Master exerts his power on the slave; both elements of power are essential for the exchange and, without both elements of the exchange, it is something else entirely.

Drawing on the definitions of “power” and “personal power”, I understand and appreciate more deeply what it is slave does to make the T.P.E. dynamic successful. In essence, slave is consensually taking his power to meet his own needs and placing that power under the authority of Master. I alone now exercise the right to direct slave’ personal power, and every aspect of slave’s life for that matter, to the end I determine. Slave’s personal needs will be met when, how, and if I choose. Slave surrenders his right to self-mastery, self-fulfillment, self-determination, and all other “self-“hyphenated words. Every element of slave’s life (his knowledge, thoughts, feelings, etc.) is now directed towards one end – the fulfillment of Master’s erotic needs. In this process, the locus of slave’s sovereignty is transferred to Master. Wow! This is perhaps one of the most difficult and yet erotic things a human being can ever do. And so it is that “deep calls to deep.”

This is the source of erotic pleasure in the T.P.E. for slave. He is lives within the tension between his instinctual desire for self-control and his hunger for the erotic pleasure of submission to the needs, desires, and wants of another.

On the other end of the T.P.E., remembering this is an exchange of power, Master receives the authority for slave’s personal power and Master’s personal power (power based upon the ability to influence and control) is exerted on slave to direct all elements of the slave’s life to the fulfilling of Master’s erotic needs.

As Master, I receive the personal power slave surrenders to me and I, in turn, exert my personal power and authority on every element of slave’s life and direct it to the end I desire. Of course, that end is the fulfillment of my erotic needs. Master now has the right to use all the power and authority under his responsibility to manage the slave in such a way as to ensure Master’s erotic needs are met as fully as possible. Slave may no longer use any element of himself to meet his own needs (erotic or otherwise) except as Master determines to be appropriate. Every aspect of the slave’s life as well as that of the T.P.E. dynamic in general is directed to the ends Master determines and according to how he sees fit, when he sees fit, and if he sees fit to do so.

However, Master must also be mindful of the fact that authority is not just power given but is also built upon his knowledge, experience, and expertise. A Master, in my opinion, has the responsibility to ensure he gains the knowledge and experience necessary to accept the responsibility for another’s personal power as well as his very life. A Master must always be honest (to himself and his slave) as to the level of these elements he has acquired or the lack thereof. A slave can accept an inexperience Master, just not a misrepresented Master.

Slave has his erotic needs met in the dynamic but slave’s needs are met when he experiences his body, mind, strength, abilities, etc., being used to ensure Master’s erotic needs are met first. Slave’s needs are met through submission. Slave can only find fulfillment when he has put all of himself into the successful meeting of Master’s needs. The Master used slave’s personal power for his erotic needs to be fulfilled; the slave has his erotic needs fulfilled in seeing his personal power used in such a way.

No Equality. It is Hierarchical.

Although this is an exchange of power, make no mistake, there is no equality within the T.P.E. dynamic. For one, slave gives up his personal power to Master, but Master exerts his personal power on slave and all this is done to the end of meeting Master’s erotic needs. A Master remains in possession of his personal power; a slave surrenders his personal power to a Master. Master’s needs are on a higher order then slave’s. I do not consult with slave; he does what I say, how I say, and when I say it. When slave accomplishes a task, only Master may determine if it is done. Only Master decides if it is done correctly. As I stated before, there are two way to do things: Master’s way and the wrong way. I am Master, he is slave.

However, the power exchange between Master and slave is not like a leash with which the slave is held tethered. Instead, it is like a river that flows in both directions with the energy and power of Master and slave to create an intense and erotic bond. Slave is free, at any time he chooses, to take back his personal power and leave the dynamic. He is not held by force or coercion. Consent is not a moment in time, it is ongoing. I believe it is a distortion of the T.P.E. and an alarming potential for abuse to say once consent is given, slave gives up the right to consent any longer – even to leave the dynamic. Besides, this also diminishes the erotic pleasure of the dynamic for Master. If consent if something that happens only at a particular moment in time, then the erotic pleasure of the dynamic becomes static. Is it not more erotic to know that in every moment of every day, slave is willfully and deliberately consenting to surrender his personal power to the erotic needs of Master?

Besides, I want slave to consent every time I give him an order, force him down on my cock, every time he makes my bed, or cooks my meal. In every moment of every day, I want slave to confront the innate human desire for self-mastery and even self-preservation and to deliberately and consciously submit to Master – despite his fears, despite his needs, he submits only to Master. This is not something done once, reaffirmed on an annual anniversary, or even in a daily ritual. It is reaffirmed in every moment of every day. I want the giving of consent to be as constant for slave as breathing and just as necessary.

I have often said everything is directed towards the fulfilling of Master’s erotic needs. Does this mean slave only fulfills erotic needs? What about other needs that are not erotic in nature? First of all, yes, slave only fulfills erotic needs. Secondly, all needs that are fulfilled by slave are erotic because it is slave who fulfills them. Not every need slave fulfills is sexual, but every need slave fulfills is erotic because it is being fulfilled from one who does so through his total submission to the person of Master. For example, there is nothing erotic when a housekeeper cleans my house but it is erotic when slave does it. This is not because slave must do it for free. Trust me, anyone with a 24/7 slave knows this is not fee labor. Because of slave’s submission to Master, every act is imbued with eroticism.

In all things related to the T.P.E., the erotic pleasure is directly tied to the deep level of trust that develops between Master and slave. Any Master/slave dynamic should be built not only on consent but also on trust and the kind of trust that cements an M/s dynamic, is built only through time. Each learns to trust the other will not only bring to the T.P.E. all the essential elements necessary for the success of the dynamic but will do so in a way that respects the place each occupies within that dynamic. This is not something anyone can demand on a first date or through a domineering message on social media. Within a T.P.E., the slave essentially gives their life to the Master and the Master, in turn, must be capable of accepting such a huge responsibility and not take this lightly. In a society where we are so disconnected from one another we seek the depth of intimacy this level of trust creates. We hunger for it, we are starved for it. In the M/s dynamic, we have found very little else to compare to it.

#education:lifestyle #resources:articles #topic:Pe #topic:Ms

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bonesandthebees · 25 days

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CHAPTER 5 (3/3)

War games time let’s go.

SO right away it being immediately obvious this is a test for the heirs potentials and Q & Niki know that but Tommy is still being left in the dark about why he’s there. Probably because no one is still entirely sold on Tommy as an option and this exercise acts as a way to test him against the other heirs and see how he stacks up with no training and if it’s worth investing the effort into him.

I feel so bad for him in the scene though because the way I’m imagining him as looking like a lost puppy while the others understand exactly what’s going on </3

Quackity’s answer shows what values he has and also his lack of knowledge on war strategies; he has ties to Schlatt and they both put a lot of value on gold and deals but as they are in an era of peace and there is presumably no tensions on the horizon, war strategies while useful to have, are not a priority on his mind as he doesn’t have the mind for it and doesn’t see the urgency for learning them at the moment.

Niki’s option is the one I would see myself going for tbh. It showcases how cutthroat she is and how the others underestimated her, probably seeing her more as the sweet patient girl she often presents herself as but she holds the capacity for great violence if the situation calls for it. Her logic is the most sound I think out of all of them, even if she doesn’t prioritise minimising casualties like how Phil keeps emphasising.

Her resistance to Phil’s counters to her strategy and her refusal to bend to his suggestions shows why he is more leaning towards Tommy as a new possible option; he wants a puppet ruler more like Sam rather than someone stubborn like Niki. She is strong willed and while she and Wilbur are best friends and she would take his advice into account, if she thought she was right she wouldn’t be likely to bend to his words.

Meanwhile Tommy didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing, the poor bastard. He was grasping at straws at what he could give for an answer and after Niki’s answer got a lot of pushback from Phil, he just gave the answer he most wanted to hear. Which gave Phil further confirmation about the benefits of investing in Tommy as an option, he can shape him however he wants and Tommy will lean on Wilbur as an authority figure with more training and education on these topics for advice, much like how Sam does with him.

Also this marks the start of a possible feud / grudge between Niki and Phil as he constantly pushes back on her and she resents him for it and possibly begins to resent Wilbur a bit as well since he will always obey his father. I know I have mentioned this in a previous ask but just reiterating it in this one so I have all of my chapter 5 thoughts in one place lol.

And this point is further hammered home by Wilbur folding and agreeing to go with Tommy to L’mannes because of course he does.

- 🦈

yeah poor tommy during the entire war games scene 😭 he definitely had a lost puppy face on trying to figure out wtf was going on and why he was in a room with the two potential heirs, the consil, and the king himself

exactly exactly, Arestes has been at peace for quite a while now so Quackity has never even seen the war room being used. the last time it was used was before he arrived at the castle so he really doesn't feel like war strategies are as pertinent as things like making deals and trades. he understands the power of coin, not the power of force.

if phil wasn't so focused on finding a ruler that can be a puppet he would've admitted that niki's idea was the best of all three. he was really just saying the minimize casualties thing because he was trying to come up with an excuse for why her strategy wasn't solid but it really was the most logically sound. and her refusal to bend to phil's criticisms only cements his mindset that she isn't who they should prop up for the crown. she's too certain of herself and her decision making abilities. not in a way that she's arrogant or overly confident, but she isn't able to be manipulated like someone else (someone younger, less sure of themself) would be.

phil and niki have such an interesting dynamic in this fic. it hasn't come through as much yet, but phil holds a lot of respect for niki. he recognizes her potential and that's the problem. he doesn't want someone capable on the throne, he wants someone wilbur can use.

tbh it's not like wilbur really had much of a choice in the first place 😭

#ask #shark anon #rose ch 5

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horizon-verizon · 2 years

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Why are there many radfems/terfs who like Alicent? Does it has anything to do with the childbride thing?

Basically, since both (some) RadFems and (all) TradCaths wish to regress women to this status of "thing that is helpless or diminutive against male aggression/authority" (and not say or believe it is possible for a woman to have power), then Alicent is their goddess and representation of what they think is the "reality" of a woman, what she is and looks like.

I and @rhaenyragendereuphoria wrote/reblogged about why some people liked the ship Rhaenicent HERE. Many of the points we bring up still apply to just Alicent, since this ship is really about Alicent and her using Rhaenyra's "cool" to further her own (how the shippers feel if not admit).

To make this shorter, let’s apply a trope to Alicent. rhaenyragendereuphoria mentions how Alicent fits under and is written towards the Proper Lady trope which:

is a gentle yet strong being, incorruptible and pure as the driven snow, as unlike The Vamp as she comes, and Madonna-like in her virtues. She sacrifices herself for the good of her family, religion, and country. She is intelligent enough to smoothly run a household, and wisely spends her husband's money for the good of her family, never guilty of negligence or selfish frivolity. She possesses the wit, taste, and esprit necessary to be a star of Society, and never crosses the border of good taste and civility. She is devoted and loyal, never treacherous or scheming. Her manners are never less than impeccable, and her good will and charity are a beacon to those lucky enough to live around her.

And even the Team Mom trope (episode 2 where she “guides” Rhaenyra).

Now Alicent doesn’t fit totally into Proper Lady trope because she actually schemes and is treacherous against Rhaenyra, her supposed friend. But the fact she tries to uphold the conservative priorities of “sacrifice” (sacrificing oneself for the supposed “greater good” of the conservative social order/feudal class and gender hierarchy by dutifully following the rules).

Basically Alicent is the perfect “good girl” -- the feudal version -- because she pushes for people to obey the hierarchal social order and its rules, but Alicent’s character on HotD also is very contradictory and changed drastically so that her motivations are confounding. I basically pinned two-three different and related options:

feel she “deserves” to gain the rewards of having her sons inherit the throne

make all Rhaenyra subordinate to her (psychologically making up for her “sacrifice” in gving up her body) and have this one girl/former recognize her superior authority

make Rhaenyra and women also have to follow the rules so she doesn’t have to feel as miserable and jilted as she does

So Alicent comes across as this victim of both the patriarchal system in place and a victim of not getting what she deserves for “playing her part” and obeying that very system. She is “relatable”, as @la-pheacienne says:

People don’t relate to these exceptional heroines because they are not looking for exceptional characters. They are looking for a more successful or a more glamourous version of themselves.

Does this sound counterintuitive, since such hierarchies don’t “care” about how you feel and actually prioritizes the will of the ruler/clan-or-house head? Yes. Just don’t tell that to a green stan and not expect to get a bunch of ad hominem “arguments”.

Though they hypocritically bleat about how the patriarchy in Westeros is their culture or something that no one then could escape, they, yes, use the idea that Alicent was a child bride (15 when married) in HotD (even if you tried to say the same of her original character she wasn’t since she was 18 when she married Viserys in the book), they don’t care about history and how environment and/or know that Westerosi nobles have been marrying their young girls from the time they got their first period.

Ancient and medieval people -- even going into the early-mid 1800s -- died a lot sooner than they do now in Western societies due to lack of knowledge and tech, so everyone married much sooner. Plus, as la-pheacienne says in another POST, where they say:

The problem with the word “grooming” is that it’s not a neutral word. It’s a word with a very heavy meaning, that frames an individual who has a perverse, unnatural sexual desire for children whereas the society this individual lives in has decided (fortunately) that these children are not to be considered in a sexual way. So this individual breaks a fundamental moral code of the society they live in, and they do it so skillfully that they go the extra mile as to manipulate their way into basically, committing the crime that constitutes child sex abuse. It is a crime punished by law. You go to prison for it. Everybody knows it is perverse, unnatural behaviour, everybody tries to protect their children from it, and children themselves have a certain knowledge that it is NOT ok for an adult to approach them that way.

Grooming cannot be applicable to Alicent and Viserys, Rhaenrya and Viserys. grooming can’t be used as a serious criticism when the persons involved expect to get married this way and actually can find/use power through such unions. The problem with Alicent marrying Viserys, as presented in HotD, should have been how Otto pressures her into it, not how Viserys chooses her. Because Viserys doing that is actually him choosing not to go for a girl even younger, a 12 year old.

Child-brides work in the context of a world where such marriages intentionally flout rules/laws/ against them in the larger context where the idea of youth vs childhood itself becomes totally realized. And it wasn’t in the ancient/medieval ages. We’d have to wait until the 19th century when people focused more on instructing children and the Romantics for that one, and even then the idea of childhood came from the Romantics wanting to isolate themselves from the sociopolitical demands and smog of the then industrial age. a “return” to the “innocence” of early life. Some wrote works that emphasized:

childhood came to be seen as especially close to God and a force for good [...] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, whose Émile, or On Education (1762) not only rejects the doctrine of Original Sin, but maintains that children are innately innocent, only becoming corrupted through experience of the world.

But they use “child bride” with ignorance and the intent to prove how Alicent is the “real” and only victim aside from Aemond. The actual protagonist/the story’s central interest. And it certainly doesn’t help when the actual show and its writers refuse to frame Alicent as anything but a deluded misogynist in no uncertain terms more than they display her as helpless time and time again: Olivia Cooke plays her as frantic and beset by here fear that Rhaenyra would kill her kids and she looks very pathetic and helpless when she protests against Aemond’s eyes lost. there is her with Larys.

All of these come across as Alicent being beleaguered by disobedient, “over”- privileged royals (meanwhile, her father is Hand and she comes from the richest, one of the most influential houses in Westeros).

Finally, if Alicent is a child bride, their “sympathy” should extend to Rhaenyra, who was canonically forced to marry Laenor when she was 17 and he was 20. It should extend towards Daenerys Targaryen, who not only marries Drogo at 13, she is actually sold into sexual slavery to the same man who becomes her first husband. But it doesn't, because Valyrian/Targ girls are all evil for being Targaryen.

That in of itself tells you that Alicent being a child bride is not the real reason why many of the stan her or think she is "right". They stan her because many of them think she is more relatable and deserves a reward for her obedience to the patriarchal system in place that victimizes her in the first place. They love her because she is the "good girl" who should have found success. Nothing more, nothing less.

#asoiaf asks to me #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #alicent hightower #alicent's characterization #characterization #hotd characterization #hotd comment #House of the Dragon #hotd #fandom commentary #hotd fandom #fandom critical #anti alicent stans #greens stan nonsense #green stans

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notasapleasure · 2 years

Text

Dara, National Theatre (2020)

(eta this is DRAFT # THREE. I keep getting carried away with the screencaps, not particularly because I’m into the clean-shaven, long-haired look - though I’m not against it! - but because I have too many Feelings and I’m a whore for historical tragedy)

uhhhh my emotions are a bit wrecked from this, it's such a good play you guys. If you like prophecies that ruin lives, kings who don't know how to pass on power peacefully, brotherly jealousy, bitterness, betrayal, stolen lives, discourses on the value of religious freedom and PAIN then boy do I recommend Dara. It's the story of the war to succeed Shahjahan, the Mughal ruler who had the Taj Mahal built. His eldest son Dara is touted for the throne - a sufi, a poet, a bit of a romantic - while Dara's younger brother Aurangzeb - follower of a strict, orthodox Islam, warrior, pragmatist - decides he's not going to stand by and let that happen without a fight. idk how precisely the details match to what we know of history but it makes a STELLAR drama, even if it plays off lots of familiar narrative touch-points.

One of whom is Itbar, the eunuch in charge of the harem, a beautiful big mother hen (don't tell him I called him that he’d probably shank me). He’s not presented as third-gender/hijra, and I don’t know enough about eunuchs in the Mughal empire to say how sensitive a depiction it is - the original author of the play is a Pakistani man, it was adapted by a British woman, and some of the details Itbar gives of his experience sound like medieval Coptic practice as described by later, Western writers, which are treated with caution by Wikipedia, so...I’m not going further down that hole. Take with a pinch of salt; admire the performance though.

Look at that kohl <3

Warnings for this recap: discussion of serious injury (burning), bodily/genital mutilation, child abuse, suicide, gender...theft I guess? It’s heavy, lads.

This is a play with flashbacks - simpler times with Itbar trying to wrangle all the Emperor's kids.

So the problems to come are certainly made worse by the visit of a sufi faqir, who, when asked to prophesise which of Shahjahan's sons will bring an end to his bloodline, points to Aurangzeb.

Yes, humiliating and threatening the son who has just been pointed out as most likely to betray you, that's never been a course of action that's gone on to bite a person in the ass, has it?

Again, I have heaps of screencaps of Itbar looking concerned in the background while the nobles have their family drama. Google Drive to come.

First time we meet him, all we see is the face of service, but flash forwards a few years and he reveals a crueller side when the faqir is called to the sickbed of the injured princess.

He's looking forward to whatever drama will occur when Aurangzeb comes back too.

Princess Roshanara overhears a bit of snark: "Are you being disrespectful, Itbar?" He’s all subservience in front of her but when she’s gone he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat again: ALWAYS. She’s just “Eager to prove what a fine First Lady she would make.”

Describing the Taj Mahal:

Aurangzeb is here, sees the faqir who ruined his life, and Itbar is like :DDD but then Shahjahan comes out with Dara and ends up revoking Aurangzeb's title while Aurangzeb accused Dara of threatening fratricide. Y'know, standard tragedy stuff. Itbar does look upset by it all, but that may be because Shahjahan expects him to disarm an angry prince.

Flash-forward again to 1659, the year the main action's set in. Aurangzeb has captured Dara and claimed the throne, imprisoning Sahahjahan in his own palace. Itbar has been made jailer to the aging Shahjahan and princess Jahanara, and....he's loving it tbh.

(also jfccccc he’s gorgeous)

Oh dear, honey is revelling in Dara's imprisonment and downfall...messy bitch.

He's in charge of keeping the emperor prisoner in his own home.

"Of course sire, I may be your jailer - but I can still take instruction. For old. Times'. Sake."

All the pent-up bitterness about his own position and ughhhh such good pain.

Afia, Shahjahan and Jahanara's serving maid, is at least someone he can gossip with - though she has a kinder idea of Itbar than he does of himself. She's worried about Shahjahan's food being poisoned - Itbar reminds her to stop calling him the emperor and says separate food won't do him any good.

;_;

;-;

*GROSS UGLY SOBBING*

Oh don't mind me I'm just WAILING INCONSOLABLY about Itbar looking wrecked and then returning to joking as quickly as he can, about Afia worrying for Shahjahan, Itbar asking after her kids, not being able to do anything to help them or help her see them more, Afia not believing that Itbar doesn't care about Shahjahan when he still tends his failing eyes, and Itbar conceding that he doesn't want to see anything happen to Jahanara.

Afia: “I can’t help pitying them.”

Itbar: “Because your heart is soft, Afia. Long may it remain so.”

And that’s all for Act One! From Itbar, anyway. There’s an epic and deeply affecting courtroom scene where Dara is tried for apostasy and defends himself, half to his brother who he presumes is watching.

Don’t worry, things are only going to get sadder!

For everyone.

Dara is convicted of apostasy, as everyone expects. Aurangzeb doesn’t look inclined to be merciful - his sister Roshanara is celebrating his victory over dara with music and dancing, so Aurangzeb bans music in his empire and orders the instruments burned.

Itbar has reservations. Not really about Dara, but about the musicians, who come from families of established and respected craftspeople.

Aurangzeb’s not having any of it. It’s against his kind of Islam.

He has Itbar read out a letter his father has sent him, admitting culpability for the animosity between the brothers and begging Aurangzeb to spare Dara’s life:

That’ll be a nope, then.

Then - oddly timed, I think a gap between these scenes might have done good work here - there are two visitors for Itbar. Aurangzeb is initially suspicious - Itbar shouldn’t have friends outside the palace...

The reason I think a gap would have helped is because it might have given a bit more of a human side to Aurangzeb if he’d heard Itbar mention how he didn’t know his family, then sent people out looking for his parents thinking that might be a reward of sorts, and then seen that resentment, bitterness and anger at one’s own relatives isn’t just confined to the royal family. Otherwise, I’m not sure how believable I find Itbar’s tirade being carried out in front of his emperor.

Anyway, whatever we make of that, Joplin smashes it out of the park in the scene - Itbar is not delighted to see his parents again.

He gets uh. Really into the details.

Itbar assigns his parents 20 lashes each. When his father tries to intercede on his mother’s behalf, he makes it quite clear what he feels he owes them.

...he’ll kill them himself.

SPEAKING OF...

Itbar plus goons are sent to deal with Dara - while stopping Dara’s anguished son from interfering.

Now, this is very well known history in South Asia. Not so much my wheelhouse, but my brain was tickled with the fact that I knew the names Shahjahan and Aurangzeb, not Dara. So really I should have known that Aurangzeb’s victory would be decisive and merciless. But for a moment I did wonder if Itbar’s emphasis on an unmarked grave and the fade-to-black on the execution meant that he was going to pull a Snow White woodsman and find a way to let Dara escape to be the faqir he always claimed he wanted to be.

Not so!

Itbar also gets the honour of delivering the news to Shahjahan and Jahanara.

As soon as I saw him walk on stage with the box...oh no. Ya’ll know there’s a body part in there and we have to watch Shahjahan and his daughter get all excited like maybe Aurangzeb has sent a peace offering.

Itbar watches their reactions. The lighting does this.

Afia wants to know what the hell he brought - he says he’s let her down. Cryptically quotes a poem. Promises he’ll wait for her to come back.

So again, I was probably being a bit wilfully dim, but I didn’t immediately connect the hanged body with Itbar - I was wondering if it was a hand in the box, not a head (again, not familiar with the well-known legends around this) - then wondered if Dara’s body was strung up somewhere as an example, or...? idk, wilfully dim.

But then the faqir says this to Aurangzeb and all becomes clear: “Itbar, whose soul you fouled with the task you set him, kept out of paradise by Allah, as we are told in the Qur’an, every suicide burns in hellfire forever.”

Poor Itbar is just another of the ghosts besieging Aurangzeb through his rulership now.

The ending comes up quite quickly with the usual deathbed repentence, but there’s a satisfying note of self-pity in it, we never believe Aurangzeb is anything other than a pragmatist, to be honest.

I have feelings I can’t really articulate about Itbar’s ending that I’m not going to try to articulate without knowing what was original to the Pakistani play and what was adapted.

---

Rating

Dead? Yes - abruptly, opaquely, a bit pointlessly.

Evil? No. He really grew on me. He’s not a royalist, that’s for sure! Bitter and cruel, but not beyond kindness. Someone who was given no choice in his job or life and decided to make the most of it, but in the end found that revenge wasn’t enough to sustain him in it.

Affects the plot? I say no, and that’s the huge tragedy of his life among all the other tragedy.

Ah man, I so wanted to give this 5, but I just have a few too many lingering questions here and there about historicity, masculinity and pacing. HOWEVER it is so much my bag. Saga girl rides again. Vengeance won’t save you or fix you. Romantic ideals are all well and good but they don’t make a good leader. And they don’t absolve you from the work of war. There’s a lot that I think critics missed about this play in thinking Dara is presented as saintly and faultless - it’s clear he didn’t want to be a ruler and that the work of an emperor would not have suited him. Not that his brother was any better! But prophecy or no prophecy it’s about how the ‘responsibility’ and ‘privilege’ of rulership inevitably breed resentment and jealousy within the line of succession. Itbar’s story doesn’t fit entirely easily in it - there might have bee a whole play from his perspective instead, and we never really got any link between his bitterness and Dara specifically. But the ambivalence of his feelings towards the family he’s worked for and lived with for all his adult life is meaty and uncomfortable and I think that’s very sexy of the play. 4.5/5.

#adventures in joplin sibtain's imdb page #joplin sibtain #chook sibtain #dara #dara (national theatre)#national theatre live: dara #dara shiko #actually it turns out sometimes i'm fine with three hours of obvious tragedy #ntathome

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