#also the obvious religious overtones

[probablyaseamonster]

Hi I’m rereading Sunwing by Kenneth Oppel and WTF?!

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 11.9k

❧ warnings: cursing, mentions of death/dead people in the context of him being hades, probably more legal jargon than there should be but i tried to make it as easy to understand as possible i promise, it gets pretty existential at some points but never overtly angsty

❧ genre: fluff, getting together, greek gods/goddesses au, hades jaemin, human reader, nades au, paralegal reader, bit of a ham-fisted persephone allegory, inspired by the gods/goddesses assigned to the work it unit in 2020 for this video, appearances by bestie jeno and coworker yangyang

❧ author’s note: ahhh my first fic back after over a year hiatus!! not super accurate to the original greek myths, i was just havin fun with hades as a concept rather than a strict characterization. i also watched mike flanagan’s ‘midnight mass’ and read john milton’s ‘paradise lost’ during the time i was writing this so get ready for some slight spiritual/religious iconography and overtones. hope y’all enjoy, i had so much fun playing around with my writing in this one!!

❧ spotify playlist

⤷ sequel

The god’s—Jaemin’s—eyes continued to stare you down. It felt like he was looking into your soul. And you wanted him to.

“I didn’t summon you,” you told him cautiously. “Or at least I didn’t try to.”

“Okay, so I’m thinking she could accidentally be pushed into oncoming traffic—”

“And who exactly would be doing this accidental pushing?” You cut Jeno off with a scoff.

Currently, you were laying on your back on your bed, head hanging off the end of it and phone in hand. Your best friend, Lee Jeno, was on the other end of the line, jokingly scheming to get you a job at his workplace. Jeno somehow worked as a legal assistant at the best civil law practice in your city, and you, on the other hand, were unemployed. This was what you got for taking an extra year to get your master’s degree to become a paralegal instead of immediately jumping into the workforce after undergrad.

That was where you and Jeno had met: Intro to Philosophy on your very first day of college as two bright-eyed freshmen with surprisingly similar career goals and the same taste in 00s pop punk bands. Now you were a year and a half past graduating with your bachelor’s, and six months past your master’s. And what had that extra effort gotten you? Many, many interviews that all ended the same way: You’re “an incredible applicant,” but “too educated” for the pay of the position and/or “too inexperienced.”

Jeno, on the other hand, had declined your suggestion to further your education together and instead landed himself a legal assistant job right out of college. So now here you were, living off the remnants of your student loans and savings as you desperately hunted for a paralegal job.

Your best friend’s elaborate plans to get you a job at his firm would typically make you laugh, but this time you couldn’t even muster up a chuckle. Earlier today when you checked your bank accounts during a break from emailing out your résumé, you were confronted with the fact that your savings were running out; you didn’t have enough to even get you to the end of your lease in six months.

“God will, duh,” Jeno said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His current plan was centered around a junior partner’s paralegal dying of a myriad of mysterious causes, and apparently this time involved divine intervention too.

“Oh, right, of course,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious about the fact that Yejin needs to go, though. I have no clue how she’s still employed. And you would be the perfect fit for Ms. Haseul, she kind of does a little bit of everything, but her main focus is general corporate representation. Wasn’t that what you specialized in for grad school?”

“It is, yes.”

“Then there we go!”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Jeno.”

You sighed. All this talk about a job that you’ll never have was bringing down your spirits. “Anyway, I have half a leftover pizza in the fridge calling my name right now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye, Y/N! I’ll keep my ears peeled for any sign of dissent in the ranks so you can slip your way in!”

“Right, bye.”

Hanging up, another sigh tumbled out of your mouth as you tossed your phone somewhere further up your bed. Truthfully, you weren’t hungry in the slightest, you just wanted to get out of that conversation. You brought your hands to your face to rub circles against your temples and closed your eyes; you were getting a headache. Hanging upside down off the foot of your bed certainly wasn’t helping, but you couldn’t be fucked to move at this point.

A moment of self-pity later and you opened your eyes with all intentions to get up and take your migraine medication, but you froze when you were met by a dark shape. Squinting, it took you a second to process that the shape was someone’s legs and shoes, and you let out a yelp. Startled, you went to twist yourself around to face whoever was in your room, but just managed to fall off your bed instead. You very narrowly avoided snapping your neck, landing on your shoulder instead, eliciting yet another yelp, but this time one of pain.

Scrambling to your feet, you were now face to face with the intruder. It was a man, younger, maybe around your age, donned in all black. Black shoes, black slacks, black suit jacket, and black vest underneath that was buttoned but with a neckline cut plenty low enough to show a good expanse of his chest. He had an eerie beauty to him: his face just bordering on gaunt with pronounced cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a hint of bags under his eyes as if he had just woken up from a night of restless sleep. But he didn’t seem to have recently awoken, very much alert and well put-together in every other aspect. His black hair was perfectly styled back from his face save for one stray lock towards the middle, and his eyes were so dark they reminded you of black holes, threatening to sweep you away forever into a cold unknown. He had more piercings than you could count in the moment, silver and the odd jewel adorning his ears. The vest showed off four or five separate silver chains around his neck.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” You breathed out, desperately trying to blink away the vertigo from your sudden change in orientation.

The man was between you and the doorway, his body language not indicating that he was blocking your way out intentionally. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his pants as he cocked an eyebrow up at your question. He seemed entirely relaxed and yet the air around you still felt as if it were growing colder by the second.

“I should be asking you that. What the hell am I doing in your apartment?” He repeated your question back to you, amusement in his tone as he studied you from head to toe, then back up.

“What?”

“I was summoned by someone. I’m not summoned often, usually Eros or Aphrodite are at the beck and call of humans.”

The names made your head spin, “Eros? Aphrodite? Like, the Greek gods?”

“Yes, of course.” One of his hands left his pocket, the many rings along his fingers glistening in your ceiling fan lights as he went to push the stray lock of hair back from his face. “Humans are always wishing for love or beauty or fame. Not as often are they wishing for my gifts, or at least not with such an intensity that I’m inclined to entertain those wishes.”

Something about his candor inclined you to ask, “Who are you?”

“I’ve had a couple names. Pluto, and you probably recognize me as Hades. But you can call me Jaemin.”

His words made your heart thunder in your chest once again. You wanted to tell yourself that this guy was crazy, but he sounded so assured and calm that it gave you pause. Not mention that he had just appeared in your home out of nowhere.

“Hades? God of the Underworld? In my apartment?”

“The very same. Please, call me Jaemin. As long as I can call you Y/N.”

“Oh, you know my name already,” you stated weakly.

The god’s—Jaemin’s—eyes continued to stare you down. It felt like he was looking into your soul. And you wanted him to.

“I didn’t summon you,” you told him cautiously. “Or at least I didn’t try to.”

He took a step towards you. “And yet here I am.”

Another step. “I was brought here by a desire, your desire. So, what do you really, really want, Y/N?”

His words dripped off his tongue and wound their way through your mind. “A loved one back from the dead? The death of an enemy? To die yourself? So much money you could never spend it all in one lifetime?”

Another step.

“No, none of those,” you shook your head vigorously, feeling like every sense of yours was alight with his proximity to you. Every sound was deafening, your skin tingled, and the scent of cinnamon and citrus danced around you. One more step and he’d practically be on top of you. “I don’t want any of that.”

Another step. He was right in front of you now, his startlingly cool breath washing over your face as he asked, “Then what do you want?”

“I just—” your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, fingernails digging into your palms as you struggled to find the words. “Want to work at Kim & Moon.”

Jaemin’s head cocked to the side as he studied your face, “Why?”

“It’s the best civil law firm in the city. I know it’s where I belong, if I could just get a job there, I know I’d do well.”

“This job? Does it pay well?”

“I-I don’t know,” you confessed. “Jeno hasn’t ever told me how much he makes, but that’s only part of why I want to work there. If all I cared about was paying my bills, I would’ve taken the first job at any sleazy ambulance chaser’s office I could find. But I’d be wasted on something like that. I’m smart, well-studied, and I’ll be good at what I do. I just know it.”

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, I like that.”

Then all at once, Jaemin was no longer in front of you, and you felt like you could breathe properly again. He dropped himself onto your bed, settling in to recline leisurely against your headboard, legs crossed at the ankle.

“Alright, I’ll grant your wish,” he declared, slipping one of his rings off to roll it along his knuckles. The silver band caught the light and nearly distracted you from his words.

Pulling yourself out of your momentary trance, you immediately said, “But I didn’t ask you to—”

“Of course you did, or I wouldn’t be here. Do we really have to go through this again?” His eyes were fixed on the ring. “Now do you want that job or not?”

“If I say yes, what do you want in return? I doubt Hades himself is in the business of charity.”

“Smart. There will be an exchange, obviously.”

“Then my answer is no, I don’t want to be selling my soul or something.”

Jaemin suddenly flicked the ring up, watching as it did one, two, three flips in the air before landing in the palm of his hand, “As lovely as I’m sure your soul is, I’m not particularly interested in taking it.”

“Well then what would you want from me?”

“A third of your life.” He said it simply, as if you two were talking about him borrowing a cup of sugar, not your life.

“Wh—”

“Let me finish,” he instructed sternly, firm gaze once again on you. “Spend two-thirds of your year here, then spend the remaining third of it with me.”

“If I take four months off work I won't be able to keep the job you get me.”

“It doesn’t have to be consecutive. Give me your nights and I’ll call it even.”

“Why? Why me? Why would you give me so much for just… hanging out with you?”

He shrugged, “I’m tired of spending all my time with dead people.”

Despite his casual tone, you swore you saw something much sadder flash across his face for a moment. It was gone as soon as you had registered it, making you wonder if you just imagined it. When you remained quiet, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought, he stood up and crossed the room to once again stop just a mere inch or two in front of you, “Do we have a deal, Y/N?”

A chance to use your degree and skills like you’d always dreamed, just for hanging out with a god every night? It sounded... not quite too good to be true, but definitely too easy. You couldn’t remember Hades being portrayed as a tricksy sort in the myths, and everything Jaemin had done tonight—aside from appearing in your room out of the blue—made you think that you could probably trust him.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed, looking up from where you had been twiddling your thumbs anxiously to his hauntingly beautiful face. “Do we have to do anything to make the deal official or whatever?”

“What, like a kiss?” He grinned at you mischievously. “Since you asked…”

“Jaemin!” You scoffed, feeling like he was teasing you now.

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Anyway, a handshake will do just fine,” Jaemin held his right hand out in the small space between your bodies.

You took it, feeling the cold from his fingers seep into your own, and gave it one firm shake. Before you could take your hand back, he’d tightened his grip and turned it over. His other hand came up to slip a ring onto your ring finger. It was the same silver band he had been playing with before, and it magically changed size to fit your finger perfectly. Jaemin bowed slightly, bringing your hand up to press a feather-light kiss to the knuckle of the very finger he’d just put the ring on. His lips were cool like the rest of him, but you still felt warm at his actions.

“There,” he straightened back up and let go of your hand finally. “That should do it.”

You looked down at the ring he’d just put on your finger. It was a simple silver band of medium width that reminded you of your father’s wedding band.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

“Yeah—” you cut yourself off when you brought your eyes up to see that Jaemin was gone. Staring at the empty space where he just was, you murmured, “Bye, Jaemin.”

That night you dreamt of a man cloaked in shadows guiding you to a tree, instructing you to pick the golden fruit that was growing on it. You gazed at the fruit, in a daze, mesmerized by their beauty. They were so inviting, the man’s voice soothing, and you lifted a hand up towards one.

You groaned against the bright sunlight streaming in through a crack between your curtains. Directly on your face. You threw your left arm over your eyes to block it out as you continued lying in bed, letting your mind and body wake up gradually.

Memories of last night’s visitor came back to you, and you sighed. Surely it was a dream. A weird, weird dream that your mind conjured up in an attempt to fulfill your wish for a job.

But when you squinted your eyes open and brought your right hand up enough to look at your fingers, the silver band that sat there let you know that it was real. You’d been visited last night, by Hades, who said he’d grant your wish for a job in exchange for a third of your life. And you said yes.

The loud sound of your phone buzzing on your nightstand prompted you to roll over and grab it to look at the caller ID. Lee Jeno.

“Yeah?” You couldn’t even muster up a proper greeting as you picked up, still bogged down by sleep.

“Y/N, great news!”

You glanced at the time on your phone before bringing it back up to your ear, “Jeno, it’s not even 9:30 a.m., why are you calling me? You can’t be on lunch.”

“I know, but as soon as I heard, I had to tell you!”

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“There’s a job opening at the firm! You have to apply!”

That woke you up.

“An opening?” You asked, shooting up into a sitting position.

“Jo Haseul, the junior partner at the firm I’ve been telling you about, her paralegal won the lottery and quit on the spot. No two weeks’ notice, they’re urgently hiring her replacement. I’ll text you the firm administrator’s email for you to send your résumé to!”

“That would be great, thank you, Jeno.”

“Of course!” He said brightly as another phone began ringing in the background. “I’ve got to go now, Ms. Kang is buzzing me.”

“Right, thank you again.”

“Bye!”

“Bye,” you brought your phone down to see he had already ended the call.

As you went to grab your laptop from the foot of your bed to begin drafting that email, your eyes got caught by the silver ring on your hand.

A week later and you were walking into your first day of work at Kim & Moon. The firm administrator, Jeong Jaehyun, was showing you around, and finally stopped his tour in an open-floor plan portion of the office where a grouping of eight desks were. A couple of them were empty, the others filled by various men and women hard at work, and also Lee Jeno.

“Y/N!” Jeno waved at you enthusiastically from where he was on the other side of all the desks, and you lifted your hand to give a small wave back.

“Oh, you know Lee Jeno?” Mr. Jeong asked as he guided you over towards your friend.

“Yes, we were in the same undergrad program.”

“Good, it should be easier to settle in with a familiar face nearby.” The administrator smiled as he gestured to the empty desk behind your friend. The one beside it was occupied by another young man incredibly focused on his screen, headphones in as his fingers flitted over his keyboard and he fervently typed out a court document.

“This is your desk, Ms. Y/L/N. Ms. Jo, your attorney, is on a call right now but she has been informed of your arrival. I’m sure she’ll meet with you when she can. In the meantime, please acquaint yourself with your workspace. Your computer is already logged in, and all of your passwords are on the paper right there. Is there anything you need at the moment?”

“No, no. Thank you so much, Mr. Jeong,” you bowed your head politely to him.

“Of course. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” He pointed to the landline sitting on your desk next to the computer monitors, “I have a quick-dial button right next to Reception’s. Buzz me if you need something.”

“I will, thank you.”

And with that, Jeong Jaehyun took his leave of the pod that you were in. You sat in your chair, taking in the sparse supplies on your desk: two computer monitors, keyboard, mouse, a landline phone, a couple pens, and one sheet of paper laid across your keyboard. It was a list of your login credentials for your computer, work email, and the firm’s file management software, along with Mr. Jeong’s extension and quick-dial button name.

You turned back around to where you knew Jeno was already waiting for you. Your friend was practically vibrating with excitement in his own desk chair.

“This is so exciting!” Jeno exclaimed, momentarily drawing the attention of all the other employees in your vicinity before they went back to whatever they were doing. He continued on much quieter, “I told you you’d kill it at your interview.”

“Right,” you nodded, trying not to think about the silver ring on your right hand. “Thanks, Jeno, I’m excited to start.”

“I’ll give you the rundown of everyone at the firm, come here,” he scooted his chair over to make room for you to roll yours up to his desk.

His fingers quickly flitted across his keyboard and mouse to pull up the firm website. Hovering over the tab labeled ‘Our Attorneys,’ you saw a list of names drop down. He clicked on the first one, Kim Chaeyoung. It pulled up a profile, the picture showing a very determined older woman, her arms crossed over her chest as she very resolutely stared down the camera.

“This is Kim Chaeyoung, the ‘Kim’ in Kim & Moon. She’s the most senior attorney at the firm, and mostly does corporate compliance and medical malpractice law. She just stepped down from being managing partner at the end of last year.”

He clicked the next name on the list, Moon Taeil. This time a man was on your screen, a bit older than you, but not by too much. No more than ten or fifteen years for sure, quite young to be a managing partner at such a large firm. His gaze wasn’t quite as intense as Kim Chaeyoung’s, but it held an intelligence and wisdom clearly beyond his years.

“Mrs. Kim stepped down to let this man, Moon Taeil, take over as managing partner. Something about wanting younger blood in charge but…” Jeno looked around the pod before he dropped his voice to a whisper so soft you had to lean in to hear him, “The rumor is that Mrs. Kim is going to announce her retirement at the holiday party at the end of this year.”

“And what sort of law does Mr. Moon do?” You questioned.

“Mostly insurance litigation. He tends to get the nastier incidents though: shootings, stabbings, fires, the odd dog bite.”

You then went through the senior partners before getting to the first of the junior partners on the list.

“And here is Jo Haseul, your attorney. She’s the most senior of the junior partners, and rumors also say that she’s going to be made a senior partner by the end of this year.”

“You love your office gossip, don’t you?”

You studied the woman on screen. She was younger than you had expected, a fierceness in her eyes that both intimidated you and inspired you to follow her wherever she led.

“This isn’t even the juicy stuff, wait until you hear about the affair Mr. Noh supposedly had with his assistant in the 80s,” Jeno scoffed, then turned his attention back to the woman on screen. “Anyway, Ms. Haseul is Mrs. Kim’s protégé. She mostly does general corporate matters, medical malpractice, and the occasional pro bono representation for women in need. Restraining orders, child custody, divorce, whatever comes in the door. If you really want to get to know her, ask about those cases.”

“She sounds incredible.”

“I told you you’d be perfect for each other.” Your friend then pulled up the next junior partner, “This is Kim Doyoung, he’s Mrs. Kim’s son but you’d never be able to tell by how they act around each other. All business. I think he doesn’t want people to assume he only got his position because of his mother, but nobody who has actually spoken to Mrs. Kim would ever think she’d do something like that. She’s got some serious integrity.”

Jeno was about to move on to the next attorney profile, a ‘Qian Kun,’ when you heard a ringing from behind you.

“Oh, that’s you, Y/N!”

You quickly wheeled yourself back over to your desk, picking up your desk phone after the third ring, “Y/L/N Y/N speaking.”

“Ms. Y/L/N,” a woman’s voice was on the other end, and when you glanced at the caller ID, you saw ‘Jo Haseul’ across the screen. “This is Jo Haseul. Please come to my office now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m down the hall. Ask another assistant if you need help finding it.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She hung up, and you rushed to stand up. Grabbing one of the pens you saw earlier, you frantically scanned for a notepad to write with, but there wasn’t one on hand at your desk. You whipped around to face your friend, “Jeno, do you have a notepad I can use? Ms. Haseul wants to see me.”

“Here,” he handed you a notepad slightly bigger than your hand, spiral-bound at the top.

“Thank you!”

“The attorney offices are down that hall,” he pointed. “And Ms. Haseul’s will be on your left.”

“Got it, thanks!” You hurried in the direction he gestured.

Thankfully, everyone’s names were engraved on metal nameplates on the doors, making it easy to know when you had stopped in front of your attorney’s. Rapping your knuckles against the wood, you waited for a response.

“Come in.”

You entered already bowing, “Y/L/N Y/N, ma’am. It’s an honor to be here and I am very grateful for the opportunity to work with you.”

Jo Haseul appraised you for a moment from where she was sat behind her desk. She then nodded, “It’s nice to meet you. Now please sit, Y/L/N.”

“Yes ma’am,” you quickly sat in the armchair she had gestured to.

After brief introductions, Ms. Haseul gave you the rundown of the kinds of cases she tended to deal with—which generally lined up with what Jeno had told you earlier, her management style, workflow, and an overview of the duties you’ll be expected to fulfill as her paralegal. At the end of it, you left with pages of notes, a stack of papers in your arms, and your first tasks to do for her.

Stopping at your desk, you didn’t even sit as you organized the papers into three stacks: to correct, to file, and to copy. You picked up the last stack of things that Ms. Haseul wanted copies of, then turned to your friend, “Hey, Jeno, where’s the copier?”

The assistant sat at the desk beside yours was the one who spoke up in response, his headphones set aside now, “Oh, I’m going there right now, I’ll show you!”

“Thanks, Yangyang,” Jeno said, then nodded for you to go along with the other man.

Yangyang grabbed his own paper before leading the way out from the desks. He took off in the opposite direction from the offices down a different hallway, “It’s down this hall, first door on the right.” He then opened said door to reveal a room with four large copy machines in it.

“I’m Liu Yangyang, by the way,” your coworker introduced himself, stopping in front of one machine. “I’m Qian Kun and Dong Sicheng’s legal assistant. They’re Ms. Haseul’s associate attorneys that work under her so you and I will overlap quite a bit. Sicheng usually handles corporate matters with Ms. Haseul while Kun does the med mal portion.”

“I’m Y/L/N Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Yangyang.”

“You too, Y/N. And I’m sure you’ll meet my attorneys at some point today. I apologize in advance, and yes, they are always like that. Kun’s a workaholic who would be here until two in the morning if somebody didn’t send him home, and Sicheng… you are allowed to say no to him, and I encourage it, actually. Booksmart but doesn’t quite get social cues. I’ve seen him accidentally sweet talk his way into having an assistant pick up his dry cleaning before.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, I had to intervene to ensure feminism wasn’t set back fifty years,” Yangyang scoffed.

“Women everywhere commend you for your service to the cause, Yangyang,” you nodded solemnly, to which your coworker snickered.

“The dude’s wicked smart but dumber than a box of rocks. Associates, you know?” He shook his head then returned to instructing you about the machine.

After Yangyang had shown you how to use the multipurpose machine—scanning and uploading, printing, copying, faxing—he took the copies that he had made and left you there. Nobody was at the other copiers, making you the only one in the room. You took a deep breath to compose yourself after having so much information thrown at you from all sides. Right now, at this moment, all you needed to do was make a copy.

Putting the first document in where Yangyang had shown you, you’d just started tapping the touchscreen through to the copying option when a dark figure appeared at the edge of your vision. Your head snapped up to look at the man leaning against the wall beside the copy machine you were at.

You hadn’t seen Jaemin since the night you’d made your deal. You’d spent the entire next night anxiously waiting for him to appear, but he never did, and you eventually gave up and fell asleep. He didn’t come any night after that, and you kind of thought he might’ve forgotten about you, or maybe didn’t really want you to hold up your end of the deal. Realized that he could find better company than you.

But here he was, in your workplace, smirk on his face and delight in his tone, “Surprise! I came to visit you on your first day of work. I’m so proud!”

First rolling your eyes at the sarcasm in his words and the fake tear he wiped away, you then fervently glanced towards the door to the copy room, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m checking on my investment,” he answered coolly.

“What, me? You can check on me at my home tonight, not at my job on my first day of work! Somebody could walk in, how would I explain you?”

“Nobody’s coming.”

“The deal was that I would give you my nights. Sun’s still up.”

“Yes, you’re doing just fine,” he nodded as he adjusted his black tie, seeming satisfied with his ‘check in.’ “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

And he was gone in the blink of an eye.

You immediately flopped down onto your couch when you got home that night. That was the most work you’d done in a while; you were tired both physically and mentally. But it was a good sort of tired. You finally had a job.

“Hi, honey, how was work?”

You shot up at the voice, knowing exactly who it was. Jaemin was poised in your armchair, half a smirk already on his lips. He was in all-black again, though a slightly different suit from last time, his slacks and suit jacket had thin dark grey pinstripes, over a black silk dress shirt with the top three buttons open.

“Oh, uh, it was good,” you said.

Silence fell over you two, and you started fidgeting uncomfortably as it dragged on. Finally, you said, “So... what do you want to do?”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“I feel like you already know the answer to that, but no. I just got home.”

“Let’s get dinner then. Where would you like to go?”

“Uhm...” you wracked your brain for some places nearby. “There’s a ramen place down the street. Let me change out of my work clothes first, hold on.”

Re-emerging from your bedroom in more casual clothes, you saw that Jaemin had moved from his spot on your armchair and was instead standing, gazing out the window. And again, for a brief moment, you could’ve sworn he looked... lonely.

“I’m ready,” you announced yourself. It felt wrong to keep looking at him like that.

Jaemin turned around, focusing a dazzling smile on you, “Lead the way, Y/N.”

The place you were thinking of really was just a couple blocks down the street. Mumbling a thanks to Jaemin as he held the door open for you, you were immediately met with a packed restaurant. It was seat-yourself, and you managed to spot a small table for two in the very back corner, right beside the entrance to the kitchen. Guiding Jaemin over to it, you felt your face turn warm as he pulled your chair out for you.

The menu was a singular piece of laminated paper taped to the tabletop, and your eyes skimmed it. You ordered the same thing every time at this point, but it was something to look at other than the god in front of you. Speaking of, he was a god. Did he even need to eat?

“Jaemin.” You said his name as you looked up from the menu.

His eyes flicked up from where they’d also been reading the options, “Hm?”

“Do you even eat, like, normal food?”

“I can if I want to, I just don’t need it to survive like you do.”

“Oh, I see. And do you... like it?”

“Quite.”

It was then that a familiar waiter came up to your table, “Hi, Y/N! It’s been a while. Almost didn’t recognize you at a table instead of the bar.”

Typically, you would come by yourself and sit at the bartop to eat alone alongside all the other solo patrons. You rolled your eyes at the slight jab, “Thank you, Chenle, I feel so welcome.”

“Aw, you know you’re one of my favorite regulars,” the young man snickered.

“Yeah, whatever. Sorry I haven’t been by lately, I didn’t exactly have the funds to eat out.”

“That’s okay. But you’re back, does that mean that you found a job?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Congrats!” He then focused his attention on the man across from you, “Hi, I’m Zhong Chenle.”

You moved to introduce the two before Jaemin could open his mouth, afraid of what he would’ve said. “Chenle, this is Jaemin, a... friend of mine. Jaemin, this is Chenle, he’s a server here.”

“And I’ll be serving you two tonight. So, what can I get you?”

After taking your orders, Chenle took off to put them in. You shifted in your seat awkwardly. What were you and Jaemin even supposed to talk about?

“You usually sit at the bar?” Jaemin questioned.

“I’m not an alcoholic, despite how Chenle made it sound,” you scoffed. “I usually come by myself, and the bar is the quickest place to get your food and get out. And that way I don’t take up any tables that groups can use.”

“I feel honored that you brought me here, then.”

You searched his face for any hint that he was teasing you, but all you found was sincere curiosity. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you changed the topic, “So why did you show up tonight? You didn’t come all last week.”

“Well, I had to hold up my end of the deal first.”

“Right, that... makes sense.” Realizing that you hadn’t even thanked him for whatever he’d done for you, you added, “Thank you, Jaemin. For you know, the job.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chenle returned then with a small bottle of soju for each of you, informing you that your food would be ready soon.

“So is it everything you’d dreamed of? Working at Kim & Moon?” Jaemin asked before lifting his bottle to his lips.

“Today was only my first day but... yes. I’ve already learned a lot, was listened to when I spoke, and the partner I work for seems like an incredible woman so far. It’s wonderful.”

“I hope it stays that wonderful for you, Y/N. I’d like to see your eyes light up like this often.”

Looking down at the green bottle in front of you, you twisted your ring around your finger nervously. You didn’t know what to say back, your heart fluttering around in your chest. Jaemin was charming, too charming for your own good, and you sort of felt like you really shouldn’t have expected any less from a god.

“Are you curious?”

You snapped your head up to look at your companion, not even attempting to hide your confusion at his words, “About what?”

“What I did, to get you the job.”

“I mean, I am. I assume you had something to do with Yejin winning the lottery? You’re the god of everything below the Earth, including precious gems, gold, silver. The god of riches, wealth. In the modern day that would translate to how we view wealth and riches now, since I’m not really out here buying my groceries with rubies and gold coins. Right?”

Jaemin’s obsidian eyes practically glittered as he listened to you speak, his lips curling up at one corner before he took another swig of his soju. When you were finished, he set the bottle back onto the table to answer your question, “Hit the nail on the head.”

“Honestly, I’m just glad you did that instead of killing her or something horrible.”

His head jerked back as he looked at you with bewilderment, “Now why would I do that? I’m the god of the dead, not death. If you wanted her dead you’re talking to the wrong deity.”

“I don’t want her dead, that’s my point. That’s what Jeno was joking about on the phone before you showed up; I didn’t want you to get any ideas.”

“I don’t really find it fun to just push people into traffic.”

“So you were listening to—” You cut yourself off as you saw Chenle approaching with your food. Not a conversation to be having in front of your normal human waiter.

After he had left your table again, you returned to what you were saying before, “So you were listening to our conversation.”

“Can’t help myself, I’m nosy when it comes to the humans who summon me,” Jaemin admitted.

“So what does Hades do for fun then?” You asked lightheartedly, slurping at some of your broth.

“While I don’t necessarily enjoy pushing people into traffic, I do find it much more fun to let a human become suddenly awash with money and watch what happens when they eventually lose it all. See what they spend it on, who they spend it on. Themselves mostly, sometimes others, trying to get people to be their friends or lovers simply because of what they’ll buy them. I’ll watch them do what humans do best, use and abuse the gifts that were given to them. And then once they’ve been sucked dry both in their finances and their souls, find out how they try to move on.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?” You set your spoon down, voice wavering. “Watching and waiting for me to end up like that?”

Jaemin took a pause, shifting forward in his seat before responding, “One of my favorite things about humans is how resilient you are. Always trying to bounce back. It’s fascinating to find out your breaking point, when you have no more bounce left.”

An absolutely devilish smile played across his features as he seemed to take delight in the notion. He didn’t exactly answer your question, but the lack thereof felt like enough.

“Why?”

“Because it’s different for every person, and always further than I think it’ll be. Even after so long, knowing that humans can still surprise me, it’s refreshing. Makes me think that…”

You blinked at him, waiting for him to finish. He was definitely well aware that he had your rapt attention, basking in the drama he had created by pausing. His eyes settled on you firmly, holding eye contact as something softer entered them.

“Maybe you’ll surprise me, too.”

Jaemin came back to your apartment with you after you’d decided you were full. You hadn’t had much of an appetite after that harrowing conversation over dinner, and he’d left you with a lot of thinking to do. It wasn’t every day that you heard a god’s perspective on human lives—on toying with human lives, watching for their eventual breakdown in the aftermath of the ‘gifts’ he gave them. If that’s what it did to them all, it seemed much more like a curse to you.

And you were of course thinking about whether it would happen to you too. You hadn’t wished for riches or wealth directly, definitely not so much that it would have the same effect on your life as winning the lottery. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t worried. And the idea of Jaemin watching you every step of the way, waiting to see when you’d slip up, when you’d meet your breaking point, made you shiver instinctually.

“Are you cold?” Jaemin’s question broke the silence that had been hovering over you two since you started the walk from the restaurant back to your apartment.

“Oh, no, I—”

But he had already shrugged his suit jacket off and laid it over your shoulders. There was no residual body heat in it, but it did help block out some of the breeze blowing past you. You hadn’t noticed the temperature at all, too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

“Thanks,” you muttered, wrapping the jacket tighter around your shoulders. It smelled faintly of spiced citrus.

“No worries.”

Back in your apartment, you wanted nothing more than to lay in bed staring up at your ceiling as you gave yourself over fully to the existential crisis you were descending into. But you still had a god to entertain.

A glance at the change in time on your stovetop clock let you know that you were only a couple hours into your commitment. You hoped he didn’t expect you to stay up all night with him. Leaving Jaemin in your living room once again, you changed into pajamas in your bedroom. If he was going to be with you every night from here on out, you were at least going to be comfy for some of it.

Jaemin was back in the armchair he had appeared in at the beginning of the night, one knee crossed over the other and a book in hand. You paused behind him on your way back into the living room to peer over his shoulder, trying to read the title at the top of the page he was on.

“The Turn of the Screw?” You questioned, walking around him to plop down onto your couch.

“I found it on your shelf,” he gestured to the built-in shelves in the walls around the recess that held your TV. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Knock yourself out, I haven’t touched it since I had to read it for a ghost literature class like… four years ago.”

“Ghost literature class?” Jaemin lowered the book to rest on his leg while he regarded you with an eyebrow raised. “Did you go to school in the Underworld or something?”

“It was actually called like ‘Ghost Stories and Haunted Fiction of the 19th Century’ or something. The students just called it ghost lit. We read all these spooky stories, including The Turn of the Screw,” you explained, then looked around your living room. “I have a few more of them around here somewhere. Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein— I can’t remember the full reading list, but they’re scattered around.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He raised the book back up to continue reading intently.

Since he seemed occupied for the moment, you pulled out your phone to distract yourself.

A couple hours later and you let out your first yawn of the night. You’d thought that Jaemin was so enraptured by the book that he wasn’t paying any attention to you. The chuckle he gave from across the room proved you wrong, however. There was definitely nothing funny in that story. You threw him a scowl, but he neither looked up from the book nor said anything.

Shifting in your spot to get comfy again, you returned to the article that you’d been reading on your phone and your guest was quiet once again. Another yawn split your mouth, and the words on your screen swam in your vision as your eyes teared up.

“Tired, Y/N?” Jaemin’s eyes still hadn’t left the book as he continued, “You should go to sleep, early day at work tomorrow, right?”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I thought I’d finish this book, if that’s alright with you. I’ve got about… thirty, forty pages left.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you were surprised both that he was encouraging you to go to sleep during the time you’d agreed to forfeit to him, and that he wanted to finish the book.

Standing up from the couch, you shuffled into your kitchen to fill up a glass of water. After knocking back your nightly medication, you placed the water on your nightstand and went into your bathroom to do your nighttime routine. You found yourself hovering at the threshold between the hallway that contained your bedroom and bathroom, and the living room. It felt weird to just go to bed with someone else in your home, at least not without saying goodnight to them.

“Uhm,” you cleared your throat.

Jaemin turned to look at you from over the back of the armchair, “Yes, Y/N?”

“I just wanted to…” you felt the words catch in your throat. Pushing through your awkwardness, you twisted the ring around your finger as you forced the words out, “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He smiled at you before turning back around to face his book, “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, you retreated into your bedroom for the night, falling asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The man of shadows was in your dreams again that night, drawing you to the tree with the golden fruit. His voice once more invited you to partake in picking the fruit, and your hand inched up, up, up, towards one. Your fingers had just wrapped around the fruit, ready to pluck it off the branch, when you woke up.

When you awoke the next morning, you went through the motions of your morning routine, strolling from your bathroom out to your kitchen, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth. You continued brushing your teeth with one hand as you grabbed the freshly popped toast from the toaster to put on a plate. As you went to lean over the kitchen sink to spit the toothpaste foam out of your mouth, your eyes got caught on something in the living room, which the sink overlooked. There was a small black pouch sitting on the coffee table, on the corner closest to the armchair.

After wiping your mouth off, you walked over to your coffee table, intrigue building as you picked up the velvet drawstring pouch. Looking around, you were only greeted by your empty apartment. This wasn’t here last night. Or at least, not before you went to sleep.

Pulling it open, you gently shook the contents out onto your palm. It was a silver bracelet, intricate filigree running along the band that was inlaid with gorgeous green and blue gems.

Jaemin’s words from dinner last night echoed in your head.

‘I do find it much more fun to let a human become suddenly awash with money and watch what happens when they eventually lose it all… It’s fascinating to find out your breaking point…’

A foreboding feeling colored your vision, and you rushed to tuck the bracelet back into the bag and throw it onto the table.

When Jaemin came that night, you were cooking dinner in your kitchen. He appeared there with you, leaning against the counter next to your sink as you were standing over the stovetop.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greeted you.

“Hello, Jaemin.” You steeled your nerves, giving as nonchalant of a nod as you could towards the living room, “You left something here last night. It’s on the coffee table.”

The god regarded you with a tilted head, and you felt his eyes on your empty wrists, “That was for you.”

“I didn’t ask you for anything like that.”

“I know. It was a gift.”

“The job was plenty, Jaemin.”

He was silent as he continued to watch you cook. After a grueling couple of minutes of absolute silence, his eyes burning into you the whole time, you finally turned to properly look him in the face. Throwing on a smile, you informed him, “Dinner’s ready. Ravioli, would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

You set two places at your dinner table before plating two portions of the pasta. Jaemin was still in his place next to the sink, observing your movements.

“Go ahead and sit, I’m just going to grab a couple glasses,” you gestured towards the kitchen table.

Without even waiting to see if he’d obey, you bustled over to a cabinet and took out two wine glasses, then grabbed a bottle of white wine you’d been meaning to finish off. When you turned back to the kitchen table, you were pleasantly surprised to see Jaemin waiting there patiently, fidgeting with his silverware. Setting the two glasses down, you noticed that Jaemin’s silverware was in different places than you had put them in when you hastily set the table. The fork was on the left of the plate, the knife and spoon on the right with the knife directly beside the plate and the spoon on the other side of the knife. Yours on the other hand were in the haphazard places atop the napkin that you had put them earlier.

“Apologies for the subpar fork placement,” you said, uncorking the wine to begin pouring it out first for Jaemin.

“Oh, it’s just a habit,” he explained. His tone then turned as teasing as yours had been, “My apologies for making you think your fork placement was anything other than above par.”

You then poured for yourself as you continued the banter, “Yeah, you know, I really pride myself on my utensil arranging skills. My feelings have been gravely wounded. I’ll never recover from this.”

“Then would you consider taking this,” he procured a small black pouch from his pocket, and you had a suspicion as to exactly what was in it, “as repentance, with my sincerest apologies?”

A bitter sigh came out of your mouth at him ruining the perfectly normal moment you were enjoying, “Jaemin, I told you I don’t want any more gifts from you.”

The way you spat out the word ‘gifts’ was apparently a lightbulb moment for him as he set the pouch down on the table and all playfulness dropped from his face. Disinterested in whatever he was going to say to try to convince you to take it, you picked up your fork, using the side of the tongs to cut one of your raviolis in half.

“Y/N…” he said your name almost wistfully, leaning forward towards you earnestly. “I really do just want you to have it. It’s not a test or a ruse, just… a token.”

“A token of what?” You snorted, spearing half of the ravioli that you’d just cut and bringing it up to your mouth.

“My affection?”

You choked momentarily on the pasta in your mouth, chewing and swallowing it as quickly as possible and taking a sip of your wine to wash it down. Jaemin still hadn’t touched his food, utensils undisturbed as he waited for you to collect yourself. When you searched his face for a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes, anything to indicate that he was being less than truthful, you found none. You were just met with deep open pools of black in his eyes, his mouth set in seriousness, and his hand once again holding the pouch back out to you.

“Your what?”

“I know you heard me.”

“Yes, and now I’m asking for clarification.”

“I find you fascinating, and not in the morbid kind of way like I described to you last night. I’ve found myself starting to become fond of you, and I wanted to show that to you with a… present.”

“What, like getting your puppy a new chew toy because they’re so darn cute?”

Jaemin chuckled, “Not quite. But still, will you please accept it, Y/N?”

You thought it over for another moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek. He was being sincere, you were sure of it. You’d caught brief glimpses of the kinder side to Jaemin just in the few times you’d met him: when he’d leant you his suit jacket walking home last night, telling you he was hoping you’d continue being in love with your job, the gentlemanly peck he’d left on your fingers the night you’d made your deal. And now, as he patiently awaited your answer.

“Alright,” you agreed, taking the small bag from him. “Thank you, Jaemin.”

“Thank you for letting me give it to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Pulling the bracelet back out of the pouch, you saw that it had a hinge mechanism on it that you couldn’t manage one-handed, and held it out to the god sitting in front of you, “Will you help me put it on?”

“Of course,” he took it, opening the band up with ease.

You held your right hand out towards him, and he brought the open bracelet up around your wrist. But you weren’t watching the way his deft fingers put it on around your wrist, the tips of them brushing over the sensitive skin at your pulse point, leaving coolness behind. You were watching his face as he focused on the task intently, his brows furrowing in concentration then relaxing after the bracelet had clicked shut. A small but tender smile took over his face, his eyes softening as he turned your hand over palm down, thumb running up your ring finger until it reached the silver band that resided there.

Your skin buzzed in the wake of his touch, an electric cold. You could hear your heart thudding in your ears and hoped that he didn’t have supernatural god hearing or something and could hear it too. If he did, he gave no indication of such. He withdrew his hands, leaving you more dazed than you should’ve been at the minimal contact you had. Jerking your hand back to your side of the table, you turned your gaze down at your food, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks were.

A light laugh came from Jaemin, but you couldn’t force your eyes back up to him, knowing that his were already on you.

That night you dreamt once more of the man cast in darkness, leading you to the tree of golden fruit. This time when he encouraged you to pick one, you grasped at the fruit with two hands, pulling it right off the branch with a firm tug.

Just about one month into your… arrangement with Jaemin, you were rooting through your fridge for something to make for dinner when there was suddenly a cool breeze on the back of your neck. Except you were indoors.

Spinning around, you were immediately met with the god extremely close to you, and let out an exasperated sigh, “God damn, Jaemin, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I can’t help it if I make your heart race,” he grinned, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart pound in a different way that it had been.

“Yeah, because you jumpscared me,” you rolled your eyes, shutting the fridge doors to then lean back against the appliance. “Anyway, it’s not looking like I have anything to make for dinner. You okay with eating out tonight?”

“More than, I was actually hoping you’d let me take you somewhere tonight.”

“Where?”

“My place. You’ve been such a gracious host this whole time, it’s time I repay the favor.”

“Your place, as in... the Underworld?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged nonchalantly, an enticing grin on his features. A grin that invited you to follow its owner to places you’d never been before. “I promise you’ll come back.”

“In one piece?”

“Of course.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued, that you hadn’t tried to picture what the Underworld looked like. All you could come up with was the standard image of hell: flames, pitchforks, eternal torture. But now you were getting an invitation to go there with Hades and come back alive.

“And I’ll be back in time to go to work in the morning?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Alright, sure,” you finally acquiesced. “I’d love to, thank you for inviting me.”

Jaemin offered his hand out to you then, and you placed your atop. He gave yours a light squeeze, “Just focus on me, Y/N. Just look in my eyes.”

“Okay?” You agreed despite your tone pitching it up into a question, unsure of why exactly he was asking you to do that.

Nevertheless, you settled your gaze on his eyes, even as he drew you in closer by the light grip on your hand. You gave him an awkward half-smile, unsure of what exactly to do as you just stared him directly in the eye. His dark eyes had a calming effect, however, as you felt your breathing even out and your heartbeat slow. This close to him, and being able to unabashedly look at him, you were entranced by the unearthly quality to his beauty. It should have been disquieting, this spectral vision in front of you, but you just found yourself drawn even closer in body and mind.

Then suddenly everything around you was darker, as if someone had dimmed your kitchen lights. The air was cooler too, and you had the suspicion that you were no longer in your kitchen. But you were still looking at Jaemin, just like you said you would.

He was looking right back at you, unflinchingly, and a fond smile crossed his lips before he announced quietly, “We’re here. You can look.”

And you finally tore your eyes from him to take in your new surroundings. It was dark, just like you’d noted before, as if it were nighttime. The room you were in had black floors, black walls, and at the very tippy top of the black vaulted ceiling, a black wrought iron chandelier with flames glowing... blue? But you couldn’t focus on the flickering up above you as Jaemin’s fingers entwined with yours and he gently tugged you towards the other side of the room.

“Come on, this way.”

It looked like you were maybe in an entrance hall of some sort. It was then that you spotted a large black throne adorned with silver detailing and embellishments at the front of the room. Jaemin kept walking right past it, though, down an adjoining hallway.

Your wide eyes that had been taking everything in turned downwards to your hand that was holding Jaemin’s. His skin was the usual coolness you had come to expect, and your fingertips brushed against the multitudes of rings on his fingers. Seeing the lone silver band on your hand, the one that he was holding, made your face hot for some reason.

You passed through another doorway into a dining room. It contained a large dining table crafted from dark walnut wood, the twelve high-back chairs around it made of the same. A deep red table runner went across the length of the tabletop, matching the upholstery of the chairs. A feast was already laid out, and place settings for two of the seats were prepared.

Jaemin let go of your hand to pull out a chair for you. You thanked him quietly as you sat down, eyes still scanning over the food options. He sat in the chair caddy-corner to yours, at the head of the table.

“Go ahead, Y/N,” Jaemin encouraged you as he reached forward to grab the bottle of wine that had been on the table as well.

“Everything looks... so good,” you said, not sure what to try first.

He uncorked the bottle, pouring the red wine into your glass first, then his. When he put the bottle down, you still hadn’t moved, too overwhelmed with all the delicious-looking choices.

“Do I need to make your plate for you?” He teased, already standing and grabbing your plate.

“This is good, you’ll probably like this one, oh you’re going to love this one, everyone likes that, mmm definitely not that,” he mumbled to himself as he loaded up your plate with food after food.

Your heart did flips as you looked up at him, the simple kindness of his actions making you feel warm despite the coolness of the Underworld.

Jaemin set your plate back down in front of you between your utensils, spoon on the far right, then the knife beside the plate, and the fork on the left. You waited for him to prepare his own plate of food, then finally be seated. When he’d finished scooting his chair up to table, he looked up from what he’d been doing, eyes catching yours, and a small, affectionate smile crossed his lips before he grabbed his wine glass. Then a wide, charismatic grin overtook his features as he held his glass out towards you, and you followed his lead, picking yours up to clink them together.

“To one month of… you and I. Thank you for agreeing to come here tonight, Y/N.”

‘You and I.’ His words both squeezed your chest and made it feel airy, like someone was inflating a balloon inside of it.

“Thank you for hosting tonight, Jaemin. And here’s to one month of…” you took a sharp inhale as you stumbled through your mind for any other word but couldn’t find one in that moment. “Us.”

You saw Jaemin’s pale lips softly, silently repeat the word before pulling into an alluring smirk.

And you each took a sip of the wine before digging into your food and kicking off the discussion. Over your month of dinners and nighttime socializing with Jaemin, you were used to your conversations meandering between the casual catching up of your workday to the serious contemplations of life and the universe. After all, if you were dining with a god, you were going to pick his brain for some philosophical inquiry. But on the days where some of the medical malpractice or domestic pro bono cases had hit you exceptionally hard and you wanted to leave well enough alone, Jaemin let you keep the topics light and surface level, keeping it at office gossip and the like.

Tonight though, with the special venue on your mind, you immediately delved into the existential, “So what are humans to you?”

“How do you mean?” Jaemin arched an eyebrow at your question.

“You’re a god. You’ve lived for thousands of years. You’ve seen millions of humans live and die. Surely, we all just kind of… blur together for you. Seem the same. Inconsequential.”

“No, not at all.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m here,” you teased before returning to your debate. “Most of us live and die without ever leaving a lasting impact on the world. Not that I think that’s necessary for having lived a meaningful or good life, I think that making even one person smile means that someone lived a good life. But in relation to you, a god, surely that makes us all indistinguishable from one another.”

“Is a play bad because it ends? Is a flower no longer beautiful because it will wilt? I think that humans and your lives are so intriguing because they’re finite.” He was as impassioned as ever when getting into your metaphysical dialogues— voice strong with resolve, leaning forward towards you earnestly, brow set just the slightest not with anger but determination, and hair falling into his onyx eyes that looked into yours without hesitation. “An incalculable but unquestionably limited amount of time, one chance, and each of you choose to live differently.”

“You still think that every human life is different from all the others?”

“Of course.” Apparently sensing that he hadn’t convinced you yet, Jaemin continued with an example, “Just look at you and your friend Jeno. Sure, the two of you converged pretty closely in college, but he made the choice to begin his career while you made the choice pursue higher education. Your two lives aren’t the same.”

“There’s also another major difference between the two of us.”

At the imploring tilt of his head, you deadpanned, “Only one of us made a deal with Hades for a third of our life.”

“An astute observation, Y/N,” Jaemin chuckled, relaxing back in his chair now that you’d changed up the tone of the conversation.

When both of your plates and glasses were empty, Jaemin took you by the hand once again to guide you from the dining room, as he apparently wanted to show you something. You emerged onto a patio of some sort, but that wasn’t what you were focused on. In front of you was a tree maybe ten or fifteen feet tall, an elegantly thin and sloping trunk, and along its many branches were round golden fruit the size of your palm. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that came from you as you took in the dazzling sight. Everything about the tree was normal from the texture of the brown bark to the dark green leaves, and even the dappling of the outer shell of the pomegranates that grew on it looked real, aside from the gilded color. It was magical, and you were happy just to know that something so beautiful existed.

“Thank you for showing me this, Jaemin,” you said, turning to look at the god who had stopped beside you.

You thought that he’d be looking at the scenery too, but his eyes were on you. He had a familiar look on his face, a small, tender smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, dark eyes holding a latent warmth like coals after a fire, and you felt tempted to get even closer to indulge in it.

But instead, you steeled your nerves to ask, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Your tone wasn’t as accusatory as your words were, it was a sincerely curious question.

“Like what?” Jaemin was quick to reply with a question of his own, keeping his attitude light but genuine.

“You keep smiling at me with this soft little smile.”

“I keep doing it? When was I doing it before?”

“When we first got here, when you sat down at dinner tonight, and just now, when you brought me out here.” It had made your heart go haywire every time you noticed it, so you were able to list the instances from tonight off the top of your head. But that wasn’t all, there was a reason why it was imprinted into the back of your eyelids like a burned-out LCD screen, “It’s like… like… you want to kiss me.”

“I do,” Jaemin declared, eyes never leaving yours, voice never wavering, so damn sure of himself. Even as you were here in front of him feeling like you were nearly ready to rip your hair out from just a few little smiles from him.

He was always like this. So charming, so smooth, playfully talking around your questions. Pulling you along with him, dancing with you through your conversation. You had to meet him head on, even if it felt like you were going crazy doing so. You did it during your dinners, you could do it now too.

“Is that why you’re smiling at me like that?”

“Do you want me to? Kiss you?” He took a step towards you. For a brief moment he was all you could see, all dark hair, dark eyes, and silver earrings.

“I want to know why you look at me like that.” You stepped back from him, wrapped in the heady smell of his cologne. Cinnamon, bergamot, an earthy scent too maybe? Your head was swimming with it, but you needed to focus on the conversation at hand.

“And I want to know if you want me to kiss you or not.” Another step, once again narrowing the distance between you.

“I asked first, Jaemin,” you poked your pointer finger against his chest as a warning. “An answer for an answer.”

He stayed put, seeming to be fighting a delighted smirk from his face as he looked between your face and the finger you held up defensively between the two of you. Jaemin’s features relaxed as he clasped his hands together behind his back, looking into your eyes earnestly, “All of those times that I’ve been looking at you tonight, I was thinking to myself, ‘It feels like she’s come home.’ You just looked like you belonged here, in my home, with me. It felt like I belonged with you. And that made me want to kiss you. That’s why.”

Of all the answers you had been expecting, that hadn’t quite been one of them. Grand declarations of love were a faraway possibility, sure, you’d seen movies before. That’s not what this was, though. This was both more and less. You hadn’t anticipated for Hades’ answer to be so simple yet all-soul-encompassing as the idea of coming home. While everything tonight had definitely been new and unfamiliar to you, you hadn’t been intimidated or uncomfortable in any way. With Jaemin at your side, you’d been able to take it all in with wonder and an open mind, knowing that you had him right there watching over you.

“I believe you owe me an answer now too, Y/N.” Jaemin’s voice was quiet, low, meant only for you. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Your gaze fell to the finger you had to his chest, your right hand. It had lost all the force you started with, limp and simply resting against him. You could see the silver ring there, and lower on your arm was the bracelet he’d given you, both pieces of jewelry glinting in the hazy light afforded in the Underworld. You briefly wondered if they had come from here, from deep under the Earth; if they’d come home tonight, too. The god in front of you remained silent, waiting for your response. If there was one thing Jaemin was good at, it was waiting— after he’d given you his final push.

Then you finally looked back up at his face, into the sunken obsidian black that greeted you there. That ever-stubborn lock of raven hair was hanging between his brows, and you had a sudden and smitten urge to fix it. But you had something more important to do in that moment. After all, he’d given you his answer, now you owed him yours. And you’d made up your mind.

Your mouth had barely started forming around your answer before it was captured by Jaemin’s in a kiss that was equal parts tender and ravishing. It felt like he was trying to devour your ‘yes’ right off your tongue and keep it all to himself. Admittedly, your head had started nodding before your vocal cords could work.

If you thought you were swimming in spices and citrus before, you were drowning in them now. Cinnamon, oranges, and… cedar. Your hand that had previously been poking at his chest was now crumpling the collar of his dress shirt, the other hooking a finger in one of the belt loops at the front of his slacks to yank him closer. His own hands were doing their part, too. One cupped your cheek while the other held you by your waist. The sweetest nectar was being dripped into your veins, and you hungrily took more and more with each wanton kiss from Jaemin.

When his lips finally parted from yours, you couldn’t help but steal just one more kiss. He let out a breathy chuckle as he clasped a hand over the one you were grasping at his shirt with to gently pull it off, his thumb then rubbing slow circles into your palm. His hand that had been on your cheek dipped to gently grip your chin, and as he looked at you, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m home,” you promised.

The shadowy man was back in your dreams that night, and this time the golden fruit was already in your two hands. He was encouraging you to break it open, feed on its juicy flesh that he promises will taste so good.

You woke up before you could follow through on the decision you’d already made.

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[rallamajoop]

There’s definitely some stuff pre Miranda in terms of pagan imagery, no? Between the ancient Kings with clawed hands and feet protecting the “holy grail,” or the Lord of the Castle creating a dagger to slay demons, or goats and goddesses and so forth — I wonder, why Miranda didn’t necessarily get rid of it all. And on top of that, there’s a lot of Christin art in the ruins from the ceremony site to the alter. The stronghold was once occupied by non “heathens,” so — the history feels rich here.

Well, firstly, calling everything pre-Miranda 'pagan' is simplifying a lot. Here's some of what you can find around the village which presumably pre-dates her:

The statues of the four founders, which are referenced in a diary which seems to be centuries old (They don't have clawed hands in the game, though I guess they have kinda weird nails in some of the concept art? Is that what you're referring to?) We don't know if they worshiped the megamycete, or whether they perhaps even claimed the 'grail'/Giant's Chalice was a legit Christian artifact, so 'pagan' isn't really accurate.

Images of Orthodox Christian saints painted on the walls of the village church and other locations, implying the building was repurposed by Miranda for her cult.

The statue and relief of the Maiden of War protecting the village from a demon with her goat's head shield, and a recurring motif of goat heads or goat sacrifices for protection.

The dagger has no obvious spiritual motif, and probably doesn't even come from the village (poisons on it supposedly come from "across the continent"), so not much to say on that one.

"The stronghold was once occupied by non “heathens,”

The term actually used is 'heretics', not that it makes a lot of difference. But given what part of Europe we're in, 'heretics' could well be a reference to the Ottoman empire ‒ or heck, maybe even just some other Christian sect to whoever's defending it. The letter exists to contextualise the existence of the stronghold (past battles fought in the region), and to emphasise the age of the statues (though it's undated, so all we really know is 'they're old'). I wouldn't take it as necessarily significant of much more than that.

"I wonder, why Miranda didn’t necessarily get rid of it all"

So, here we get to the real crux of the question! But really, why bother? None of that history threatened Miranda, and plenty of it enhanced her own image. Being able to claim her four lords were descended from ancient founders with those enormous statues could only boost her authority. Images of Miranda from around the village are thick with appropriated catholic or orthodox imagery too. And why discourage a tradition of goat sacrifices if people could just sacrifice goats directly to her? You don't have to rebuild everything from scratch.

Savvy religions do this sort of thing all the time. It's not unheard of for newly Christianised regions to turn local culture heroes into saints, recast fairies as fallen angels who tithe to hell, and add a layer of religious overtones to older seasonal festivals like Christmas and Easter. It creates the illusion that your new religion has been part of the landscape since long before it actually arrived, and saves on disillusioning locals who don't want to give up old traditions.

Obviously, there are also plenty of histories and cultures which have been lost under the spread of Christianity (or Islam, or whoever else has just moved in and reclassified whatever it doesn't like as pagan heresy). But not all conquerors bother, and even major religions can be remarkably pragmatic when it suits their purposes (and I'm sure plenty of individual locals will do likewise, when they want an excuse to carry on like they always have). Heck, half the real-world cults out there today start with someone sharing their weird bible fanfiction. Try and build it all from scratch, and you'll just alienate people.

As for RE8 specifically, well, it's pretty safe to say that any village which has gone merrily on treating goats' heads as a protective symbol well into its Christian era is not going to be an village that's keen to throw out all its old traditions overnight. Why build a new church when you can just retrofit the one you've got?

Maybe some of this history dates back to when there was supposed to be a whole section of the game set in the past. Other elements were clearly there in concept work from long before Mother Miranda became the centre of the cult. There's guaranteed to be a wealth of other unused material written to flesh out the village and its history that we never got to see.

Now, as I said in my post on the goats, I don't know how many of these beautifully-formed sedimentary layers of religious history were laid down by the writers deliberately, or how much was simply an artifact of a complicated development history, but I love it anyway. Real European history from places like the village is frequently every bit as layered as this, and then some.

Miranda's cult may have been around for a century, but that's nothing in historical terms. Before that, the village was presumably Orthodox Christian. But the mould had clearly left its mark on the landscape since long before Miranda's day, and the giant's chalice attests to something much, much older. The note from the stronghold suggests those statues were ancient even in medieval times.

Was the demon pictured on the maiden relief a mould-empowered monster? Was the goat's head pictured on her shield the origin of the protective goat's head superstition, or merely a reflection of it? Who knows ‒ even the writers may not have had specific answers in mind - but you can imagine you see remnants of these pre-existing eras and superstitions still reflected in Miranda's cult in the present, and that creates something that feels genuinely organic to me in a very satisfying way.

There is a wealth of material hinted at here that could easily form the basis of RE9, but I have no idea whether Capcom means to do that. What matters is that what's already in RE8 works on its own merits, even absent hypothetical further lore dumps from future installments.

[i-gwarth]

Dead Space (2023) - Social themes and Unitology

I was a big fan of the original trilogy and I cam to this remake with high hopes. I got pretty much what I expected i.e. a recapturing of the visuals and sounds and scares of the original with a tightened narrative and some new bells and whistles. I sort of hope this leads EA to revive the series, because I feel like this setting has themes even more relevant in 2023 than they were in 2008.

Settings like the Expanse and Dead Space, and even older ones like Alien, try to imagine what the world would look like if (in the words of Cody Johnston) you try to build Star Trek but skip a bunch of steps. You get a highly-technological society that's also a hellhole, owned either by mega-corporations like CEC, or de-facto totalitarian regimes like EarthGov, which constantly try to out-do one another in repression, control and dystopianism. Workers are inevitably *fucked* in a setting like this; there's too much power, technology and wealth concentrated at the top for any sort of social change to be viable. It almost feels like it's too late.

And all you have to do to see the seeds of that world is look out the window, at the society we have in the 2020s.

Dead Space in particular also carries a third element to the far-future space-dystopia: grift religions. In a world where most people live under some form of repression, hope can become a commodity. And that inevitably will lead someone to figure out how to manufacture, package and sell it. The movie Babylon AD portrays something like this with the Noelite church, but Dead Space does it more elaborately.

Back when I played the 2008 version of Dead Space, the Church of Unitology was its most outlandish and least believable aspect. I could believe aliens that reanimated dead tissue, but this? It was *so obviously* a con job, so clearly aimed at bringing a minimal amount of hope to the lower classes while creating the most amount of power for itself. It was so transparently similar to the Scientologist cult, that I had a hard time believing anyone could ever fall for it. I didn't think a modern, post-Enlightenment society could be tricked by this shallow veneer of superstitious, spiritualist "hope".

But then 15 years passed. I grew up and learned about how nobody is completely immune to cult conditioning. I found out how rare critical thinking actually is. Then Qanon happened. I started reading about a cult that tricked a bunch of bigoted, self-righteous people into giving its figureheads money and worshipping a transparently self-serving con-man. I heard people talk with conviction about the certainty of the Great Awakening.

I basically watched the American public (and some Europeans) get tricked by a cult that's about a thousand times less refined and well-constructed than Unitology. It worked. A bunch of shitposts by internet ratfucker Ron Watkins triggered a political movement with evident religious overtones.

Late capitalism so thoroughly rots the brain of people that some will be ready to believe anything if it will give them a feeling of hope, no matter how feeble and transparently artificial.

I'm not trying to say that some garish horror videogame is providing prophecy on the shape of the future. But I do think it's illustrative of the necessity for social change in order for humanity to avoid living in a dystopia that's even worse and stupider than anything imagined by fiction. It's such an obvious and inescapable necessity that even a game published by one of the worst companies in the world can capture it. The worst direct critique of capitalism Dead Space can come up with is a shitty grafitto in a bathroom stall. But indirectly, the inevitability of collapse is almost taken for granted.

[dutch-and-flemish-painters]

Charles de Groux - Blessing before supper - 1861

oil on canvas, height: 41.3 cm (16.2 in); width: 78.2 cm (30.7 in)

Museum of Fine Arts Ghent (MSK), Belgium

Charles de Groux or Charles Degroux (25 August 1825 – 30 March 1870) was a French painter, engraver, lithographer and illustrator. As he moved to Belgium at a young age and his whole career took place in Belgium he is usually referred to as a Belgian artist. His depictions of scenes from the life of the disadvantaged and lower-class people of his time mark him as the first Belgian social realist painter. These works made him the precursor of Belgian Realist artists such as Constantin Meunier and Eugène Laermans.

De Groux' social realist works contain many religious overtones and references. This is obvious in his The blessing before supper, a solemn depiction of a peasant family saying grace before supper. The painting was closely linked to Christian representations of the Last Supper.

Vincent van Gogh is known to have admired de Groux's work The blessing before supper. Van Gogh's The Potato Eaters was inspired by this work of de Groux.[ Van Gogh also praised de Groux for his excellent 'types'. He was of the view that de Groux' studies and drawings displayed the same 'white-hot' passion that he found in the head studies of Frans Hals and Honoré Daumier, and in the novels of Zola and Balzac.

[clevermird]

Review: The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis

Here we are. The closing chapter. The final story. The Last Battle. In slightly less poetic words, no matter which reading order you use, this is the 7th and concluding installment of The Chronicles of Narnia. It's been hundreds of years since Eustace and Jill freed Prince Rillian from the Emerald Witch and now, in the far western lands of Narnia, rumors are spreading that the lion has returned. But this version of Aslan is very different from the one in the old stories, and when King Tirian tries to put things right, he finds himself in the midst of a battle for the minds and souls of Narnia - one that might be a lost cause. This story was my favorite of the series as a child, and reading it again, it's easy to see why. It's the darkest of the Chronicles with character deaths and destruction of familiar sites from other books abounding. I also loved the mythological, epic tone of the last few chapters. To say too much would spoil the story, but suffice to say that the series ends with a bang that is likely to stick with readers, especially young ones. Some of the metaphors became more obvious as an adult, which, again, without spoilers, involve false prophets and cult leaders, the importance of not blindly following mortal religious leaders, and the variety of human reactions to fear and uncertainty. The book isn't perfect, though. First, like several of the books in this series, it takes a while to really get going and even when it does, the pacing is a bit uneven. Second, while I didn't find the depictions of the Calormines to be that bad overall in The Horse and His Boy, there's definitely some uncomfortable racial overtones and language in a few scenes (the brownface-as-disguise scene and the dialogue surrounding it in particular), even if Lewis pulls of a bit of a saving throw later on with a Calormine character who puts in a brief but meaningful appearance to improve matters. It doesn't dominate the book, but it definitely merits a heads up. I feel like I would be remiss to conclude this review without mentioning the Susan Problem that so many other reviews here and elsewhere have covered. I don't think this is the place for getting into it, but my take is that the most common complaints require a bad-faith interpretation of the text and that in context, it is fairly clear that Susan's problem is not "femininity" but "holding fleeting social popularity as the ultimate goal in life". Overall, while not as technically brilliant and perhaps no longer my favorite, The Last Battle is a book that managed to get me to tear up reading it even now and provides a satisfying conclusion for the series, and really, that's all I could ask for.

Rating: 4/5 stars

[purplelurkinghini]

me: I love writing.

me @ me: Compiling quotes, making Pinterest boards, and rearranging Spotify playlists do not count as writing, you dumb bitch.

[lunarsands]

ALSMP Fanfic: Fatemirrored

Characters: Wither!Sausage, latently revealed Angel!Scott

Warnings:  Violence, Body Horror, Mention of Blood Drinking, Religious Overtones (because angels), Character Death, Hey Guess What this one is also Dark (I kind of feel bad at this point but Here We Are)

Summary: In the utmost turn of cosmic irony, a vampire is reborn as an angel and finds himself immediately at the mercy of an angry wither.

Direct sequel to Bloodfall and Witherrise. Please read those first for this to make sense!

(Also available on Ao3! And hey, it’s a series now!)

[A/N: This starts off with the assumption that the traits of Scott’s new origin didn’t appear right away, as per the ending of Witherrise. | I had started on other plans for doing justice to wither!Sausage’s anticlimactic canon death but this temptation was dangled in front of me and I had to grab it. *chucks other WIP out the window*]

 Fatemirrored

---

Cyan eyes wide, Scott scrambled backward out of Sausage’s reach. The wither’s smile dropped, all pretense of comradery gone, and he lunged after him.  Scott twisted around, pushing off the ground to get to his feet. He shifted to run—

An odd feeling shot through his body, causing him to arch forward, and then a pair of yellow-and-orange feathered wings erupted from his back, tearing through his shirt. Stunned, he fell to his knees, but knowing Sausage was close behind made him hurry to get up again.

“W-What in the world?” Sausage sounded equally dumbfounded, but then he snarled in outrage, “How-?! How did you--?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Scott found himself babbling, reflexively putting his arms up in front of his face to block the expected attack. “Sausage – wait! Stop, please!” He stumbled, unbalanced by the weight of the wings. How had the former angel ever gotten around like this?

The wither did pause, but he glared with unbridled hatred, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes had gone stark white, his skin writhing with shadows. Scott shrunk back, one hand groping for a tree to lean on. Sausage gritted his teeth. “What is this? You steal my wings, you take away my very life, and now—what? You get to be an angel?”

“I – I thought we were past all that,” Scott said weakly, hoping Sausage wasn’t about to go back on his word, that their allyship would still hold up. He very badly wanted to flee but he didn’t think he could outrun the wither just then. Sausage’s throat wheezed loudly. Scott again pictured the demon of the Nether, how relentless they could be once angered. He tried to think of a way to placate him. He didn’t have much to offer. He didn’t even know yet what he could do, besides fly away – if he could figure out how.

“We – We can still work together, Sausage. I’m not automatically some goody-goody daytime lover. There’s still a world of light to conquer.” That was a complete lie. He couldn’t deny his joy at being able to feel the sun without burning. He just needed Sausage to calm down. He shifted his new wings, trying to figure out how to fold them in to be less obvious.

Sausage, however, was following every move of the wings, staring like a man starved for days. Scott began to wish he had come back as anything else – why had it taken so long for them to appear, anyway? He could have already been practicing how to handle flying instead of being pinned by that ravenous gaze like an insect in a display case. He would give anything to not have the wither looking at him like that. Finally, he could stand it no longer and bolted. He dodged through the trees, still struggling to keep his wings in and not catch them on low branches. He heard Sausage come crashing after him.

The tree line ended at a sheer drop. With even older instincts kicking in, Scott spread his wings and launched himself from the edge. The updraft caught him and sent him gliding. It took a few failed adjustments, but he was eventually able to send himself in a purposeful direction. He didn’t try to look back. Sausage may have been able to levitate, but true flight – and pursuit – was out of bounds.

Although Scott had been able to cover a lot of ground quickly with powerful leaps as a vampire, there was a different quality to flying, and it was bringing to mind very old memories from before he had been a vampire. It felt strange, like he could hardly imagine being something different.  He decided not to think too much about it and instead focused on where he should go.  He didn’t want to return to his manor. That was too obvious – Sausage could easily find him there.  He knew dealing with the wither was still his first priority. He suspected that Sausage wasn’t going to just let him go unscathed now. Retribution was absolutely back on the table.

All because of something Scott’d had no control over. Maybe it was a curse that had granted him wings so very like the former angel’s own, and it was he who was now to be hunted. He could perhaps accept that consequence of his own actions and face whatever justice Sausage chose to enact upon him. On the other hand, from the deranged way Sausage had been staring at his wings, he wasn’t sure if the wither hadn’t just lost all semblance of sanity.

Scott then decided he would take refuge right under Sausage’s nose. With a little more confidence in his control of his flight, he flapped his wings and headed in the direction of Heaven’s Reach. A church was where angels belonged, after all, and maybe something there could jog Sausage’s memory about being good and less…vengeful.

Or it could backfire because that was where he had been defeated the first time, but Scott chose to take the risk. He personally didn’t feel any connection to this Saint Pearl, but the idea was inviting. The church offered shelter from the undead, and maybe because of his old connection it would actually be safe from Sausage himself.

Scott tried to make an approach that avoided passing over Wither’s Grasp, even though it was probably unlikely Sausage had made it back there yet. Landing was going to be tricky due to his inexperience, so he settled for gliding back and forth a few times until he was close enough to simply tumble onto the ground. Undignified, but it got him there. He brushed himself off and walked to the church, plucking at the half-tattered remains of his shirt. Maybe there were some extra robes inside or something.

What he did see right away were two wide-eyed clerics tidying up for the day, who immediately stared past his head to his wings. Scott mustered a smile and made up a story about having been passing by and had seen a welcoming place to rest. They didn’t ask which deity he served or how his shirt got ruined, but they did find something he could wear and offered him some food.

Food that wasn’t just slurps of blood turned out to be incredibly fulfilling. He ate with gusto and thanked them for their kindness. This seemed to greatly brighten their mood. They had, he figured, after all been tending to a church seemingly abandoned by its founder for the longest time. The sight of another angel gracing them with its presence was probably akin to a blessing from their god. He smiled a little arrogantly at the thought. Maybe there was an advantage to all this, despite the rough start.

~*~

He stayed there for a day and a half without issue, taking time to get used to the weight of his wings and trying not to give away that he was new to this whole angel thing. The clerics left him alone, respecting his apparent contemplations, aside from inviting him to their meals when they themselves didn’t leave to eat elsewhere. He feigned interest in the books that described Saint Pearl’s life and her dominion over the harvest and valiant warriors. He even tried to make his own holy water when no one was looking, but going about imbuing something with power eluded him for the moment. Definitely didn’t work the same as casting a hex.

It was after nightfall when the clerics had gone home to sleep that he heard a scratching at the door, soon followed by the thud of a fist. Zombies did like to beat on doors they couldn’t open, church or no church. He decided to ignore it and started walking away down the aisle. Then the scratching got louder.

Zombies didn’t scratch.

The door exploded into pieces. Scott shielded himself with his wings, flinching at the all-too-fresh memory of a wooden stake.

The first thud hadn’t been a fist. It had been a thrown skull softening the barrier. Another one flew in and knocked Scott off his feet. Fortunately, the explosion didn’t seem to do too much damage. He shook out a few loosened feathers and coughed from the smoke as he got back up. There was a blue flash, and another skull struck him. This one didn’t explode – instead, as it faded out of existence, he felt a terrible cold settle over him and he found he couldn’t move. All he could do was look over to meet a pair of eyes full of madness as Sausage gripped the door frame with hands of pure bone. He looked more like a vision of death than ever before. Scott wondered how close he had come to seeing this version of Sausage awaken in his prison.

The doorframe creaked. Sausage snarled, “I’m going to rip those wings right off of you, and I’ll tear down this whole building to do it if I have to!” Splinters rained down from where his fingertips dug into the wood, emphasizing his threat.

At least it seemed like he couldn’t properly enter the church. Scott felt warmth return to his limbs, and he eased himself back a step, lowering his wings; at least the effects of the blue skull was only to stun and not permanent, or else he might have become a helpless statue waiting for the walls to come down.

Oh gods, Sausage’s gaze was riveted to his wings again.

He thought back to how the wither had stormed into his manor and ended up destroying his prized trophy. Something was still unresolved there, and it had birthed a clear obsession with the feathered appendages Scott now sported. If only he knew what had first set Sausage off. Something about a grave..? An empty grave, made in the former angel’s honor by someone unknown.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sharp crack! He looked up to see that the lintel above the door was breaking – in fact, the once vibrant wood had turned ashy gray and was splitting in numerous places. Sausage was using his withering powers to erode it away. The decorative vines and flowers in the foyer were shriveling up, the lanterns showing rust.

Maybe he really could bring the church down. Scott could always run away again, but… Sausage was blocking the only exit. Well, the only easy exit. He could always try breaking one of the windows to escape, and with the wither’s power eating away at everything it might prove rather easy. But he did already decide that he would deal with Sausage sooner rather than later.

“How about we avoid the wanton property damage and try to discuss this?”

Sausage growled in response. “What do you care about this place?! You’re just taking advantage of it, it means nothing to you!”

“But these wings mean everything to you.” Scott watched him for a reaction to the words, then purposely spread his wings wide, stretching the feathers as far as they could go. There was another creaking sound as Sausage’s hands gripped the doorframe even harder – if that was possible. Maybe it was actually his finger bones and not the wood. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Sausage. We don’t have to work together, but maybe we can agree to leave each other alone. You won’t have to look at these anymore if we just go our separate ways.”

“I’ll still know you have them,” the wither spat. “I can’t stand knowing.” His face darkened with more shadows, the inverted skull glaring clear as day. Chunks of desiccated wood showered down and even the church’s ceiling seemed to groan.

Scott didn’t fancy being buried in rubble any more than he wanted to feel those skeletal hands on his wings. Perhaps it was time to try a different tactic. “What if I allow you to have that bite of my soul? Would that make us even? I took a part of you, you can take a part of me.”

The shadows raging across Sausage’s face faded somewhat. The cloudy blue returned to his irises with a hint of rationale coming to his eyes as well. “Really? You would agree just like that?” His tone was definitely wary, though.

“Be honest: would you stop even if I did run away?” He spread his arms to indicate the church interior. “If I’m not safe here, where else is there to go?”

There was another flare of anger in Sausage’s eyes, but he did release the door frame. An ominous creak ran through the building. Scott tucked his wings in as he walked toward the foyer, although the urge to use them to block any falling pieces of ceiling on the way was strong. He halted just out of reach, waiting to make sure Sausage wasn’t planning to simply grab him and start pulling off his wings. The wither stepped back, eyeing him cautiously – although at least not as murderously now – then turned to walk several paces away from the church.

Scott steeled himself and followed. He wondered what it was going to feel like. He remembered the time he had watched Sausage pull out an Enderman’s soul. It couldn’t have been pleasant.

Sausage turned to him, already flexing the fingers of his right hand. “Fine,” he said flatly. “Blood already given, for a bit of soul now.” He clamped his left hand down on Scott’s shoulder then plunged his right hand straight into the newly minted angel’s chest. It was all ethereal, no piercing of flesh or spurt of blood, only a dreadful hollow sensation as Scott felt a resistant pull from somewhere inside and then a sharp tug as Sausage withdrew his hand. A golden-hued sphere was clutched in his fingers. They both stared at it for a second, Scott with numb detachment and Sausage with unsuppressed hunger. The wither leaned his head down to bite into the top of it, the sharp fingers of his other hand digging into Scott’s shoulder.

Abruptly the soul flared up like a flame and was yanked out of his hand, returning back into Scott’s body. Sausage yelped and leapt back, clutching at a singed hand, the rising smoke none of his own doing. As he watched, Scott’s eyes began to turn gold, the color spreading through his hair and along the veins of his feathers.

Scott’s head reeled for a moment, arms and wings thrown out to counter the dizziness. He suddenly felt a lot less fearful than he had a few moments ago. He looked over at Sausage’s burnt hand. Arrogance surfaced once again as he tilted his head upward and smiled coldly. “I guess not, then. Perhaps we should just part ways after all.”

Sausage stared at him in disbelief. The aura of holiness now radiating from the former vampire was almost overwhelming. Rage, jealousy, hatred – they all swept through him and he was ready to drown in them. “This…This has to be some kind of cruel joke! This can’t be possible! You were just some normal little thing laying on the ground when I found you! How did you get like this?” The look of madness returned to his eyes. “Why? Why why why WHY?!”

He suddenly threw himself at Scott, burying his fingers in his wings and recklessly gouging out feathers. Scott only barely managed to keep his balance, the withering effect of Sausage’s touch sending a shudder down his spine but he grabbed for Sausage’s wrists to try to stop him.

A golden glow appeared around his hands and smoke began to rise from where he’d made contact with the wither’s skin. Sausage cried out in anger and pain. Scott forced him backward, keeping hold of his wrists. “What’s the matter, Sausage? Didn’t you ever use your angelic power like this? How many creatures of the night did you smite with holy fire?” A fierce grin broke out across Scott’s face. He pushed the wither back another step, tightening his grip. He spread his wings high and shook out the damaged feathers not already torn free, watching as they floated to the ground. “There’s your repayment for all the blood I drank. Happy now?”

“Hhhkk—” Sausage uttered some kind of incoherent noise, unable to break free of Scott’s hold. The shadows were completely gone from his face, leaving him ghostly pale. Anger and fear warred in his eyes.

Scott laughed. He focused on the golden light and imagined it spreading. Instead of it continuing up his own arms, however, meandering threads began to appear along Sausage’s hands. They zigzagged around, almost forming patterns, wrapping around the outside of his sleeves and then appearing across his chest, and onward. Sausage looked down at himself in horror. His arms trembled from the effort of trying to free himself. “Not again,” he wheezed. “Not again!”

A blackened skull appeared between his hands and exploded right in both their faces. Scott was forced to let go, dashing smoke from his eyes and sneering. Sausage cradled his arms against his chest and glanced around in desperation. The golden threads were still on him, spreading. They started to creep onto his face. He couldn’t escape them, just like he couldn’t escape the vampire’s clutches not so long ago.

Scott patted soot from his hair. “You were such a promising lackey when I was a vampire. Now I see you’re just as pathetic as you were when you were an angel. I don’t think you would have ever known what to do with true power. You’re too soft.” He closed in and raised his arms, sweeping his wings forward to enfold Sausage in a mockery of an embrace. The wither wasn’t staring at them now. “You even had the perfect chance to kill me when you first changed. Instead, you let me live. I’m not going to be that weak.”

By this time the golden lines were encircling Sausage’s forehead. They dipped under his eyes, flowing over his cheeks like the trails of a teardrop. They itched but he didn’t dare scratch them. He didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t know what these markings were, or how Scott had placed them on him. The only thought that brought him any sort of comfort was a question of whether he was the same type of angel. One last, bitter smile came to Sausage’s face. “Yes. You and I are very different, Scott. And I hope you suffer for it.”

Scott thrust his wings back to create a buffeting gust. “Not likely. I seem to just be getting more powerful. You… Well, maybe you’ll come back as something better next time.” He raised a hand between them and clenched it into a fist. The golden threads glowed brighter. Torrents of smoke began to pour off of Sausage’s body. Soon his form was dissipating altogether.

“And maybe I’ll destroy you again then, too.”

   ---

[Post A/N: This just in: smug bastard vampire becomes smug bastard angel, news at 11. Alas, poor Sausage stays losing.]

[Continued in: Heavensent]

[mask131]

AHS Death Valley alien theory time!

Well not so much theory. Actually look and analysis.

There is a lot to say so far about the differences between the aliens from Asylum and those from Death Valley, but I want to point out something related to the religious overtones of the aliens. I’ll explain.

As many people pointed out and realized, the aliens in AHS: Asylum play in the religious themes of the season. Which is paradoxal since precisely they represent scientific horror, ufology and science-fiction. Asylum is based on a clash between religion and science, which manifests at every level, from the control of the Briarcliff asylum (Sister Jude, the religious figure, opposed by scientific figures such as Dr. Arden and Dr. Thredson) to the very nature of the supernatural (demonic possessions and angel manifestations VS mutilated mutants and extraterrestrial beings). But if we go further, the aliens of Asylum actually play a polar opposite to the character of the Devil/the Demon, and in terms of symbol end up filling the role that typical angels or divine forces would fulfill.

The aliens are beings coming from the sky, incomprehensible, working for mysterious goals and purposes with unknown forces, always associated with a bright white light and an infinite whiteness. Where the Devil is all too human, fitting perfectly alongside human beings and taking human shape, only to reveal that it is a perverse, abominable and inhuman soul, the aliens appear as monstrous and threatenings entities but ultimately seem to be benevolent or at least of a positive and enlightened neutrality. Whereas the Devil is comforting and seducing, the aliens are frightening. The actions of the aliens are also comparable to Biblical miracles - after all they resurrect a woman from the dead, they make a woman fall pregnant twice (or at least they grandly influenced the pregnancy), and they gave full intelligence to Pepper. Mind you, the picture is not absolute and things are more nuanced - angels do exist in Asylum, though they are far from the typical picture the aliens fill (the angel of death being a dark and grim entity fitting with the Devil’s aesthetic) ; and the aliens, while not overtly villainous, are still far from fully benevolent - after all they are still of unknown motives, they drive people crazy, they force others to go through traumatizing experiences, and their line about laughing at Dr. Arden’s experiments is ambiguous (do they laugh at the vacuity of his evil science, or do they laugh simply because he is not talented/equipped enough to really make something meaningful?). 

But overall, the aliens in Asylum are given an angel/heavenly/divine theme/motive/aesthetic. Not obvious on first glimpse, but quite present when you put them as the opposite pole of the supernatural against the Devil. 

Now, we jump ahead to Death Valley and... it is quite surprising to see that the aliens in there actually act like the Devil did in AHS.

When you look for the clues everything is there. They take possession of people in a similar way to what the Devil did in Asylum. Their habit to make heads explode is a power that the Antichrist had in Apocalypse. They use this possession to manipulate human beings, and to create an atmosphere of fear - and what they did through Mamie was worthy of the Devil in Asylum. Their obsession with obtaining a baby reflects the Devil’s own obsession with birthing an antichrist (present in Murder House and Apocalypse) - even more, in Murder House the devil (or whatever dark force was at play) explicitely desired an unnatural birth and a perversion of the divine conception, and the aliens do break the laws of nature and biology to get their babies (they make men fall pregnant, their pregnancies are abnormaly fast and... well we know how they usually end). And of course, let’s not mention the whole “deal with the devil” theme with the agreements between the USA and the aliens. 

So yes, so far, the aliens in Death Valley actually fit the Devil archetype presented and built throughout the AHS seasons, contrary to their more “angelic” role and aspect in Asylum.  

[jostenneil]

on the most obvious level, it’s really sweet that when mindy newell wrote a short for the catwoman anniversary book last year she got to fulfill her wish of getting a do-over with selina where she could give her some jewish roots (as opposed to the catholic overtones in newell’s volume one stint), but more than that i also think it would be very cool if selina were the kind of character who dabbled in multiple religious philosophies and practices out of a sense of comfort? like she meets so many different people in her line of work and given the kind of community she lives in, and as someone who so often ends up alone but nonetheless carries the people she loves deeply in her heart, i think it would be neat if one of her ways of continuing to carry them was by putting some small part of her faith in each of their practices

[xoruffitup]

Sexuality In Neon Genesis Evangelion: Adolescence & Violence

(I’m literally 20 years late to the party here, but if anyone still cares for NGE metas, this hasn’t left me alone...!)

It takes only a few episodes into NGE to sense there’s some form of unrest beneath its surface. A palpable sense of unease and malcontent shadows the characters, seeping into the bleak cityscapes and following Shinji’s listless drift from one battle to the next - creating the unrelenting sense that this show has no intention to coddle or comfort you. Much will not be explained, or even directly addressed. Most of that unease you’re feeling as a viewer will be left for you yourself to decipher – probably in a manner uncomfortably and bracingly personal. I would call this a mark of artistry, in that the viewing experience becomes something deeply intimate and unique from person to person.

The obvious narrative explanation for all this dark ambiguity is the evocation of Shinji’s troubled psychological state. He mopes in his dark bedroom, rides the train alone with his headphones in and no destination, and accepts the role of Eva pilot only when his refusal would make him feel yet more despised. He is utterly directionless and thus helpless – caught in a paralysis between his pathological need for external affirmation and his crippling fear of being hurt. He craves kindness and care from others, but is both unwilling and unable to forge such positive connections with others because he presupposes doing so will cause pain. Therefore, he makes few self-motivated choices and rebukes all notion of the driven, intentional protagonist. 

Shinji’s rejection of the traditional mantle of the hero’s journey, and his repeated regression into unassertive self-hatred also signals an unorthodox approach to storytelling - where the narrative flows around the inhibited, apathetic characters rather than through them. We as the viewers do not become invested in the narrative progression as an extension of Shinji’s own investment. Rather, a central part of the narrative becomes the self-aware exploration of its own impact upon Shinji and the wider cast of characters. Shinji, Rei, Asuka, and to a certain degree Misato and Ritsuko, do not determine the narrative direction through their own choices and thereby set events in motion; they are instead passive, reactionary presences drawn along by the provocations of seemingly inevitable series of events. (Angels attack – characters respond; Gendo or Seele give some unexplained order – characters react; Instrumentality begins – Shinji reacts)

As the curtain is finally drawn back from the human instrumentality project in the show’s final act, we realize Shinji was not simply whiny or poorly-written: His constant struggle between the fear of pain and need for intimacy is in fact the defining tension of the show as a whole. The “Hedgehog’s Dilemma.” This dilemma saturates each character’s personal trauma, fears, and desires, and finally elevates the characters’ internal reckoning in the face of instrumentality to create the show’s climax.

The show’s indirect yet masterful depiction of Shinji’s depression and undefined malaise is, in fact, keenly intentional and central to the story’s purpose. In a show defined by endlessly rich even if agonizing ambiguities and a narrative style that reveals itself only in subtlety, no minor detail is inconsequential. And so, I repeatedly found myself trying to discern the purpose of a recurring element that could be neither accidental nor innocuous. I am referring now to the show’s consistent and blatant preoccupation with the sexualization of its (female) characters and the infusion of sexuality into inter-character relationships. 

The sexualizing and/or objectifying gaze is applied far too often to be anything but an intentional layer generating narrative meaning. In a show that elegantly weaves together psychological, religious, ethical, and technological allusions to construct a cutting inspection of the human psyche, this preoccupation is not a mere trope or “fanservice.” The recurrent reference to characters’ sexuality and their depiction as sexual objects cannot be a neutral or peripheral element of narrative meaning. Beyond the impossibility of this element being unintentional or divorced from the show’s narrative purpose, we are also obliged to make ourselves aware of the gendered lens through which this depiction of sexuality is filtered, and the power balance or imbalance this depiction enforces upon the characters involved. Consistent nudity to the point of fetishism and sexual inferences to the point of defining character cease to be superficial and become something pernicious.

Below, I will explore two different frameworks through which to interpret the show’s sexual overtones. The first framework – adolescence and the fear of adulthood – aligns with my initial response to the anime, while the second framework – sexual violence –reflects my more troubled response to the End of Evangelion film. 

Framework 1: Shinji’s Adolescent Fears of Adulthood and Intimacy

Lest we forget, Shinji is only the tender age of 14. His internal struggle with self-worth and identity is exacerbated by its intersection with puberty and Shinji’s fraught understanding of his own budding sexuality. Shinji’s characterization of being highly dependent on the guidance and praise of his elders highlights both his adolescence and his own inability to confront his growth to adulthood. His unwillingness to navigate the perils of adulthood (as well as its corresponding sexual relationships) is probably evoked most clearly in his Episode 18 conversation with Kaji. After Kaji opines on men and women’s inability to understand each other – let alone themselves – Shinji merely replies dismissively, “I don’t understand adults at all.”

Given his 14-year-old perception of adulthood as something impenetrably mystical, it follows that his own budding sexuality acts as both a source of anxiety and a central aspect of his journey through adolescence. The often discussed parallels between Shinji’s relationship with Asuka and Misato’s relationship with Kaji further cements sex as something firmly belonging to adulthood; just as Asuka’s eagerness to present herself as sexually mature reflects her desire to appear independent and “grown.”

Coming to terms with one’s sexuality is of course a commonplace metaphor for the development from adolescence to adulthood. However, the characters’ understanding and comfort with their own sexualities also plays a key role in their internal reckonings and decisions which occur within instrumentality. 

During his moments of metaphysical introspection, Shinji’s confrontation with his deepest fears repeatedly presents itself in the form of sexual temptation. We see him translate this need for external validation into unconscious sexualization and desire for the women around him.  While fused with Unit 1 in Episode 20, Shinji is questioned by imagined specters of Misato, Rei, and Asuka. He reaches his breaking point when, after admitting he only pilots the Eva in hope of earning others’ praise, he cries out for someone to take care of him. After pleading, “someone be kind to me,” all three women appear to him naked, asking repeatedly, “Don’t you want to become one with me? In body and in soul?” In this imagined ordeal of self-examination, Shinji’s deepest, most fundamental need for approval and warmth from others is coded into the prospect of understanding and intimacy associated with sex. At a subconscious level, he perceives the offering of sexual union as the highest form of acceptance. Shinji therefore feels varying degrees of conflicted, guilt-ridden desire for the women around him, in the most primal form of his craving for acceptance. 

In this scene, the offering of sexual intercourse is also a direct foreshadowing to the prospect of union with all during instrumentality, and either the acceptance or rejection of that union. In End of Evangelion, Shinji’s crucial choice during instrumentality is again presented in the same terms: Asuka, Rei, and Misato’s voices all asking “Do you want to become one with me, body and soul?” Shinji’s mix of attraction and repellence (for he fears intimacy as intensely as he craves it) when confronting this question indirectly depicts his struggle to decide between a solitary but self-defined existence, and the sacrifice of his autonomous self to total union. Thus, Shinji’s repressed desire for sexual intimacy becomes in and of itself a key facet of both his decision to ultimately reject instrumentality, and his conclusive creation of an independent and capable identity.

In line with my earlier reference to Asuka’s desire to appear sexually mature, the anime consistently uses sexuality as a means of revealing character - often probing at characters’ deepest vulnerabilities. Misato is likely the most direct example. It is through her sexual relationship with Kaji that she confronts her conflicted feelings towards her father and their profound impact on her. During instrumentality, she also admits she enjoys sex as an escape mechanism from pain and a way to prove she’s alive. She seems to perceive sex in the opposite perspective from Shinji – who on some level finds it threatening. This could be attributed firstly to Misato’s maturity in age and correlating comfort with her own sexuality. Secondly, this speaks to the show’s use of sexuality to build character in ways beyond Shinji’s troubled adolescent shame. The show’s focus on its characters’ sexuality can therefore be viewed as a means of prying into the inner conflicts they each seek to hide from the world. Note it is also through the reveal of Ritsuko’s sexual involvement with Gendo that we understand the reasons for her troubled relationship with her mother, her dedication to NERV, and her knowledge of its secrets.

Though sexuality is used as a sometimes literal, sometimes symbolic, but often effective vehicle to portray abstract concepts and internal, non-physical conflicts, this does not fully explain or justify the show’s gratuitous use of the male gaze. Though the depiction of sexuality often serves the purpose of character development, this depiction is exceedingly gendered. Though Shinji is shown naked, his nudity serves comedic effect (when he runs out from the bathroom in Misato’s apartment in Episode 2) or appears highly stylized (embracing Rei’s equally naked form in End of Evangelion). By contrast, Rei and Asuka’s bodies practically serve as set pieces. The pilot suits and contrived “camera” angles incessantly present their bodies as aesthetic objects for consumption. 

Furthermore, early appearances by both female characters immediately define them as objects of sexual focus. The first time she appears, Asuka tells off Toji for looking up her skirt; Shinji ends up sprawled on top of Rei when she’s naked while first trying to get to know her in Episode 5. If we apply the interpretive framework of sexuality as a means of navigating adolescence, then it is exclusively Shinji’s journey towards adulthood with which the show shares its perspective and identification. It would therefore follow that Rei and Asuka serve merely as signposts or attractive obstacles along the path of Shinji’s development. Their bodies are exploited as tools through which to challenge and probe at Shinji’s psyche. While Shinji’s sexuality bestows him personhood and agency, Asuka and Rei’s often seem to do the opposite – instead reducing them to only the means towards Shinji’s end. Yet, even the justification that Rei and Asuka’s objectification may serve Shinji’s character development falls short, given that the girls are still depicted in a lewd and hyper-sexualized lens even when there’s nobody but us, the viewers, around to witness. 

Using sexuality as a key vehicle to convey the male protagonist’s psychology creates an inherently gendered narrative – one in which a male protagonist acts out his conflict upon female bodies. This uneven and highly exploitative depiction warps what might have been an adolescent journey of self-discovery and growth into something far less constructive and much more unsettling.

Framework 2: Pervasive References to Sexual Violence

As I argued previously, Shinji’s repressed and conflicted sexuality can be viewed as a mirror of his character-defining struggle between the desire for love and the fear of pain. In this case, Shinji’s exploration and acceptance of his own sexuality becomes in and of itself a central element of his character development and, by extension, the show’s narrative resolution as a whole, given that the outcome of instrumentality rests on Shinji’s shoulders alone. It then becomes crucial that Shinji actualize his latent desire for sexual intimacy and ultimately master his own sexuality – as the chief expression of his internal development towards accepting his relationships with others and the co-dependent process of creating his own identity, self-worth, and reality.

In the abstract, this idea seems relatively healthy. However, the “Don’t you want to become one with me?” scenes and essentially all of End of Evangelion left me with a distinctly uncomfortable impression that couldn’t have been more different from that of a guileless adolescent navigating puberty. Seeing the “Don’t you want to become one with me?” question repeated to Shinji in the End of Evangelion context made me circle around one key question: Why is this imagined physical offering by the women in Shinji’s life presented as temptation? Why does the timing of this sequence reappear while Shinji is experiencing instrumentality? Or rather, why is the experience of instrumentality itself presented with the air of sexual temptation or seduction? This all culminates into the depiction of sexual desire for the female body as something needing to be tamed or conquered – given that it is only through Shinji’s repudiation of these offerings that he ultimately also rejects instrumentality. This supposition implies an adversarial relationship between Shinji and the object(s) of his sexual desire. This implicit hostility paints sexuality now as a struggle for control and/or dominance, rather than a source of self-discovery and growth. 

I’ll note now that most of the observations and criticisms explored in this section speak almost exclusively to End of Evangelion. In my view, this implied hostility embedded into the exploration of sexuality is much more present in the film, whereas the show largely maintains sexuality as a means of fumbling adolescent growth and complex characterization. To frame what might be seen as an extreme interpretation, I’ll begin my closer reading of End of Evangelion with this Catharine MacKinnon quote:

“Once the veil is lifted, once relations between the sexes are seen as power relations, it becomes impossible to see as simply unintented, well-intentioned, or innocent the actions through which women are told every day what is expected and when they have crossed some line.”

The crucial dynamic supporting this darker interpretive framework – a dynamic much more palpable in End of Evangelion – is power relations. Referring back to my previous point wherein the persistent objectification of Asuka and Rei undermines their personhood to the same degree that it enhances Shinji’s – End of Evangelion takes this imbalance still further. Rei and Asuka’s sexualization not only serves Shinji’s development, but becomes the main stage upon which Shinji’s fight for self-determination plays out. This is to say that Shinji’s actions and key elements of the film’s narrative as a whole are acted out upon women’s bodies as both battleground and symbol. End of Evangelion resorts to a mode of storytelling that is explicitly gendered, portraying its conflict through a starkly male lens. Through the film’s imagery, brutality, and indulgence in the explicit, Shinji’s narrative is acted out through the depiction of women’s bodies as objects either with destructive power or being destroyed themselves; and as threats which much be conquered.

The Shinji we see in End of Evangelion experiences highs and lows far more extreme than his anime counterpart. EoE Shinji is shockingly depraved, powerless, and violent – in that order. His experiences in relation to the navigation of his sexuality take on a tone of violence and aggression. If he cannot act out his sexual impulses – if he cannot subdue the tormenting yet desired female body to the point that satisfies his desires (even if not always sexual in nature) – he resorts to violence to assert his will. During the kitchen scene within instrumentality, it is at the point when Asuka coldly rebuffs his pleading for her help that he first strangles her. Thinking back to the above quote re power relations – is this the “line” beyond accepted behavior where Asuka becomes deserving of male violence?

Violence takes many forms – all of them an embodiment of power relations. Yes, Shinji masturbating over Asuka’s stripped, unconscious form in the first scene is unequivocally an act of violence. No matter how “fucked up” and past sense Shinji may have been in that moment, he is still a man demeaning a woman and taking pleasure from the act – her inability to consent and even her comatose state all fueling male sexual gratification. Aside from the considerable shock value, this scene sets the tone of Shinji’s actions towards women throughout the film as relations of power and dominance. This scene further establishes repressed sexual desire and thwarted sexual frustration as the latent foundation of Shinji’s interactions with Asuka throughout the film; thus creating motivation and tension with the potential to drive him to further forms of violence. 

In EoE, Shinji shares some type of sexual experience with all three women to whom he’s closest. First, his repulsive descent into depravity at the film’s very start. In this moment when he’s at his lowest, it is his most base and yet powerful instinct that takes over. He exacts pleasure, comfort, and distraction from Asuka’s body despite its fleetingness and her lack of consent. Second, Misato realizes that physical intimacy is the only thing that will get through to Shinji in his shell-shocked state. With a heated kiss, she delivers on the show’s hints of sexual interest between the two. Demonstrating just how well she understands Shinji, she promises him “We’ll do the rest when you get back,” knowing the promise of this ultimate physical act of approval and care is likely the only thing he will fight for. To put this in blunt terms: Shinji is promised sexual access to a woman whose praise he values, and this prospect of sexual fulfillment is what motivates him to finally enter Unit 1. While he isn’t imposing dominance over Misato here the same way he did to Asuka, this keeps with the film’s overall gendered perspective wherein Shinji’s triumphs or rare moments of purpose are marked by his access to women’s bodies. 

Third, Shinji’s interactions with Rei/Rei-Lilith within instrumentality. It first must be noted that Rei is depicted naked for practically the whole movie. Sure, this might be necessary for the initiation of instrumentality, but it also serves to complete her objectification. I can by no means see it as mere coincidence that the advent of instrumentality and potential unleashing of the cataclysmic Third Impact is all represented by a giant, naked female form. What would be the greatest threat from the perspective of the male-gendered narrative? Precisely this – a female body that is overpowering, unconquerable, and unfathomable. By extension, I also don’t believe it’s coincidental that Shinji’s attainment of self-determination in his decision to reject instrumentality happens concurrently to his sexual union with Rei. She explains to him that no, he hasn’t died, “everything has just been joined into one.” This “joining” is depicted utterly literally, without any of the subtlety by which the anime presented sexuality as representative of total union within instrumentality. Thus, the resolution of Shinji’s character arc and the film’s climax as a whole occurs when Shinji finally attains fulfillment of the sexual desire he has harbored since the film’s beginning. The following shot of him and Rei naked with his head in her lap resolves the crisis of instrumentality with an unmistakable post-coital essence. 

After these three encounters, we have the much-debated final scene of Shinji reuniting with Asuka after emerging from instrumentality. By this point, Shinji has taken advantage of her comatose body and strangled her, but she still has not shown herself amenable to his sexual desires as Misato and Rei have. She remains beyond his ability to either control or dominate. And so, while Rei’s giant, naked, and broken (read: conquered) body rests in pieces behind them, Shinji asserts his newfound will to attack the woman who has resisted his desire and refused the gratification he sought – both physically and emotionally. 

This scene left me possibly even more disturbed than the film’s opening. To me, this ending implies that along with Shinji’s discovery of self-determination comes the male’s unfettered triumph following a struggle defined by sexual violence. In this final scene, we see the resistant woman subject to yet more violence at the hands of the protagonist – until at last, she no longer resists. In my view, this final scene was the occasion of Asuka’s capitulation. She is finally subdued to the point of acceptance and affectionate response even when being subjected to violence. She responds to Shinji’s aggression not with retaliation, but with a loving gesture. Her final words of “how disgusting” reminded me immediately of the hospital scene, and what Shinji had asked of her there: “Wake up, help me, call me an idiot like always.” Now, the man’s desire is at last satiated.

Beyond the narrative reliance on sexuality as a form of power relations, EoE also engages in gratuitous degradation of female bodies. They are either imbued with threatening, destructive power (Rei-Lilith), or experience destruction themselves (Asuka in Unit 2 and Rei-Lilith at the film’s end). Both Rei and Asuka’s bodies are subjected to extreme violence throughout the film, even while still being depicted as sexual objects. While suffering horrific, graphic injuries during her fight in Unit 2, Asuka is depicted writhing in agony in the entry plug with a disturbing sense of the erotic. After her body becomes the apocalyptic vehicle of instrumentality, Rei’s giant naked form is depicted crumbling to earth, stripped not only of her clothes but any sense of the human. Her split-open head rests beside the sea of LCL – a symbol of the male protagonist’s moral and psychological “victory.”

Framework 2: Counter-Arguments

Though I was disturbed by the rampant and dehumanizing sexualization in EoE, there were also plenty elements of the film I admired and remain deeply fascinated by. I don’t wish to seem overly disparaging, so I’ll briefly mention two counter-examples to this more critical framework.

1. Rei denying and rebuking Gendo and asserting her own will, while depicted as naked. It’s hard to overstate the enormity of Rei’s decision here. After existing as a seemingly unfeeling clone created for the purpose of realizing Gendo’s desires, Rei brings his plans to a crashing halt right at the pinnacle moment. The scene metaphorically traveled from 0-100 very quickly. It began with the insinuation of Gendo joining with Rei in a vaguely sexual sense, and his hand sinking into her breast in an unconventional bodily invasion while she showed discomfort. But then she asserts, “I am not your doll.” Her nakedness seems transformed from vulnerability to power. She is no longer the passive instrument of a man’s realization of his desires. Instead, she asserts her personhood and makes the individual decision how to employ the power within her. In so doing, she decides not only her own fate, but practically that of the whole world. 

2. Shinji and Kaworu’s dynamic could be seen as refuting a binary reading of gendered power relations. Taking Shinji for bisexual has the potential to revise my interpretation from ‘Shinji subconsciously desires sexual access and control over women’ to ‘Shinji subconsciously desires sex and control’ period, without the emphasis on women as the subjects of his struggle. If this gendered binary is removed, then his growth and self-actualization need not come at the expense of the female characters around him. Extending Shinji’s repressed sexuality to encompass desire for Kaworu also alleviates the connotations of dominance and confrontation embedded within heterosexual sexuality. 

Writing all this out was largely my personal means of resolving the million jumbled thoughts in my head after finally diving into this stunning masterpiece of a show. I’ll say again - what makes this show such a timeless work of brilliance is its highly personal resonance in the minds of its viewers. In the end, it isn’t a story about robots, aliens, or even sex at all – it’s a self-reflective act forcing you to wake up and confront your own role in creating the very reality in which you live. What kind of world have you made for yourself? Have you trapped yourself in confinement of your own making, or have you imagined every possible version of your world and liberated all the possibilities hidden in your creation of self? Evangelion can mean something different to every one, and no single interpretation is more correct than any others. So that said – a hearty thank you to anyone who actually read all the way here, and I’m always eager for discussion! :)

[amyhendry-contextualstudiesyear1]

The Legacy of Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo is a Mexican born artist formerly remembered for her paintings, more specifically her paintings based on nature and Mexican culture as well as her many self-portraits. Kahlo took up painting whilst recovering for a bus accident she was in as a teenager, the accident left her in a full body cast for quite some time and painting was her way of distracting her from the pain of recovery. Her work is heavily inspired by her culture which she incorporates in the clothing and scenery that she depicts in her paintings. In her lifetime she completed over 140 paintings (55 of which being self-portraits). A common theme in Kahlo’s work is both physical and emotional pain, the physical pain coming from her multiple surgeries she had to undergo because of her accident and her emotional pain came from her rocky relationship with her husband, fellow artist Diego Rivera (who she married twice). Despite that Kahlo is recognised as one of the greatest artist Mexico has ever seen and has become on of the most widely known artist in the world.

Kahlo was born in Coyoacán, Mexico City on the 6th of July 1907 and her full name is Magdalena Carmen Frieda Kahlo y Calderón. Kahlo’s father was a photographer who immigrated from Germany to Mexico where he met her mother Matilde, she is the third child with her two older sisters Matilde and Adriana and her younger sister Cristina. Even before her accident Kahlo had problems with her mobility as she contracted polio at a young age that damaged her right foot and caused her to have a limp from the age of six. In 1922 Kahlo became one of the only female students to attend the renowned National Preparatory School in which she became very politically active and joined the Young Communist League and the Mexican Communist Party whilst still a student. Not long after (1928) she married fellow artist Diego Rivera in what would become a very rocky and unstable relationship going through several periods of separation and rekindling, it was this relationship that would inspire some of her most famous paintings.

Kahlo first exhibited her work in 1939 in an exhibit in Paris, her work received massive praise and not long after Kahlo was commissioned by the Mexican government for five portraits of important Mexican women in 1941, however she was unable to finish the project due to the passing of her father as well as her chronic health problems. In 1953 Kahlo got her very first solo exhibit in her home city and, despite being bedridden, she refused to miss the opening and arrived by ambulance to celebrate with attendee’s. After Kahlo’s passing in 1954 her work became the symbol for female creativity and helped fuel the feminist movement in the 70’s, it was such events that has made her artwork iconic. “Frida expresses her own experiences in her works, it is exactly what she is living in her present, how she interprets it and how she believes that others live it. She paints after her divorce, as already mentioned before, “Las dos Fridas”, which we can locate within Surrealism (1939), because the surrealists do not want to copy reality but prefer to capture their reality, which is what they interpret of her dreams, or in the case of Frida, her own experiences, since she was able to create wonderful works from them. (…) Frida differs from the surrealists because she does not pretend to paint her dreams or liberate the unconscious, but through the technique of surrealism expresses her own experiences, which emanate suffering.” – Galeria Valmar, artes visuals, 2019.

The Broken Column 

For this next part I wanted to analyse some of Kahlo’s most famous paintings and explore the deeper meaning behind them, starting with ‘The Broken Column’. ‘The Broken Column’ was a self-portrait created in 1944 shortly after a spinal surgery Kahlo underwent due to her accident, the surgery left her in a full body cast and a spinal brace which can be seen in the painting. Also in the painting we can see her body appearing almost cut in half, as if her spine had been ripped out, as well as nails poking out of her body. This actively demonstrates the physical pain constant years of surgery has caused Kahlo with the nails being a physical representation of such. Through the centre of her body the column taking the place of her spine is broken in several places creating the effect that it’s about to crumble and collapse on itself. Almost all of Kahlo’s self-portraits are meant to display her suffering caused by her accident, which left her both unable to bear children and ended her dreams of becoming a doctor, this is often shown by her facial expressions with ‘The Broken Column’ being no exception. After a closer look you can tears falling down her face as well as strong highlights in her pupils to emphasise the physical and emotional pain she was suffering. “The Broken Column was painted shortly after Frida Kahlo had undergone another surgery on her spinal column. The operation left her bedridden and “enclosed” in a metallic corset (…) The accident ended Kahlo’s dreams of becoming a doctor and caused her pain and illness for the rest of her life. (…) Although her face is bathed in tears, it doesn’t reflect a sign of pain. The nails piercing her body are a symbol of the constant pain she faced.” – Zuzanna Stanska, The daily art magazine, 2017.

Some people also believe that this painting is not just a representation of the pain Kahlo endured because of her health, many believe that it is also a commentary on the emotional pain caused by her unstable marriage. Most of the Kahlo’s most iconic pieces are inspired by her suffering and serves as a visual representation to her inner thoughts and emotions, her marriage being a large source of suffering throughout her lifetime. Some view the fragmented column lodged in her chest to be fragments of her marriage impaling her. “Despite the somewhat in-your-face symbolism, this is a favourite subject for bad art theory papers, identifying the column as everything from her fragmented marriage to a giant phallus penetrating her body. While such interpretations could be partially true, we think that sometimes a spinal column is just a spinal column (…) She referred to her medical ordeal as her “punishment.”  She also took her tragedy in good humour, saying of this painting, “You must laugh at life...Look very closely at my eyes...the pupils are doves of peace. That is my little joke on pain and suffering…”  Some claim the larger nails over her heart reflect her tortured relationship with Diego Rivera.” – Griff Stecyk, Startle, 2019.

Thinking about death

The next painting I have chosen to analyse is titled ‘Thinking of Death’ which is a self portrait created in 1943. This painting was created around the time Kahlo’s health really began to deteriorate as it depicts herself surrounded by nature with a small skull in her for head. Kahlo painted herself in very traditional clothing with her hair done up in a bun. The skull depicted in her forehead is supposed to represent the fears Kahlo had due to her health battles, with how sick she was death was a constant thought for her with it having come so close multiple times in her life. In Mexican culture death can mean the rebirth of life with is meant to be represented by the lively green leaves behind her as well as her facial expression which shows no sign of fear or panic suggesting Kahlo’s acceptance of death being another part of life. “Due to her poor health condition, death is an inevitable thought which lingering over her mind. In this painting, death is symbolized as skull and crossbones which shows up in her forehead. In ancient Mexican culture, death also means rebirth and life.” – FridaKahlo.org, 2017.

The skull itself represents the thought of death and sits right were ones third eye would be, this suggests that maybe Kahlo views the thought of death as some kind of wisdom instead of a fear, although Kahlo never wished to be labelled as a surrealist artist as her paintings come from her reality. “In Kahlo’s collective work, death seems to pervade almost every one of her paintings as an expression of pain, or a motif of oppression concerning female gender roles. Kahlo employs an almost anatomical eye in looking at her form, juxtaposing it beside images of adorned skeletons.” – MaryFrances Knapp, Seven Pounds, 2017.

Self Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird

The final painting I have chosen to analyse is titled ‘Self-portrait with Hummingbird and Thorn Necklace’ which is another self-portrait completed in 1940. In this painting Kahlo is surrounded by animals such as a monkey and a black cat with a large necklace of thorns around her neck, in the thorns there is a hummingbird tangled amongst them. She is also surrounded by green leaves much like ‘Thinking about Death’ with insects like dragonflies and butterflies in her hair, with a blue sky barely peaking behind the leaves. The painting was completed soon after Kahlo’s messy divorces with Rivera following the theme of suffering throughout her paintings. The thorns around her neck could be a visual representation of how it felt to grieve her relationship much like the nails did in ‘The Broken Column’, though it could have a religious meaning referring to Jesus’s crown of thorns. Kahlo also incorporates Mexican culture into this piece with each animal representing something different that is relevant to the context of the painting with hummingbirds symbolising love, black cats symbolising bad luck, Dragonflies symbolising prosperity and monkeys symbolising lust. “This self-portrait was created following Kahlo’s divorce to Diego Rivera (…) There are obvious religious overtones to the piece using Jesus’s crown of thorns. Kahlo has painted herself as a Christian martyr, enduring the pain of her failed marriage (…) In Mexican culture, hummingbirds signify falling in love and are used in love charms (…) Kahlo often used vibrant flora and fauna as backgrounds for her self-portraits, to create a claustrophobic space teeming with fertility. It is thought that the emphasis of her monobrow and moustache – with the lines of her eyebrows mimicking the wingspan of the hummingbird around her neck – was intended as a feminist statement.” – Tara Lloyd, Singul art Magazine, 2019

This painting is a great look into Kahlo’s attention to detail and how every piece of her paintings represents something, she is very in touch with her culture and has great understanding as how to show her emotions and life experiences in each of her pieces. “Like many other of her paintings, this artwork is a lot akin to a painted assortment of symbols. Every element in this painting gives specific clues to Kahlo's mental state, perhaps none more than her still, direct, emotionless gaze that seems to express the immediacy of her pain.” Audrey V, Wide Walls, 2018

To sum up everything thus far Frida Kahlo is an incredible artist who poured her life into her work, her pain and passion has made her paintings so iconic in this modern age. She has become a symbol not only for Mexican artists but female artists as well, paving the way for many like her in the years to come. In response to why she painted so many self-portraits Kahlo responded, “I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best”.

Bibliography

Galeria Valmar, artes visuals, 2019

Zuzanna Stanska, The daily art magazine, 2017.

Griff Stecyk, Startle, 2019.

FridaKahlo.org, 2017

MaryFrances Knapp, Seven Pounds, 2017

Tara Lloyd, Singul art Magazine, 2019

Audrey V, Wide Walls, 2018

[margridarnauds]

Scattered Thoughts on Treason: The Musical

[warning for some critical discussion]

The Cold Hard Ground: 

First song I listened to. 

God, we’re getting DARK. This is seriously a mix between a villain song and a hero song, and I’m HERE for it. 

This is the one I’m possibly most interested in, because it’s really making me wonder how they’re going to portray the plotters: Are we going to be seeing them as fanatics, or as heroes, or somewhere in-between? In this song, it looks like Catesby is a man broken by grief who turned to fanatical religion as a way of coping with his own suicidal tendencies. 

“So TAKEEEEE MEEEEEEEEEEE. You won’t BREEEEEAAAAAK meeee, it’s too late to SAAAAAAAAVVVVEEEE MEEEEEE.” 

GOD those final notes are going HARD. 

At first, I thought that it was rather scattered, musically wise, but the more I listen to it, the more I think it’s brilliant because the music comes together by the end, as Catesby seems to calcify in his convictions. 

I’ll be really curious to see how anyone but Hadley serves this, but a solid 80% of this song, at the moment, is built on his impressive performance. I’ll be really curious in knowing how the livestreams went. 

Take Things To Our Own Hands: 

Honestly, my favorite song on the album, probably one of them that I can best visualize on stage. 

WE NEED TO THINK OF A WAAAAAY TO BRING THE WHOLE SHIP DOWN.

Favorite vocal moment: When all the conspirators’ voices join one another, and then the moment at the end where it sounds almost like a church’s choir. 

I absolutely LOVE the slick folkish feel to this, paired with the driven pace, it’s like if “The Story Told” from Monte Cristo decided to go folk, I love it. It really has a feel that I don’t see many musicals going for (Hadestown being the closest, though it goes in a jazzier style than this) , and that’s something really in its favor. If the rest of the songs follow this level of quality and tone, this musical is going to be a really, really fun ride.  

Also, it’s very interesting in terms of how, even though this is the conspirators’ “Pump Me Up” song, there’s this very DARK overtone to it, which makes sense given what they’re proposing. Their voices go increasingly hard, almost into a staccato, and I wonder how much of that is diction VS them showing how hardened and increasingly radicalized the conspirators are becoming. 

That being said: “I once had influenza but now that’s all gone when things turned sour”?????????????????? I’m trying desperately to wrap my head around this lyric, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

The lyrics in this particular song are, admittedly, its weakest point: They tend to be very, very repetitive, but, in all honesty, it doesn’t really bother me - It works with that mood of the conspirators becoming radicalized. 

I know that Hadley tends to get most of the kudos for this song, but the other conspirators (Waylon Jacobs, Oliver Savile and Emmanuel Kojo) deserve MASSIVE kudos for their performances, I’m seriously going to be looking into all of them after this. 

The Day Elizabeth Died 

I started off not really caring for this song, but I’ve really warmed to it. 

I’m really curious about who the main singer in this song is supposed to be, because I feel like that will really change how I feel about the lyrics specifying that she had “An inch of makeup on her face”. If we’re supposed to view this from the perspective of a devoutly religious 17th century Catholic woman, I can understand it more than a Protestant woman, given that it really, really works with some misogynistic stereotypes about Elizabeth. 

So, the singer’s apparently Anne Vaux, which makes sense. Okay, I’ll give them this one. A little period-accurate internalized misogyny can be good for the soul. 

I LOVE Rebecca La Chance’s voice. It’s so wonderfully clear and strong, delicate, but with steel beneath it. 

There’s something almost....wistful, melancholy, and isolated about this song? It strikes a very odd balance between being sympathetic to Elizabeth (some say she died of a broken heart) while condemning her reign. 

ALSO. BEST VOCAL MOMENT ON THE ENTIRE ALBUM. “We mourned for her, she was our queen, and for 45 years, she had reigned supreme.” And then the conspirators coming on with “WE DID NOT MOOOOOURRRRN FOR HER. SHEWASOURCAPTOR.” I could, legitimately, listen to that bit alone on repeat, I’m actually obsessed with it. That odd, conflicted feeling between Elizabeth having been Queen for longer than most of England had been alive, providing a sense of stability, while also the very real persecution that English Catholics were under. This is the kind of nuance I really want to see the musical carry forward. 

Blind Faith

I don’t really know what to say except that Martha Percy’s love for Thomas Percy is juxtaposed with Thomas Percy’s feelings for Catesby. 

Literally. 

That’s the song. 

If this musical ever develops a fandom, there are going to be a hundred Catesby/Thomas fics, with James/Thomas being the darkhorse fic. 

It’s hard to judge this one, simply because it’s much more conventional love song - It sounds similar to, for example, “That Would Be Enough”, if Alexander Hamiltpn decided to blow up George III instead of join the American Revolution. It’s a TWIST on the conventional love song, but it still follows similar beats. 

But I DO love how their voices go together, the song really starts to shine when that happens. 

That last “This path was MINE to choose, he has nothing to prove”, probably is the best vocal moment. 

Overall, I don’t have MANY thoughts on this song in comparison to the others, but I can also see myself warming up to it over time. 

The Promise

“His face is quite nice” It’s VERY obvious they’re going for a queer comic relief interpretation of James, which I honestly have mixed feelings about given that he is, clearly, going to be the one that our protagonists are trying to get rid of. There’s.....something about that, a bunch of presumably straight protagonists ganging up to kill a stereotypically portrayed gay man. I know that historically, James WAS, but.....I still don’t like how stereotypical they played this one. Someone could point to Herod from JCS but, in all fairness, Herod was written in the 1970s (and, tbh, given that the central relationship in the musical is Jesus and Judas, you could argue that the entire musical is very, very homoerotic, which makes it less glaring.) This is...well, I’ll have to see how the musical deals with it. I’m willing to give it a fair shake, but they might have set themselves up for danger here. 

But Daniel Boys is, admittedly, serving this song on a silver platter. 

Really, really going into the Spoiled Child Route here. 

If it sounds like I’m disappointed with this song compared to the others, it’s because......yeah, I kind of am. Musically, it’s fine and a little catchy, lyrically, it’s fine, but that nuance I’d been seeing in the other songs goes out the window. James isn’t my favorite historical figure of all time (Bro basically set up the English Civil War), but there still HAD to be a better way to do him justice than this. 

It doesn’t hurt that, unlike the other songs, which were demonstrably TREASON, this one is very much.....a JCS/Hamilton rip-off. Like, it’s very, very blatant. 

Love the rising strings when Percy tells him that Elizabeth is dying, that sense of tension - It does remind me a little of something I heard in The Pirate Queen, but you know what? I’ll give it to them. 

Lowkey obsessed with Oliver Saville’s eyebrow raise when he says “You could save England.” 

The problem is that they’re leaning so hard into the comic route that, when James says that he’ll be a fair king, it really, really makes the Catholic nobility sound dumb as Hell to listen to him. Like “Yes, man who routinely, gleefully sings about cutting off people’s heads, I’ll listen to you!” I know they’re desperate but....come on. 

But also. THAT HIGH NOTE. Daniel Boys really put 110% in there. 

Overall, my takeaway is that this musical could either do very, very well or very, very badly, depending on how they play it. It’s hard to judge because the public only has access to 5 tracks (except for the lucky ducks who bought tickets to the stream, where they got access to 10) - It’s hard to judge a musical based off of 5 tracks, and a musical about the Gunpowder Plot with, say, a love song called “Blind Faith” almost sounds like something out of a parody, something destined to be one of those flops that go down in history. BUT, that being said, the musical has some very strong vocal performances and some really good music, when it keeps to its own mood and style instead of trying to go off of what other, more successful musicals have done. There’s some real, real promise in this musical, and I’ll be both anxious and excited to see how it all turns out (and if they ever offer a full purchase for the live recording......I’d honestly probably buy it.) It was a shame I found out about it so late in the game, because I’d have totally bought tickets to the stream if I had known earlier. 

[caddy-whump-us]

There's "cutting off wings" wing-whump, to be sure, and it is delicious, but I haven't seen as much "adding on wings" wing-whump. So I thought I'd provide some.

This is also for @whumpinbloom and their marvelous prompt here, though that particular scene comes at the very, very end and this got...really, really long.

For reference, I was thinking about the mechanical wing imagery that figures in CLAMP's manga Clover: mechanical, but delicate

Also I was listening to this garden ambiance audio the whole time I was writing this. So, yeah.

Cautions: surgery references, medical references, very vague religious overtones

---

When the doctor came into the aviary, the boy was resting near the waterfall with the apparatus of his wings propped on a stone next to him. His eyes were closed; perhaps he slept.

Of course his wings pained him: that was obvious and unavoidable, even with the gold wire wrapped down his spine and into the small of his back (like tattoos of golden thread) designed to support both his skeletal structure and the metal wing apparatus. The muscular connections necessary to both support and provide motion to the wings had left him with a constant backache just below his shoulder-blades and perpetual tension in the external obliques along each side. All of which obliged him to breathe intercostally, which made speech difficult and singing impossible, which was a pity.

The doctor began to pick his way up the stone path to the waterfall ledge where the boy was resting. The boy opened his eyes: pale, opalescent eyes, carefully restitched with iridescent nanotubes and with new lenses that flashed gold in the light.

"Good morning," the doctor said, "Ramiel."

The boy watched him approach with a soft and empty expression, which was perhaps indiciative of an excess of facial surgery? Or the subcutaneous polymer sheet, though that had been implanted a good five weeks ago and was surely healed. Certainly it was successful: his skin was smooth, soft.

The doctor picked his way across the patch of grass and tidy plantings to the lower level of the waterfall and hoisted himself up to the second level, where the boy waited (or, at least, sat). He took a seat on another stone--all artificial, all of it: the stones sourced and hand-cut when needed, the water purified and oxygenated, the trees and plants and flowers imported and tended to by expert gardeners, the birds bred and raised in captivity, the carp and goldfish from old Japanese lineage, the handful of rabbits pedigreed. And, of course, there was Ramiel.

The last movement of the Dawn Chorus was fading for the day. A shame that the angel in the midst of this absolutely palatial greenhouse couldn't fly. But that was a problem that would have to be solved by other means--the current swarm experiments, for example.

Ramiel turned his eyes away and back to the water streaming past. The doctor set the box full of flowers at his feet.

"Haven't I been good to you these last days? No operations, no procedures, no punishments, sweet fruit to eat, no visitors."

The doctor took the boy's face in his hands and the boy rested his cheek against the man's palm. His eyes fell shut. He nodded. The doctor smiled.

"I like your nose much better now. I think we're coming very close," he said, with a "we" that would never include Ramiel, "to the correct balance for your face."

He ran two fingers down the length of Ramiel's jaw. "Just a few more operations, I think."

Ramiel kept his head still where the doctor had left him for a moment, then looked aside.

"Do you hate me?" the doctor asked. "You mustn't hate me. A holy sacrifice requires flesh and blood."

The blood test. Then the first gold wires, his teeth ground down and rebuilt, the second round of gold wires, the third round of gold wires that had them threaded through his spinal cord (which had left him crying nonstop for literal days), the initial installation of the base of the wing apparatus (again, nonstop crying for days), testing and adjustment, testing and adjustment, testing and adjustment, before finally being able to install the first quarter of the polymer-plastic feathers, the physical therapy for balance, the work on his joints and connective tissues, the stabilization work for the apparatus (which was more than once), the procedures to strip his skin, the purely cosmetic procedures of course, the ocular surgeries (which were done only under a local, and a nurse had held his hand and whispered prayers the entire time) which had left him stumbling around in a blindfold for several days, and of course the facial surgeries throughout (jaw, brow, nose more than once, cheekbones, at least; he began to get used to waking up with his face swollen and covered in gauze). And now, the latest, more gold filigree wrapping from his shoulder-blades, over his shoulders, and up his neck: anywhere and anything for stabilization and the harvest of muscular electricity.

"And you were the one who made the first promise. Everything that's followed has," and he gestured towards the water, "cascaded from that."

He reached out and buried his hand in Ramiel's soft curls. The muscular electricity technique was not looking especially promising. Like as not, Ramiel would need brain surgery soon to implant control wires directly. It would be a shame, though, to have to shave off his curls. And it had been a trick to get his hair that shade of pale gold without blanching out his eyebrows or, worse, his eyelashes. The earlier botch-up had left useful stem cells after all.

"When I found you, you were good enough for humanity, but not yet good enough for me. Do I need to tell you about Galatea again? Or about Michaelangelo and the marble?"

Ramiel dropped his gaze and shook his head. The doctor was still clawing through his hair, scratching at the short hair at the nape of his neck as though he were a cat.

"Good. Besides, if you do hate me, I'll have you lobotomized."

Ramiel was watching the water again, the dragonflies skimming over it. The doctor sat with his chin in his hand.

"Spread your wings for me," he said. "Let me see you."

Ramiel turned back to him and got up from his place on the stone. Spreading the wing apparatus took a ripple of muscle tension from his lower abdomen, up his sides, then to a tensing sway up his back--a wave. He stood on that patch of moss and grass before the doctor and drove the rippling tension up his back. With his face pointed skyward (but there was glass between him and the sky), the copper armatures extended.

The doctor stood before him now, his face ecstatic. He ran his hands down the length of each wing, touching the edges of the primary polymer feathers, teasing Ramiel's wings higher with soft fingertips under the secondary feathers. Then, overcome completely, he caught Ramiel's face in his hands and kissed him: forehead, face, neck. He smelled of frankincense and roses. Ramiel's wings drooped.

But then, just as suddenly, he stopped and held the boy's limp body against his. He could feel Ramiel's heart thudding, feel his breathing fast and shallow. "But this is how angels fall, isn't it?"

It was then, just as he began to pull away, that he saw the spattering of blood on the grass. He looked down at his hand where it rested in the open back of Ramiel's shirt, just where the wing apparatus slipped under the boy's skin: blood there as well. He reared back and caught the boy by the hair with his clean hand.

"You pushed yourself too far." His grip was strong but his voice was kind. "You must never do that again. Certainly not today. Don't you dare bleed on the fine things I give you."

The doctor washed his hand in the waterfall stream, and dragged Ramiel closer with him. He undid the buttons at the back of the collar of the shirt the boy wore, sewn for him and him alone with an open back for his wings, and jerked the shirt so it fell around the boy's ankles. But he was gentle when he blotted away the rivulet of blood, even if the water was like ice.

"Not today, Ramiel. I have guests coming in an hour."

The doctor wrung out his handkerchief and collected Ramiel's shirt. Ramiel sat back on the stone near the ledge so he could rest his back--just a moment, just a moment without the weight and the strain.

He had had another name before and another life. But if he thought about that too much, it would only make the cramping, aching pain clearer. He leaned against the rocks and watched the doctor carrying away his shirt and meeting someone who was just coming in to the aviary.

The doctor took something from them, a flat box tied with ribbon, spoke to them, and then they began to lay out the rest of Ramiel's feathers on the grass so they could unfurl like ferns before they were threaded onto his wings. If there were to be visitors, then he would have to wear the full set.

The doctor, though, came back up the rocks with the box and sat down again.

"This is for you," he said, but he was the one who untied the ribbon and took off the lid.

He lifted up a shimmering silk tunic, though more at a blouse, translucent, sheer, with tight pleats at the shoulders and wrists and neck.

"It was made for you," the doctor said and turned the shirt around to show the opening in the back. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

Ramiel let himself be dressed, drawing the shirt up and sliding his arms in. The doctor closed the tiny pearl buttons at the back of the neck and tugged at the open back so it would frame the wings as he wanted. He turned Ramiel with a push to his hips to adjust the front. The collar could be cinched shut with a tasseled cord, but the doctor left it open to show off the gold wiring around the boy's neck. But he did tighten the cord at the waist, drawing up the hem into a flounce that Ramiel disliked and showing the edges of the shorts he wore (for modesty, as the doctor had said, but the doctor had also said that that wouldn't be such a issue after a surgery scheduled for the very near future). He let himself be fussed with, let the confectionery details of this blouse be adjusted, let the cords be looped or unlooped, let the buttons be pulled tighter. But the doctor was happy.

He took the boy's face in his hands again and kissed his forehead. "We need to attach the rest of your feathers. But I'll sit with you a while."

They made their way down from the waterfall, with the doctor balancing Ramiel along the way. He was thin, so thin and kept thin by careful dietary practices, and the adjustments to his joints and his ligaments meant that he was frail in strange and delicate ways.

The doctor settled Ramiel in the little grass clearing where his feathers were finishing their unfurling. Two technicians measured out gold wire to thread through the feathers so they could be laced into the wing apparatus and connected to the interface. The connection of the new lacing to Ramiel's nerves stung and snapped like cold electricity (of course). He did his best to breathe deeply, but his breathing shuddered.

Meanwhile, the doctor had wandered away, it seemed, to admire the hydrangeas and gardenias and orange blossoms nearby in the White Garden. He took out a pocketknife and cut a handful of white flowers before coming back.

He knelt down in front of the boy, who looked pale and drawn. He tipped the boy's chin up.

"You look as though you were about to weep for the ills of the world," he said, softly. And he began to cut apart the bunches of flowers.

As the technicians went on, threading on feather after feather, sparking each connection between the wings and his spine, Ramiel was watching the doctor as he cut bunches of orange blossoms, hydrangea clouds, sprays of jasmine apart so that each flower fell to the grass alone.

He took them up, one by one, and with such careful hand's, doctor's hands so soft and clean, began to set these white flowers in Ramiel's curls. He nestled them inside a curl or let them rest on top as if it were the crest of a wave. He scattered them in Ramiel's hair like they were snowflakes (the sun was shining brighter through the greenhouse windows now and he could see the fine mist of water droplets in Ramiel's hair and he was almost overcome with love, but also with hatred that this thing he had created could dare to be so beautiful).

He took ivy and some of the gold wire and wove orange blossoms and jasmine and gardenia and white roses and lilies with maidenhair ferns into a crown, a halo.

The technicians finished their work, gathered their tools, and left.

The doctor, still kneeling, set the crown of flowers gently on Ramiel's head.

He sat back on his heels to look at him: his head gently bowed and half-turned away, his wings spread across the grass and full with translucent feathers. The doctor reached out, then, and stroked Ramiel's face with the back of his hand. Ramiel stayed very still, even when the rage swept over the doctor and he gripped the boy's throat just above the gold wires, just below his jaw and began to squeeze. Ramiel closed his eyes.

And the doctor let go.

"I think you want to die," he whispered savagely. "You're in Eden and you want to die. But you won't. You can't."

He tossed his head and then his voice was gentle. "Go back up to the waterfall, play with the birds."

He slipped his finger through one of Ramiel's curls, drew it out straight, let it snap back, drew it out again.

"And when your visitors arrive to see you, show them your wings. And if you disobey me or are naughty," his voice was teasing, "we'll have to do your next surgery without anesthesia."

[glassmenagerieofmusesarc]

Let’s talk about two important aspects of Charlie’s character and how they develop in Season 2; Co-dependency and guilt.

Both of these aspects of Charlie’s character are well established in his first season storyline episodes and flashbacks. 

Codependency

Charlie is shown as being very co-dependent on Liam. He gives up a dream of his because his brother asks and he jumps down the rabbit hole because he feels the drugs are coming between him and his brother. Even though he knows that the drugs have changed his brother’s personality in ways he doesn’t like, he’s more afraid of losing that relationship than losing himself. This tendency to latch on also explains why he is so susceptible to the addiction in the first place. When his brother decides to leave the band, the vacuum of that relationship sends him into an even deeper spiral. He tries to again emulate his brother by dating the girl with the Winston Churchill memorabilia. He wants to take a job and settle down to repair that new gap but his relationship to heroin is now even stronger than his dependence on his brother.

Enter the island; Charlie is forced to break his dependency on drugs and immediately bonds with Claire in their place. This is partially because she draws out his more positive side, a side he’s lost in the years of his drug addition. More importantly, he believes that she needs him, just as he needs her to distract from his recovery. Not a great reason to fall for someone but while he is clean, it works out fairly well. Claire depends on him and he helps to relieve some of the stress of having the baby initially. Still, Charlie overinvests very quickly as shown by the way he proposes a whole new life with her when they leave the island. He’s way more serious about it than she even knows. 

Guilt

When we meet Charlie, he wants to go into seminary and is very dedicated to his religion, specifically Catholicism which is 1. a very pointed choice for a Brit and 2. a very clear indication that guilt is a motivating factor in his life. After he turns away from this path, the only way he can avoid his guilt is through his drug use. No one thinks he’s more pathetic and terrible than he does. The shame he feels after failing at sobriety in the real world and giving in to the temptation of stealing the Winston Churchill plate sends him spiraling.

His entire recovery on the island carries over these religious overtones. Locke tests him three times to get his drugs back but he refuses to do the drugs once he gets them back. His recovery is also greatly helped by Rose helping him reconnect with his faith. Finally, we get to the not at all subtle, borderline cruel use of the Virgin Mary statues as symbolism for his relapse into heroin addiction in season 2. 

(Also, lol btw Claire positing that maybe Charlie is some really religious dude after finding the statue is the most amazing and layered way to pull these two themes together *chef’s kiss*)

Season 2 So Far (About 6 episodes in):

So how do these two themes contribute to Charlie’s development in season 2 so far? Charlie hasn’t been on screen too often so far. But there are a few scenes that imply he is using again and not doing well in his relationship with Claire as a result. Aside from the fact it’s highly questionable for a drug addict to be a primary caretaker for an infant, we see Charlie becoming more inconsistent. In Locke’s episode after they have a disagreement about waking the baby up, Charlie has mysteriously wandered off. When he comes back, he snaps at Claire and Locke, a clear indication he snuck off to get high. 

We can also tell a lot from what Claire reveals about her feelings on the disagreement, which she does not characterize as a fight even though Charlie later does. Claire’s concerns revolve around how involved Charlie is despite the fact they have barely known each other more than a month. She mentions feeling like they’re married and doesn’t know how she feels about this level of codependency. These anxieties are only heightened when he returns and becomes jealous of Locke. Clearly, his more possessive and insecure side, the side that needs Claire in his life to be okay is starting to wear him down. He sees Locke being helpful, and rather than thinking he is a threat to any romantic relationship between him and Claire, he thinks that anyone else getting involved could make Claire realize that she doesn’t need him as much as he needs her. He knows the drugs might make him lose her and he selfishly thinks he can have both dependencies like he did during his time touring with his brother. Yet he knows from experience, people will only tolerate that behavior for so long. The drugs are playing on his paranoia, certainly not helped by the pressure of the situation.

What I think is even more interesting though, is his conversation with Locke afterwards. In this conversation, he tells his side of the disagreement. He calls the disagreement a fight unlike Claire and begins to say negative things about Claire and her ability to raise Aaron. Aside from the obvious explanation that drug use makes people say all sorts of awful things they never would when sober, this conversation also returns to the theme of guilt. The fact that he calls it a fight shows how bad he feels and how nervous he is about his connection to Claire. The statements he makes about Claire not being a good caretaker, saying she is irresponsible and can’t handle the pressure, are projections of his own guilt for taking care of the baby while using. Drug addicts will do anything to justify their use and so by putting himself above Claire, he can tell himself the drug use isn’t really interfering with caring for Aaron. Dismissing Claire allows him to believe that he’s still the more stable force in the relationship. Totally fucked up and toxic mindset, but it’s heroin. I also love that Locke totally calls him out for his hypocrisy. Charlie can’t even meet his eyes after Locke implies he knows that Charlie is using again because of that guilt.

Where will this go? I don’t know but I desperately wish that Claire had found out what was in the statue the first night she saw it. She could’ve stopped him from relapsing by reassuring him that she needs him before things got tense between them. She could’ve laid out her expectations for him to be sober if he’s going to be around the baby. He knew this would be the conversation they had which is part of why he lied--can’t break a promise if you never made it!

[cunninghamstrikes]

Hunger - Bobby Sands in Agony - A Review of Steve McQueen's 2008 Film About the IRA

"Hunger" directed by British filmmaker Steve McQueen, is a frightening look at life in Maze Prison during the IRA "dirty" protests of 1981. As the scenes unfold in this unrelentingly dark film, the camera moves into cells with walls covered in feces, through halls flooded with pools of urine, under the clubs of sadistic prison guards as they beat prisoners and into close-ups of the savage chopping of hair and beards, with bits of scalp and flesh cut away for good measure. This is violence that goes both ways, balancing the savagery neatly with the assassination of a prison guard while visiting his mother in a rest home. He ends up with his brains blown out in her lap, as she stares uncomprehending into the distance. The graphic violence is difficult to take, and this is certainly intentional. McQueen wanted to make the horrors of that period visual and visceral for today's audiences. There have been so many other calamities and historical upheaval since those years, that we are in danger of forgetting the suffering that so many went through, and this film very successfully puts the brutality of that era "in your face." The director achieves a growing tension in the film through several strategies, some of them quite effective. At the beginning there is a sense of barely contained violence in the images, and interaction that eventually explodes into scenes of horrible brutality. This is also reflected in the dialog. McQueen has stated that at first he wanted to begin the film with almost total silence, and then build the pressure to a sudden outpouring of words. He eventually modified this approach somewhat, with the first thirty minutes or so of the film characterized by extremely sparse dialog. The near silence is suddenly ruptured by the first incongruous sound of chattering voices in the prison chapel, where a Catholic priest is saying Mass, his formulaic words barely audible above the din of urgent conversation. The camera pulls back to reveal a crowded room of political prisoners standing around talking excitedly as though at a cocktail party, rushing the words out in this their only opportunity to communicate beyond their isolated cells. It is a highly effective scene, illustrating beautifully the paradox of profanity, humanity and religious mission at the basis of the IRA movement. Many questions are raised by a film like this. The most obvious ones begin with, "What for?" Why did these men join the IRA, why did they fight so tenaciously in the prison, and why were they treated so inhumanely? And the most pertinent question, why bring this all up now? Steve McQueen avoids any direct answer to these questions in the interviews he has given regarding the film. It seems that he considers the entire tragedy of those years to have been a force of human nature, an inevitable Via Dolorosa that the Irish and British people needed to stumble through for their own salvation. He says that he created the story in a non-judgmental way, and did not intend to take sides with this film. However, the portrayal of Bobby Sands, the most well-known IRA fighter from that period, is presented with undeniably heroic overtones. For this reason, the film will almost certainly be very controversial in its UK release in October, 2008. Although the scenes are intense, the storyline of the film has certain weaknesses that detract from its potential impact. The story seems to meander from a distance before it finally takes some direction to chronicle the last days of Bobby Sands' life. It begins in the home of one prison guard as he leaves for work in the morning. It follows him into Maze Prison where it then takes up with a new prisoner as he is being processed into this vast dungeon. We follow this prisoner into his cell where his cellmate has already covered the walls with his own feces. We are quite far into the 96 minute film before we even meet Bobby Sands, played by Michael Fassbender, and a while more after that before we realize that this silent character locked up further down the corridor is, in fact, the protagonist of this film. In compensation, Fassbender's performance, when he is finally brought front and center, is outstanding, and his final agony as he struggles with his own responsibilities and slowly dies of hunger, wasting away before our eyes, is an astounding performance. But besides chronicling the physical suffering, McQueen is interested in also presenting the intellectual dilemma that this situation laid bare: the anachronistic existence of this medieval religious warfare in Twentieth Century Western Europe. He achieves that through the use of a crucial central scene, a polemical conversation between Sands and a priest who has come to visit him in the prison just as the hunger strike is getting underway. This seventeen minute scene, a tour de force filmed without any cuts, seeks to encapsulate through dialectics the entire tangle of contradictions, paradoxes and doom inherent in the situation, with Sands defending the choices made by the striking prisoners, and the priest taking the opposing views. At the Sarajevo Film Festival, there was much talk about the technical achievement of creating such a long scene without any cuts, as well as the dramatic talents of the two actors in pulling this off. However, the real measure of success for this scene is how effectively it communicates the message. In my opinion, the seventeen minutes without a cut was static and counterproductive. It served to highlight the stagey-ness of the dialog, with the back and forth repartee of Sands and his confessor quickly becoming wooden and artificial. After about five minutes I had the sense of watching a verbose Edwardian production, and the scene still had twelve more minutes to go. Perhaps in an attempt to give it an emotional drive, the actors gradually talked faster and faster, but for me, this only made it worse. It seemed like they were pushing the words out to try to get through the scene before collapsing in exhaustion. With these distractions, I had difficulty listening to the barrage of arguments in those thick Ulster accents and I found myself repeatedly wondering when this scene would ever be over.

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