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utterlyotterlyx · 4 months

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The Girl Who Cheated Death

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no one in any universe who would dare to approach you without fear, that is until you meet a certain Shadowsinger. Once stone cold and vicious in your own right, you soon come to realise that perhaps all it takes is a pretty male with hazel eyes to set you free.

Warnings - kinda dark reader, stone cold, lots of sass, swearing, drinking, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of trauma, some subtle sexual tension, everyone being afraid of the reader because she's giving death vibes x

Word Count - 8.9k

Physical descriptions are present in this fic.

Based on this ask! Thank you @cleverzonkwombatsludge for the request 🫶🏻

"Can I offer some criticism?"

"If it's constructive..."

"You're an idiot," the unwinding braid at your side loosened more with each twist of your fingers, and to your right, through the reflection of the recently polished vanity mirror stood Amren, your closest friend that you had gained when you had first moved to the Night Court one hundred years ago.

It had been no accident that you and Amren had met, in fact, she had been the one to seek you out after a rather intriguing show you had directed at Rita's. Amren watched man after man almost break their necks to look at you, the most beautiful resident of the Night Court, and in all of Prythian. Hair that reminded Amren of a black widow swayed behind you in perfectly loose curls, it was sinfully dark and shone in the faelight, shimmering so brilliantly that Amren had thought that threads of silken web were weaved between each glossy black strand.

Amren also remembered the dress you had worn, it was short and tight, the fabric hugged every curve of your body and kissed the thighs that were connected to those incredible taut calves. If looks could kill then the Night Court would certainly fall to its knees.

It wasn't what you looked like that caught Amren's attention, however. It was the way that every single person in that room shrunk away from your stare, a stone iced glare that was void of any life, all that lay in them was ire and boredom, which quite perfectly summed up what you felt about life in general.

The firedrake sought you out, coming by the gallery you had opened in the city which held an array of carefully collected artworks and mysteriously rare antiques, just to get a glimpse of you, to see the one who had been the first to pique her eye in centuries. Amren had not been disappointed by you. There was something about the way you carried yourself that attracted her to your aura, the perfect posture and slightly hooded eyelids that encased walnut orbs that glimmered gold in the sun. That wasn't all, no, it was also the way you spoke, so sultry and dark, but there was a certain elegance your words. A siren luring souls to the darkest depths of the ocean floor.

Rhys had once suggested that you'd never truly age considering you never smiled. That had earned him a rare small quirk of your lip, and he considered it to be his greatest achievement of his life to date.

It had made sense that the Night Court had been the place where you had chosen to settle, it had moulded very well with you, to the point where Day had become an infantile dream that was floating away in your subconscious. Forgotten.

Despite being a collector of sorts, Amren had soon found out just how far your talented talons stretched, you were incredibly well versed in old dialects, ancient symbols and traditions, a talent that Rhys had soon asked Amren to take advantage of since he was too afraid of you to ask you for aid himself.

Seemed as though the terrifying High Lord of the Night Court was actually scared of something.

"How exactly am I an idiot?" Amren enquired with darkened orbs that kept on glancing downward to the scars that littered the bare spine from the licks of Illyrian whips. They were slightly raised and pallid in comparison to the rest of your healthy glowing hue.

Untethering the last of your braid, you ran your nails over your scalp and pulled slightly, shivering at the relief that surged through you as your hair fell unbound down your spine. All the taut tension in your body quickly evaporated. Silently, you turned on your seat to face your friend, "You're asking me to revamp my evil lair to make it more welcoming for your odd little family," you said incredulously and unblinking, "You're an idiot."

Amren wasn't exactly asking you to make your own home more appeasing to the Inner Circle, she simply meant the private office that Rhys had bestowed to you for whenever he needed your help with something, and it had become a place that you frequented often. It was located in the library of the House of Wind so that your nimble fingers had access to all of the books and ancient texts they needed.

The only settling thing about that office was the view of the golden valley of Velaris, of the snow-capped mountains that loomed to the north. Everything else filled any resident with dread. Tall well-loved candles were scattered about the space, cloths stained with millennia old text hung from the ceilings, tomes lay splayed open on the desk and centre table, each depicting some form of terror. To you, your work was fascinating, studying the origins of evil and all of its forms, to others it was petrifying.

It wasn't odd to find the firedrake confined in your apartment, whether you be with her or not, glass of red in hand and reading some sort of research text. Amren often didn't even glace up at you when you entered your own home, all she noticed was your shadow gliding across the room, drowning out the golden candlelight.

"Rhys would spend more time with you if you did. He's actually really insightful, he could help you with your study."

"Why would I want to spend time with him?"

A poor attempt from Amren to try and push you into a monotone civilian life yet again.

"Fine," Amren rolled her coiling silver eyes and tutted, "Are you ready? Rhys doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Irritation was rife in her voice, you clasped a dainty blood diamond around your neck and allowed your shoulders to drop, "I don't particularly care for your High Lord's time." Rhys was not your High Lord and he knew it, he knew that you couldn't be ruled over and would never answer to anyone but yourself. A queen of her own kingdom. But one he very much wanted to keep on his side.

"Y/N," Amren bit, and you too tugged back the smirk that was quaking in the corners of your mouth.

Meeting her fiery gaze in the mirror, you rolled your head to the side in one swooped graceful motion, "I'm teasing, Amren." Rising from the bench before the vanity, you felt the silken hem of your dress brush against your feet. It was a simple garment, black buttoned up fabric, a deep v-neckline that showed the beginnings of your cleavage, short and soft floating sleeves that cuffed above your elbows.

Smirking with approval, Amren moved to the front door of your ornately beautiful apartment, a personal haven of yours that was vastly different to the office at the House of Wind. Brunette carpets thick enough to sleep upon covered the space, the walls were a shade of milked coffee, warm and inviting, and the ceilings were a soft cream and coved with intricate carvings. A large fire bundled into the far wall at the centre of a wall of windows, before it was a onyx seating area of plush deep seated sofas and armchairs.

It was charming. One of the best views of Velaris was from your living room window.

Leaving your home with the click of the lock, you followed after Amren, falling into place beside her as you walked up the winding paths to the House of Wind. The feeling of people's eyes trailing you had become something you'd become rather accustomed to, they were astounded by your beauty, amazed by how someone could look so breath-taking yet so horrifying.

The House of Wind was as it always was, incredibly luxurious in its own right and shivering at your entrance. It wasn't like the house didn't like you, it just struggled to adjust to your energy, it was starkly different to the usual joy it mostly held.

The echoing voices halted when you rounded the corner, your scent of jasmine and sandalwood soaring through the air, infecting their oxygen. Violet eyes appeared before you within a couple of moments, always wary, always laced with the tiniest bit of fear, "Thank you for meeting with us."

"Well," your eyes sliced across the room, absorbing every face and feature and feeling somewhat intrigued by a face you had never seen before. Tall and tan, shadows swirling at his shoulders, large wings that he had mindfully tucked behind his back, and shiny black hair that fell over his forehead. Rhys stood before you waiting for you to speak, your eyes found his and you hummed, tapping your finger against your clothed thigh, "Anything for the firedrake."

A chortled scoff flew from Cassian and Rhys stepped aside slightly to expose you to the general who soon choked on the air, "Something funny, Cass?" Rhys asked with a smirk, he motioned for you to find a seat and make yourself comfortable.

A deep rooted velvet armchair called to you and you moved to it, paying little attention to the hazel eyes fixated upon you. "No, not at all," Cassian sent you a tight-lipped smile which made Nesta grin, enjoying his discomfort nearly as much as you.

Flames danced in your eyes, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace that welcomed your gaze as though it was a mirror. Turning your head, you folded your hands over your thighs, feeling the exposed skin that lay there from the seamless slit in the fabric.

"How about you skip whatever small talk you were going to offer and get to the point, Rhysand?"

Widened pupils possessed Nesta's gaze, she leaned back into her seat and smirked, a wickedly feline feature, and spoke, "I like you."

No words left your lips, you held her gaze and felt your darkness bubble at her determination to withstand your stare, but she soon stood down; though, she continued to watch you, noting your posture and the way you held yourself. Nesta was in awe.

And she wasn't the only one.

"Straight to the point as always, y/n."

"Am I supposed to be anything but?" Rhys sighed, a headache already forming at his temples from your dry sassing. Perhaps he needed some of that powder that Elain had gifted to Azriel last solstice.

The High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hand to rest on Feyre's knee, a sweet gesture, "We need your help with some particular text that none of us can translate. If anyone is going to be able to decipher it then it would be you."

"What text?"

Boredom coiled in your gut, "It's the story of Koschei, we believe that there may be a key hidden within the text that could help us to defeat him." The coil loosened and your eyebrow twitched, and a dark spot to your left caught that millisecond-long expression, sliding back to its master and humming in his ear.

Koschei was a death-god, a personification of evil. To have your hands on such a text would more than aid your research. It would make you infamous in the underworld of Prythian.

"Is it in my office?" Rhys straightened and nodded stiffly; rising to your feet, you brushed down the pleats of your skirt, "I'll take a look."

Before you could move from the room, a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from behind you, beckoning and hesitant. Slowly, you turned around, noticing how Rhys was now standing, "I would like Azriel to help you with this. I believe that your collective talents will be able to decipher the message faster."

Of course. The illustrious Shadowsinger that you had never had the displeasure of meeting. Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court.

"Studies have shown that I didn't ask for your opinion, High Lord," if anyone else had used the mocking tone toward his title they would have been misted on the spot. But not you, never you. Rhys was too afraid that Hell would rise from your ashes and devour the continent if he even tried it.

A cool kiss slithered around your ankle, and when you peered down you found a shadow curling there, caressing your skin and shivering in delight. Your eyes followed the tendril back to its owner who was clearly mentally scrambling to pull his shadow back to the others. Hazel collided with molten gold and you found yourself yearning for the shadow to return.

"I have to insist," his voice wavered and it didn't go unnoticed by you.

Amren sucked in a breath, shrinking further into her spot wedged between Mor and Elain, knowing that she told had told Rhys multiple times to never order you to do anything.

"What do you fear, Rhysand?"

"I think that you'll find that the word fear is not in my vocabulary," he doubled down and you couldn't blame him, he was an alpha protecting his territory.

Ticking your head to the side, your eyes dragged up his body, and you smirked, a real one that made his blood chill, "Perhaps. But it's in your eyes," not giving him a chance to respond, you turned to Azriel, finding him looking up at you with an almost bewitched possession in his eyes, "Stay out of my way."

Not another word was spoken as you stalked from the room, the only sound being the footsteps of Azriel who had speedily followed after you. Neither of you spoke on the descent down to the library, even that vast space of aged excellence watched you enter; you almost floated across the room, a grace in your steps that Azriel had never seen before, and it had him needing to know more.

How Azriel had never met you astounded him, he would certainly remember a face like yours. It was one that held the power to haunt his dreams.

As promised, the texts had been left on your desk, and you moved to them instantly, tracing your fingers down the bound leather spine and examining the golden embossment, picking apart the symbols in your mind. Rounding the large oaken desk, you pulled the text with you, opening the cover and not even flinching when it thudded against the desktop.

Thick waves fell over your shoulder and you mindlessly tucked them back from where they had originated, not caring about the effect it had on the Shadowsinger who noted how your fingers grazed against your collarbone on its return to the ancient pages before your insightful eye.

"I've never been in here before," a weak attempt to strike up conversation with you. Azriel had heard much about you from Cassian and Rhys, of how awful terrifying you were, how you intimidated every single person that crossed your path and seemingly enjoyed the terror of it.

Azriel understood it, there was something about you that was unnerving, that he could understand why people were uncomfortable in your presence, but he only found himself in wonderment of it.

Without looking up, you turned the page gently and muttered, "Why would you? It's my office."

Displeasure was prominent on your tongue, the taste of it swelled in the muscle but you didn't allow it to be vile, you pulled the bile back and silently choked on it.

Azriel drank in the room, the begging to be lit candles and the large arched windows, the aged tapestries of history that were clearly too valuable to display in your gallery, "The creation of the cauldron," the words pulled you from the text and your gaze narrowed in on the Shadowsinger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands folded neatly at his back.

"How do you know that?"

The Shadowsinger circled to face you and took a tentative step to the edge of the desk, "I've seen a couple of the same markings in a cave. This is the original?"

"Yes," there were many deplorable things you had taken part in to secure your collection as the most impressive in the entire universe, some things you weren't proud of, others, you were very much so.

"How did you get it?" Azriel admired the piece, a depiction of Prythian's creation that no one would ever guess was as important as it was, all because they couldn't read the first language of the fae.

Sitting back in your seat, you placed your magniscope on the surface, an ornate tool used by curators and researchers alike to read between the lines of existence, and watched him, "There are some things in this world that would make even your blood burn, Shadowsinger."

The way you said his name had a shudder flickering down his spine, your tone was sultry and low, like you knew of his darkness and had decided that it was a star in comparison to whatever lived within you.

A golden glow shrouded the room from the setting sun kissing the mountain peak, it washed over you, its light glittering your skin with shimmer, turning your eyes into burnished gold. The blood diamond around your neck cascaded speckles of its hue across the ceiling, and your chest rise an fell with even, calm breaths.

Forgetting the reason why he stood before you, Azriel allowed himself a moment to examine you, the beautifully loose hair that swam down that perfectly curved spine, the eyes and cheekbones, the full lips and the indents of your collarbone. You were by far the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

The stolen moment wasn't one that escaped your eye, a gentle heat pooled at your cheeks and you had no option but to look away, clearing your throat and pouring your attention back into the text in front of you.

Coiling the magniscope in your fingers, you hovered it over the written symbols on the page, moving it in line with every line and swirl you could see. It was a heavy object, and you hadn't been surprised when Amren had mistook the glass orb as a bookend.

"What do you know of Koschei?" Azriel found a place in the seat opposite you, his shadows danced from his shoulders and began to inch toward you, and he made no move or command to stop them.

"There are many legends," you began, craning your neck to peer at the top of the adjacent page, "Attacking his physical body won't harm him, he has split his soul into parts and placed them in other living creatures or sentient objects. Destroy the objects and you have a better chance of ending him."

Azriel angled himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees, "How do you know that?"

Again, without looking up, you spoke, "When you spend a lot of time in the Underworld of this continent you pick up a few things. You also learn how to decipher the truth from the lies."

Another gentle turn of the page.

The taupe scribing possessed the faintest words written in a pale gold ink, so miniscule that any other magniscope wouldn't be able to see it. Though yours wasn't just any ordinary magniscope, it was forged with the stardust of a fallen star, a star that used to burn the brightest in the northern skies.

"You know of the Underworld?"

For a moment, your gaze flickered upward, golden pools peering through your long thick lashes, "Very well."

It wasn't surprising that you had dabbled in the darkest reality of the continent, your knowledge was not cheap, and it wasn't knowledge that you could gain from books alone. Azriel wondered how many souls you had stripped from the earth on your quest for knowledge, perhaps it would cause his count to pale in comparison.

"I could only imagine what someone would do for this level of knowledge," his voice lingered, questioning, requiring to know every corner of the mind locked within the female in front of him.

"Are you trying to compare body counts, Spymaster? If so, I assume I would be disappointed with your lacklustre attempts."

Then you were back on the text, scribbling words down in the notepad to your left without even glancing to it, focused to the point where no letter strayed from the lines. But you still felt his eyes on you, waiting, scouring your face and trying to figure out why exactly he had never crossed paths with you before considering your occupation.

"Don't you have some doe-eyed damsel to go and rescue?"

Even with the fleeting few minutes spent with the Inner Circle, you saw how Elain Archeron looked at him, all love-sick and hopeful. Elain was a perfectly mundane being, content with all things bright and pretty. It was sickening.

Biting back the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, Azriel shuffled into his seat, seemingly getting more comfortable, "No."

"Shame," you mused, impressing Azriel with how you scribed, analysed and spoke all at the same time. A very powerful mind was dwelling within you, and it had his attention.

Azriel was finding your dry words quite amusing, though he was spending his time sat before you in silence, sketching every inch of your face and body to his memory.

A soft tug pulled at your brows, and if Azriel wasn't fixated upon you then he surely would have missed it. He let a minute pass, a minute where the pace of your analysation quickened alongside the rate of your writing. Again, your hair fell over your shoulder, clearly bothering you but you couldn't move it, not when you were so entranced, and it took all of his will to not do it for you.

Questioning you on your findings, your eyes held a certain twinkle to them as you explained your theory. That Koschei had in fact fractured his soul and implanted the pieces of it within other living creatures and objects, and that to hunt those objects down was the only way to be able to banish him from the world.

"Run and tell your master," you told him after you were done explaining how to find the first host of Koschei's soul, "I'm sure he will be thrilled with your input."

Which was very little, Azriel hadn't done anything other than invade your space and make himself far too comfortable, but he didn't argue, he simply stood from his seat and bowed, taking your hand in his marred digits and raising it to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles and thanking you before leaving you to your silence.

The ghost of his touch lingered on you skin, as did the licks at your calves from the shadows he hadn't cared to reign in upon his exit.

It was then that a small yet foreign warmth pooled in your chest, you rubbed the spot gingerly and sighed, returning to reality and shaking your head back to sense. Finding peace in the confined corners of your mind.

The next instance where you found yourself in Azriel's presence had been one warm afternoon in the library.

Velaris had been scorched by the sun, the summer breezes swept across the city, and you had decided to wear a simple grey dress that afternoon, it was lightweight enough to flow in the gentle caress of the wind but still managed to keep to your usual elegant yet sharp style.

Since that insisted couple of hours in your office a couple of weeks ago, you were ashamed to admit just how much your thoughts drifted to the Shadowsinger you had seen lurking in the corners of your consciousness. The darkness was lingering in the farthest reaches, as if it didn't wish to be discovered by you but couldn't steer itself away.

The ladder beneath your feet creaked as you reached across the shelf, tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you strained slightly, your fingers barely brushing against the spine of the book you needed. A familiar cool presence washed over you, trailing up your skirt and arms and extending from your fingers to remove the book from the shelf and place it in your awaiting grasp.

Peering back to the ground, you saw Azriel stood at the foot of the ladder with his hands resting at his sides; balling the skirt up in your fingers, you used the railing the lower yourself back to the earth and paused in front of Azriel who had a brow quirked in curiosity, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," his voice matched your own but he found himself faltering when you went to walk by him. His voice called out to you, "I just wanted to let you know that we found the first host."

You paused your steps and turned, "And?"

"It's destroyed," and clearly the gravity of it weighed on him, he had to have known that Koschei wasn't exactly going to make the objects easy to destroy, but it still didn't mean that it wasn't traumatising.

Understanding what he meant, at the life he had just taken to protect to continent, you took a step toward him, an olive branch of sorts, "Are you alright?"

Itching with confusion, Azriel nodded slowly, "I didn't think you cared."

You shrugged, nonchalant, and scuffed the heel of your sandal against the floor with your gentle kick, "I don't."

Azriel hummed, a serene grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "I think that you do," Azriel took a step forward and noticed how your back straightened and shoulders rolled back.

The book became plastered to your chest, "Whatever you think is of little concern to me."

Two weeks had passed, two weeks of not only searching for the first host of Koschei thanks to your wildly impressive knowledge, but two weeks of Azriel doing all he could to gain your attention. It had been difficult to see you at Rita's, swaying to the music without a care in the world beside Amren, and not be able to touch the skin that seemed as smooth as honey.

His shadows had been following you, reporting back to him of how you spent your days cooped up in your apartment reading or in your office analysing another ancient text. They reported no men, nothing untoward or damning, they simply whispering to him how pretty you were. They had been bewitched by you, utterly obsessed with everything that you were, and he couldn't blame them.

Turning on the balls of your feet again, you entered your office, leaving the door open in silent permission that Azriel basked in as he followed you inside, "I'm trying to talk to you, y/n."

A soft hum vibrated against your lips. Placing the book once glued to your chest on the centre table of the room, you faced Azriel once more. The office was cold, as was every chamber built below the main infrastructure of the house, and Azriel wondered how you could be so at home within it.

It was entrancing how a room so dark and full of evil texts and passages could make you look so ethereal. The glossed black hair he had often dreamt of running his fingers through was tied back in a loose thick braid, whisps of hair fell from the vines of it and settled over your eyes. Ornate jewellery twinkled in the pale sunlight, swirls of gold encased your fingers and wrists, and a coiled necklace that resembled a scaled serpent glided around the base of your neck.

"What would you like me to say? I did tell you how to find the first host so that you could destroy it. I don't require updates, Azriel," the movement of your tongue as you said his name for the first time had his resolve withering.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to warm ourselves by the glow of your I told you so."

Then, as though the sun was blessing the earth after eons of slumber, your lips widened into a grin, one big enough to expose your perfectly white teeth and Azriel felt the dark storm clouds in his soul splinter. A golden threat soared through him, reaching out to you and entwining itself with the thread bristling at your centre.

Sculpted fingers drifted over that spot in your chest that had become increasingly hard to ignore and you inhaled sharply. Azriel's pupils had dilated, they were wide and frenzied, and his hand was outstretched to you.

The smile on your face dropped.

"You're my mate," Azriel nodded at the words you had managed to utter, the same ones that had become lodged in his throat.

Heat prickled at his skin, nerves seeped into his bones. You were so unreadable, and Azriel was scrambling his thoughts to clear so that he may be able to figure out how you felt about it. About being fated to be his.

Azriel had learnt from Amren how unaffectionate you were, how much you hated anyone touching you. It was because of the Illyrian camps you had visited in your younger years where they had thought you a witch, and had punished you for it in a barbaric way; the evidence still lingered on your skin in long angry streaks, and Amren had admitted that night is what spurred on your need to understand the roots of evil.

It was understandable, to spend a lifetime studying the one thing that had ever truly hurt you. For what reason, Azriel didn't know, but he liked to think that it was to cause evil to cower in your presence.

Silence shrouded the room like a disease, infecting and poisoning everything in its path, and Azriel way becoming increasingly worried about how your smile had dropped. Was he truly that repulsive to you? He could only ever dream to be mated with someone like you, someone who welcomed death like an old friend and would entertain it in an eons long waltz, someone who was poised and elegant but so brilliantly lethal that it made even him shudder.

Taking an unsettling step toward you, Azriel loosened a breath when he saw that you hadn't retreated, his eyes were trained on you as he took another step, and then another, until his shadow danced with you own, "I'm your mate."

Rhys and Cassian would be mortified of the news, Azriel was sure that Rhys found you terrifying in the same way that Cassian found Bryaxis. No of that mattered though. Not to him. Not when he now belonged to a female as striking and dangerous as the blood in his veins.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at the proximity, the tendrils connected to his essence peered over his shoulders seemingly apprehensively thrilled that it was you stood before them, "Yes, you are."

Azriel's gaze drifted down to your lips and left dragged back upward to your eyes, "Can I touch you?"

A part of you froze at the desperate question. You hadn't let anyone touch you in years, you couldn't remember the last time you laid with a male or female, you couldn't remember what a simple even felt like. Amren had never even tried to get too close to you let alone anyone else.

In the first vulnerable emotion you had ever let anyone see, you sheepishly nodded, eyes boring into his own and he didn't break his stare as his fingers twitched toward you, ghosting along your skin and melting at the heat they found there. Mindlessly, you shifted when his palm lingered a whisker away from the slope of your neck and his eyes became stitched with concern but softened when you had won the fight against your fear to stand still once more.

Azriel's hand lowered, resting against your skin that was softer than his imagination could ever fathom. His thumb drifted down the column of your throat and you swallowed, hard.

"You don't have to accept this or me," he told you, his voice tantalisingly cooing to you in a hush above a whisper, "But gods, y/n. I really hope that you do."

Azriel saw through you then, through that façade you wore like a medal. And he found what saw to be quite heart-breaking. Stood before him was a woman, one that possessed a brilliant mind and equally captivating beauty, but beneath it all was the girl who was brutalised so badly that she vowed to never allow another person close again.

"You're my mate," you spoke with a certain conviction that hadn't graced your words the last time, Azriel watched your lashes flutter, and he felt his soul singing when those eyes found him again, "I'm not letting you go."

Gracefully, your fingers curled around his wrist, your index finger sleeping just over the faint beat of his pulse, just where his marred flesh faded to memory, "You accept it?"

"I- yes, I do."

Jasmine and sandalwood drowned his lungs, and he would have died happy just to be able to say that he knew what your shampoo smelt like. Papaya and coconuts. He gingerly ran his fingers through your hair, noting how much you loved the feeling of it as you shivered in his arms. Azriel pressed a dainty but tender kiss to your brow, and it had you realising that maybe you were allowed to give yourself this one thing that the younger version of you had always dreamt of.

Azriel hadn't tried to push you further, he knew that the moment of allowing someone to touch you, to hold you, was far more momentous than finding your mate.

Instead he asked you a simple question, it was more of an offering than anything. To spend time together away from the prying eyes of his family, so that you may become comfortable with one another before allowing anyone else into it. You had agreed. Eagerly.

So the next few weeks drifted by, afternoon walks along the Sidra, morning breakfast drop-offs at your office, after hours visits to the gallery where you would tell him of your adventures and how on some occasions you barely survived. Azriel was in complete awe of you, he sat beside you on your love seat completely captivated by you, his fingers tracing small circles into your thighs and his shadows curling through your hair. And that smile, gods, that smile could make even the most poised male lose all sense. It was bright and gleaming, and your skin glowed with the happiness of it.

Then you had decided to break the news to the Inner Circle, and as you stood before those doors oozing with grandeur, you felt nerves pinch at your skin, "Are you ready?" Azriel's fingers were tangled with yours and he bowed his head to place his lips on your bare shoulder.

"Yes." Azriel gave your hand a gentle tug, willing you to move from your spot located just behind him.

The aura of the house had shifted, now, it was inquisitive, glancing to the mirrors and then back to your hands to see if what it was seeing was real. Laughter echoed at the end of the hall, your scent had usually silenced them by now, but not this time. Now that your scent was mixed with Azriel’s it seemed much less threatening. Pity.

Turning the corner, you became startled by the smash of a glass, shards of it glided along the floor and fell at your feet. Looking up, you found Mor frozen in place, wide eyes and bewildered. The rest of the room craned to attention, collectively moving their eyes from Mor, to you, and then to Azriel, and then to your entwined fingers.

It took a minute, but you could have sworn you heard the bell ding in Cassian’s empty brain, “Oh shit,” he rose to his feet, wings flaring slightly as a wide grin gripped his mouth.

Rhys appeared before you both, gaze lowered in surprise, clearly trying to picture a timeline in his mind. The High Lord looked to his Spymaster, “Are you-“

“Mates?” Azriel finished incredulously, knowing that your moulded scents had already infected the room, and turned his head to you, orbs gleaming and adoration speckled on his cheeks, “Yes.”

Elain Archeron had sank into her seat, doing her best to not pay attention to you in particular whilst her stomach churned with the scent seeping into her bones. Subconsciously, you moved closer to Azriel, a slightly territorial action that made him smirk.

It had been a brief conversation that you had suffered through, the one where Azriel had made it very clear that the situation with Elain was brutally one-sided. Azriel had only sought to be nice to her, to help her to adjust to her new body and life because she was Feyre's sister and Feyre was his High Lady, and she had taken his kindness for something much more than what it truly was.

Leading you to the velvet armchair that you would usually slither into, Azriel sat and motioned for you, turning you in his hands so that his touch never left your thighs, and pulled you to his lap. A bashful smile formed on your face and you could feel the eyes of the room on you, equally as confused as shocked.

"Since when?" Nesta had asked after sipping from the goblet of red wine between her fingers, the liquid staining her plump pale lips, and she used her thumb to wipe a singular droplet before it ran down her chin. Her eyes held an emotion you couldn't quite make out, Azriel had admitted that Nesta was just as unreadable as you at times, but the way his digits dug into your flesh told you that what the eldest sister was feeling was an assortment of jealousy. Not toward you, toward him.

"The bond snapped just over a month ago," Nesta hummed and burrowed herself into the cushions, pouting slightly, like she was an infant who had her favourite toy taken from her grasp. "We wanted to explore it before we properly accepted it or told anyone."

That made Elain's doe-like stare move from the floor to your mate who was sat with you on his thighs rubbing small circles into your shoulders, "So you haven't accepted it?"

Your jaw clenched at the question, the question that was perfumed with the last splatters of hope, "If you're asking if we've fucked yet, Elain, then no, we haven't. Does that answer your question?"

Azriel's fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, knowing that the sensation of slight tugging over your scalp relaxed you infinitely, "I only ask because I know how physical Azriel can be. Surely you've heard the stories?" Elain feigned innocence, Feyre sighed from her seat and glanced to you apologetically, silently begging you to not tear her sister apart.

In fact, you had heard the stories. Trying to ignore the gossip of the city was difficult considering how used you were to eavesdropping into certain conversations in the underworld. So, unfortunately, you had heard about Azriel's many lovers, and you'd be silly to not feel insecure of it, but you wouldn't let her see that. Ever.

Craning your neck to the side, you smiled, your iced gaze slicing into her and making Elain shrink under the weight of it, "With all due respect, which is none," you leaned to the side, accepting the goblet of wine that the house had presented to you in premature thanks for the forthcoming words you were about to utter, "Your existence gives me a headache, so please go and find somewhere else to be."

Rhys' eyes widened but he suppressed the smirk forming on his face, hiding his lips behind his fist and closing his eyes. Not even Feyre or Nesta spoke up over it, they clearly knew better than to challenge you. Cassian however didn't really care if Elain saw his joy at your words, he had been growing more tired each passing day of her pining affection toward his brother, and now he understood why Azriel had withdrawn further from the female over the last few weeks.

It was because of the unique female before their very eyes.

The middle sister went to open her mouth, to retort something that wouldn't even irk you, but Amren shushed her, halted the words in her throat and willed her to die with them, "Don't even try it," Amren served you more than her own court, finding a kindred spirit within you, and she would shame herself if she let Elain speak to you as if you were nothing.

Elain would never understand someone like you. She wasn't worthy of it anyway.

No one had ever tried to understand Amren, not really, they thought her too complicated to be worth it. As long as they brought her pretty jewels and respected her then there was little else to worry of in their eyes. But you, you had understood her instantly and had found a particular solace with her, like you were peering through a mirror and she was your reflection.

Sipping the potent liquid in your goblet, you bowed your head to her, quietly thanking your friend for halting the small spat before it escalated and ruined the evening entirely. Tonight was not about Elain and her fragile feelings, it was about showing the Inner Circle who now owned your heart.

So, the middle sister vacated the room feigning a migraine, and the aura instantly lifted. A soft smile formed on your lips when your eyes landed on your mate, your entire face relaxed; entwining your fingers with his, you blushed when he pressed his lips to your knuckles and dragged your index finger down his cheek.

The Inner Circle watched on, knowing that they had never seen Azriel so taken by anything. They feasted on the sight of his shadows purring through your hair, on your colliding smiles, and how your gentle words to one another were contained in an ornate bubble around your bodies.

As the evening continued, you found yourself quite enjoying their company, you sat bundled into Azriel's embrace, finding comfort in the arms that were wrapped around you whilst Cassian spewed war stories, bragging at his prowess.

"Not to brag," you began with a smirk, "But at least eight men have described me as 'terrifying', and two of them are in this room. Choke on that ego, Cassian."

Nesta's grin turned feline and excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't give to spar with you, to have your legs wound around her and that tense gaze splitting her in half. From the whisperings of Prythian, it was very clear that you had done some rather diabolical things in order to obtain certain artifacts that had been locked away in your most prized and personal collection. So prized that its location was unknown. She could only imagine what trinkets you possessed, and the things you had witnessed.

"What about Azriel?!"

The Shadowsinger shrugged, his hand resting on your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, "I've only ever been entranced by my mate, Cassian," Azriel drawled, sipping the amber liquid swirling in his rocks glass like molten bronze, "It's you and Rhys who are afraid of her."

"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you."

Cassian frowned, turning to Nesta and asking, "Are you scared of her?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly, so quickly that you had quirked your brow at the sound, "I find y/n to be quite exciting."

"Exciting?" Cassian moved to Feyre and asked the same question, his manhood decaying when she too said that you didn't scare her, "Mor?"

The blonde who could not rival your beauty had always watched you from afar, and had always enjoyed how you made males squirm. Mor rose her glass to the stars and stated, "Bring every man you meet to their motherfucking knees, y/n."

"Amen to that," Amren tipped her glass in response, downing the rest of the thick red sap and finally feeling at home in the presence of her family thanks to you, and she eternally thanked the male sat beside you for being able to breathe some light into the storm cloud that was your mind.

"Mother above," Rhys grumbled, the women in his life uniting and itching to wreck havoc. The action of Rhys swiping his hand down his face, dragging the skin slightly toward in frustration, made a deep chuckle float from your lips, so serene that Nesta likened the sound to a siren call and found herself drawn to it. "Did I just make you laugh?" Rolling your eyes, you nodded at the High Lord who turned toward his mate, "This is the best day of my life," then back to you, "Does this mean that we're friends?"

Rhys waited expectantly, childlike orbs pleading to you with their innocence. You had no friends bar Amren and you were content with that. It meant that you only had one thing to lose. But as Azriel laid his hand on the small of your back, gaining your attention and giving you an expression of promise, the resolve of your solitude cracked, "Why not?"

The door to the River House flew open, a sudden shrill chill soaring through the air from the wild winds battering against the city, no doubt spurred on by your fury.

Many months had passed, and in that time you had truly blossomed, sure you still wore the mask of the devil on your features in public, but when you were with the Inner Circle, a group of people you now proudly belonged to, that mask drifted away like ash in the autumn breeze; and when Azriel was beside you, it felt as though warmth and happiness was all that you ever knew.

Much to Elain's upset, you and Azriel had officially accepted the bond and had locked yourselves away for four weeks to make the most out of every single moment together, and Rhys had been understanding enough of the bond between you both to not drag your mate away on another mission. The bond between you and Azriel was something that Rhys had never seen before, not even between him and Feyre.

"She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had."

The ceremony itself had been astonishing.

The women of the Inner Circle had spent the better part of two days dressing your apartment for the occasion and Feyre had made it quite clear that the upcoming ceremony was going to make theirs look ridiculous in comparison. Rhys was split between jealousy and awe when he saw it.

No one had ever stepped into the apartment beside Amren and Azriel, he had decided to move into the apartment after your return from the four-week sabbatical at the cabin, it was as though you were gifting them with the last part of you, allowing them to see what they could never fathom.

Faelights were strewn across the ceiling, curling around the arched windows that displayed the golden valley of the city in a way Rhys had never been able to appreciate before; tucked between the vines of the lights was fresh foliage, an array of green hue ferns caressing fully blossomed white roses and pale blue peonies. Sprigs of cedar and rosemary had been wove between the foliage and flowers alongside splinters of sandalwood, filling the room with the physical aspects of your scents.

Only the Inner Circle had been invited, and as you were dressing in your room with Amren, you could hear Nesta whining of her foolish jealousy of having to watch Azriel marry you. Amren had simply raised a brow and smirked at you through the mirror as she finished securing your veil to the back of your head.

There was no one you would want to share the moment with other than her.

Amren had blindfolded you, leading you through the home so that the gift wouldn't be ruined just so that you could get ready together, for the most important and deserving night of your life.

The dress that you had meticulously chosen was the most incredible garment Amren had ever seen, so much so that the first time you had tried it on in front of her, she had nearly cried at the beauty of it; and there you now stood, twisting in the mirror and running your hands down the hem of your veil and then your hips. The dress was made entirely of white lace that you had imported from the Day Court, an off-the-shoulder neckline and sleeves that kissed your wrists, it was elegant and graceful, and made the freckles of your trauma glow like shooting stars.

A gentle knock had sounded at the door and Rhys stepped in, taking one look at you and finding his breath catching in his throat. "You look amazing," he breathed, approaching you with his hands deep within his pockets.

The High Lord had been honoured when you had sheepishly asked him to walk you down the aisle; Rhys had found himself consumed with the need to protect you, after seeing your guard disappear, he saw who you truly were, a woman who just wanted to be loved and protected, and ready to allow other people to do it for her after spending so long doing it herself.

"Are you ready?" Inhaling deeply, you nodded and turned to him, noting the outstretched hand before you and feeling your usual anxiety bubbling in your gut. Rhys, realising that he shouldn't have done something so bold, went to retreat but halted when you took a small step toward him, reaching your fingers out to his palm and sliding them into his grasp.

Azriel was right, your skin was a smooth as honey.

A gentle smile of triumph later, you spoke, "I'm ready."

It was that moment that Rhys was begging you to remember as you barrelled through his house, no doubt heading straight for him in the confinements of his office.

He could feel your anger slam through the walls, your footsteps sounding up the staircase and stopping at the top of the hall, a pause to remember just how much you liked him before stalking down the hall and bursting into his office. Rhys cringed, knowing what was coming as you strode to his desk and slapped your palms flat against the wood.

"If you ever," you pointed your perfectly manicured finger in his face, "Send my mate back to me in that state again. I. Will. Destroy. You."

The snarl of your words sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and in that moment you were the y/n he had met one-hundred years ago. Cold. Distant. Almost demonic.

In his defence, he hadn't sent Azriel on an overly dangerous mission, it wasn't his fault that his Spymaster was ambushed in The Middle. Azriel's spilled blood was entirely his own fault in Rhys' eyes, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, y/n."

The rushed footsteps of another sounded in the hall, and when Rhys looked past your deeply heaving form, he was relieved beyond compare when he saw a bruised Azriel approaching, "Angel, it wasn't his fault. I was distracted," his voice grew louder as he paced closer to the pair of you, appearing at your side and turning your head in his fingers to face him, "I was thinking about you and I didn't hear them coming."

Watching your shoulders drop, Rhys sighed and wiped away an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, sitting back down and continuing his viewing just as you tilted your head to the side and popped out your bottom lip.

"You were?" Azriel's eyes softened and he dipped his gaze to meet yours, "That's the most romantic thing you've ever done. You were attacked because you were thinking about me, you actually bled because you were thinking about me?"

Rhys could only watch on perplexed at your words, you threw yourself into Azriel's arms, muttering small apologies for brushing against the bruises littering his abdomen, "She's crazy."

The Shadowsinger could only huff, too entrapped by you to really reprimand him, "Yeah," his eyes opened lazily, brimming with exhaustion, "But she's my crazy."

Azriel's shadows curled over your shoulders and shuddered, crying to be as close to you as possible, like they were trying to entwine with your soul so that you one day may carry them with you wherever you walked. In whatever world.

A bond like yours was made to topple temples and shatter worlds, it was made to transcend time and space; and as you wrapped an arm around your mate and led him from the office, not without sending one more warning glare to the male you had come to love as a brother, Rhys knew that no matter where either of you went, there would be no place that you could travel to where the other would not follow.

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alexiroflife · 3 months

Text

"second place"

sorry y'all

suguru geto x reader

Synopsis: suguru reminisces over loving you and losing you to satoru

to sum it up: no matter what, satoru will always be number one while suguru comes second

WC: 4,122

Warning(s): angstttttt angst angst angst, jjk season 2 spoilers, mentions of death

One thing that Suguru Geto always understood was that he would never compare to the world’s strongest sorcerer.

When Suguru met Satoru, he instantly knew that he was different. Aside from his unique physical properties that drew more attention than most like his porcelain white hair and his brilliantly vibrant sapphire eyes, there remained Satoru Gojo’s destiny to become the greatest, which he undoubtedly already was at such a young age.

Satoru gathered all of the attention whilst simultaneously doing so with such arrogance and pride, and while Suguru understood that anyone who found themselves in Satoru’s place would likely behave the same way, it proved to be rather taxing at the worst times. While Suguru was subjected to the confines of his curse technique, exorcizing and absorbing filthy curses then repeating the pattern all over again, retaining and manipulating the very objects of his consumption at will, Satoru snapped his fingers and the entire world was at his feet.

Suguru somehow never envied Satoru despite his clear advantage. Satoru was his best friend above all else, and Suguru was secure enough in his own power and skill not to compare himself to the godly likeness of the Gojo clan’s most prized possession. The black haired boy did not deem himself capable of envy, for it was a rather cruel form of torture to grow jealous over something that you yourself could never obtain.

Suguru didn’t mind being the second best in high school, for the role to carry first place would always be Satoru’s, and who was he to desire a burden like that? Satoru had the entire world’s eyes hovering over him, monitoring each breath that was sucked into his lungs and each step he took upon the concrete. Satoru had the power to strip the world of all its life, and while it sounded enticing to withhold that strength from an outsider’s perspective, to have that skill constantly surveyed under the pesky gaze of an untrusting, possessive, and manipulative society was not up Suguru's alley.

Envy was for those who were insecure, for those who could not accept that Satoru would remain above all for now and ever more. Suguru was not an insecure man, and he was far too close with Satoru to want what he would never have.

That was, however, until you came into the picture.

You were a new student during their second year; a transfer. You appeared seemingly out of nowhere, catching the attention of the students who were eager to know more about your impedance into such a small society. Suguru remembered the exact day he met you. He and Satoru were saddled with the responsibility of showing you around and helping you acclimate into your new environment. The boys initially didn’t understand why they had to be burdened with such a chore, but Yaga reminded them that this was their punishment for being sloppy during their last mission. He hoped for it to teach the two of them some patience and discipline.

The boys waited for you in an empty classroom, Satoru complaining about how lame it was that the two of them had to do something so stupid when your face peered into the room followed by a swift knock on the door frame.

Suguru and Satoru looked up from their seats to identify you, and Suguru’s face dropped. You were beautiful, gentle with your approach as you stepped in cautiously and waved in greeting. You had an air about you that exuded confidence though it was clear in your reserved introduction that you were slightly nervous to have been put on the spot, and forced to locate a room in a school that you’ve never been inside on your own for that matter. You were a little rattled, but you still made a good first impression.

Your cursed energy warbled inside you like a gentle, roaring flame, encapsulating your figure in an assertive matter. You didn’t look it, but your cursed energy within you was fiery, fierce, yet tamed well within your mass.

Your (e/c) eyes looked between the boys and they sat up, suddenly impacted by your presence. A soft, amiable smile touched your lips as you batted your pretty eyelashes and lowered your hand. “Are you two Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru?” your voice fluttered out heavenly, gazing curiously at the teens.

Suguru suddenly stood to his feet to introduce himself properly, while Satoru followed with a hand on his hip. “Yes,” the curse manipulation sorcerer spoke up. Normally, he would have casted a smile your way to make you feel more welcome, but instead his face was blank, somewhat overcome by your attractiveness, both internal and external. “Sorry, you’re the new student?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. “(L/n) (Y/n). Probably should’ve led with that,” you laughed lightly at yourself, and Suguru’s heart skipped a beat, touched by the angelic sound. He was taken aback by himself momentarily, unsure of how you managed to catch him off guard when he was normally so cool and collected. There was just something about you though, the way your eyes sparked life.

“No way, can’t be,” Satoru said, his suave voice lifting into the room as he stepped toward you and tilted his head, studying you through the round dim lenses of his glasses. You looked at him in slight confusion, unsure of where this white haired boy was going with his initial reaction. “You’re way too pretty! I was expecting a nerd who looked like a troll,” he announced bluntly and Suguru lowered his head with a disappointed exhale.

You pinched your brows and parted your lips. “Huh?!” you exclaimed, and Suguru was quick to step in behind Satoru, punching him in the back of his head. Satoru yelped, rubbing the tender area he was hit with a grimace.

“Don’t pay attention to this dumbass,” he told you, finally allowing a smile to slip onto his face, one that you associated with trust and kindness. “It’s good to see you. I understand you’re transferring from a different school.”

You softened and turned your attention to him, cheeks slightly warm. “Mhm! I’ve been working on my cursed technique for a long time now, but I went to a normal school in the country until I was pushed into this direction,” you explained to him lightly.

“I see,” Suguru nods. “What brings you to Jujutsu High then?”

“Getting sick of watching innocent people die,” you responded rather casually, a soft smile still on your face and Suguru understands completely.

“I hate to break it to you, sweets, but here’s not the place where you’d really stop seeing all that,” Satoru jumped in again, smirk sneaking its way onto his face.

“Satoru, be nice and don’t scare the poor girl off please.”

“I’m just being honest! She’s gotta know what she’s getting herself into. She seems too nice.”

“I mean it, before I tell Yaga to break your legs.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckled slightly as you watched their interaction, concluding that the two of them must have been good friends. “No, you’ve got a point. A lot of people told me that when I started my admissions process here,” you said lightheartedly, catching their attention again. “I know what I’m signing up for. While death is inevitable, the least I can do is put forth my strength toward helping others who can’t help themselves.”

“Looking out for the weak,” Suguru agreed, and you hummed in affirmation cheerfully.

“Exactly.”

Suguru found that the smile he gave was more genuine than the last after listening to you, having determined that you would fit in amongst him and his fellow students quite well.

You grew close to the boys within a matter of weeks, training alongside them, studying with them, or hanging out with them outside of school. You learned a lot about the two within a short amount of time, from Satoru’s otherworldly strength to Suguru’s somehow serene brutality when it came to fighting curses. You were thoroughly impressed by them and in turn, the boys learned a lot about you.

Your close friend from school had died a week before your enrollment at the hands of a curse you hadn’t been able to fight, truthfully posing as the motivation that pushed you into Jujutsu High as well as your previously mentioned goals. Though you were weaker than the guys, you withheld immense promise, physical strength, and plenty of room to improve and polish yourself. You were determined, generous, disciplined, selfless, and devoted, and Suguru found himself falling for you quicker than he would have liked to admit.

You swept up his heart into your hands effortlessly, somehow managing to trap the student into a frenzy of your warmth. Suguru didn’t know what it was about you that got to him first when he met you. Perhaps it was the expression on your face displaying a cute sense of eagerness intertwined with uncertainty before it snapped away in an instant when you introduced yourself, your beauty and sureness blossoming with your socialization with other students. No, maybe it was the smile that graced your face that stretched your glossed lips into a curve and pinched the corners of your cheeks and the light in your eyes.

Or it could’ve been the fact that you were so caring, so completely indulged in the lives of others that he didn't understand how someone like you could stomach an occupation like sorcery, how you had always asked how he was doing when you saw him with a genuine interest playing at your lips, how you praised him when he told you, Satoru, and Shoko that he had tweaked and improved one of his manipulations over a powerful curse and threw your arms around his neck with just as much excitement for him as you would have had for yourself. You were just so good, so bright, so beautiful that it was impossible not to be drawn to you.

Nevertheless, beneath all that sweetness and charm was a fire that raged within you, revealing itself in all its glory when you were out on a mission exorcizing curses from grades four to three, and at later times, even grade two. Suguru stared at you with surprise the first time you’d leapt into the air, spinning your body swiftly and descending recklessly over the head of a nasty curse with a hand outstretched, lips warping into a twisted grin and eyes sharpening with rabid intensity.

You were as crazy as you were generous, and Suguru was captivated by it. By you.

He began growing closer to you, reaching out to touch you at any chance he got by picking imaginary lint from your hair, or grazing your lower back with his palms as he brushed past you, or grabbing your wrist to hold you back and tell you to wait for a moment while you were on a mission, when in actuality there was no threat to prevent you from walking into you. He was always listening to you talk, nodding his head in engagement with a soft smile and locking his eyes over your face with loyal concentration, bringing up the things you had mentioned into later conversations to spark your interest and keep you engrossed for hours. He even liked to sit with you in silence, claiming that he was studying with you when Satoru would ask what the two of you were doing sitting alone in an empty room when all he truly desired was the constant chance to be near you.

You had got to him, enraptured him in your essence without struggle. He developed the biggest crush on you and planned to one day ask you out until the day both you and Satoru approached him on separate occasions to inquire about the other, and whether he believed either of you would be interested in dating the other.

That day, Suguru sank into himself as he was reminded, once more, of Satoru Gojo’s everlasting advancement over him.

With no reason to tell either of you otherwise, Suguru told you both that if you wanted to pursue each other, you should have. And so you did, and the dark haired man was forced to watch as Satoru Gojo took away the very first thing that Suguru believed he could have that he didn’t, and that was you.

Consequently, cold calculating envy slithered into Geto’s life and captured his mass within its slimy coils.

Suguru didn’t believe that he would’ve been bothered too much by the shift in dynamic at first, for he had always seen the way Satoru had begun to cling to you and the way you’d welcome yourself to his attention happily. Previously, he just hadn’t identified it as any more than friendship, but looking back, he supposed that he was likely so desperate to win you that he turned his head away from the signs. Even so, he didn’t believe that his reaction to seeing the two of you together would be that bad, but it was.

The dark haired man had accidentally walked in on the two brushing shoulders closely and giggling to each other privately on Satoru’s bed. He froze upon seeing you, the image seizing him in his tracks and stripping him of the decency to be happy for you. Instead, when he looked at you, the sight of your skin touching his, your normal smile replaced by a love-stricken beam and rosy cheeks, and your eyes shining under Satoru’s gaze, he felt his heart clench to the point where he could feel his heartache in the bottom of his throat, choking him up and making his eyes go wide.

It was far worse, however, when you both looked up at him as though he had interrupted, giddy smiles fading to make way for a friendly facade. Suguru hated it. He hated the way his gut churned when a giggle sparked by Satoru slipped into your stunned greeting of him. He hated the way you pretended as though you weren’t just glowing red and laughing with the sprite of a love-stricken toddler before he walked in. He hated that the way you looked at him was so different from the way you looked at Satoru, the gorgeous glimmer in your eye diminishing and the muscles beneath them relaxing.

He hated watching you with his best friend. Watching your love bloom for the man who could have had anyone in the world, and yet he chose you.

But Suguru could not say that he blamed him. You were perfect, everything about you, from your head to your toes. You were strong, you were intelligent, you were stunning, you were joyful; what star in the sky wouldn’t stun the mightiest man on earth up close?

And who was Suguru to be envious when Satoru Gojo was his competition? He had told himself before that Gojo’s position didn’t bother him in the slightest, at least not when it came to jujutsu. But after you, after watching him wave around the privilege of holding your hand, of kissing your lips, of caressing your waist, of holding you close, Suguru could not fight the urge to wish with everything in him that he was in Satoru’s place. Though you wanted Geto as his friend, he selfishly longed to have more.

He selfishly dared to compare himself to his best friend.

Then, the mission with Riko happened.

Suguru watched as a bullet whipped through the young navy haired girl’s head after promising her that she would return to her loved ones and to the outside world, ripping into her brain and stealing her life as she crashed to the floor. Suguru witnessed the fear of a world stripped of Satoru Gojo during a fight with an astonishingly strong non-sorcerer who claimed to murder his closest friend, then murdered the little girl he was expected to protect. Suguru watched Satoru descend a bright hall with Riko’s body cradled within his arms, eyes dull yet body intact against Toji’s words, emerging like a ghost manifested into life and once again reminding Suguru that Satoru Gojo remained on a level above all else, avoidant of rejection and avoidant of the natural laws of life.

Suguru grew empty, the sound of your laughter fading into the darkest caverns of his mind, echoing into his nightmares riddled with dreams of your body lying helplessly beside Riko’s. Images of you sitting on Satoru’s lap or kissing his cheek flashed across the holes of his mind as it shadowed itself into inky darkness, a hatred for human life manifesting within his gut. You and Satoru would mention that he had lost weight, or that he looked tired, or that they barely saw him around anymore, but Suguru became numb to it. To all of it.

He thought of you when he wiped those lives from that village, pupils shrunken and strands of hair whipping about his head as the cries of agony- of the weak sang over the mountain, angering him. He missed you, he thought as he slaughtered those villagers. He wanted you with him.

He found you after disappearing, a few weeks following. You sat out at a nearby park, taking some space for yourself to think, when he emerged from the trees. You jumped to your feet, taking a few steps away in alarm as he waved at you with a smile, the same kind smile that led you to trust him upon first meeting. “S-Suguru?” you called out, brows curling in what he could not determine to be sadness, anger, or heartache.

“Hi, (Y/n),” he said to you softly, and you ached, the sound of his voice just the same as it had always been. You didn’t know why you expected it to be any different, but it felt stranger that he was behaving like himself, as though he wasn’t a mass murderer.

You stilled when you saw him, eyes wide and body trembling. “What are you doing here?” you demanded and he approached you slowly, tired eyes turning kindly down upon you. You looked at him, pained, his eyes carrying a hint of insanity in them that you had never noticed before.

“I came to see you,” he admitted, eyes looking over you. “You look nice.”

“Suguru,” you begged him with the call of his name alone. “Why…”

“I wanted to ask you to come with me,” he said to you abruptly, and you stared at him incredulously, nose turned up and brows angled.

“What?”

“I’ve loved you since the second I knew you, (Y/n),” he spoke to you earnestly, jumping straight into the point without turning back. He knew that if he were to approach you, he had to put all of his cards on the table with little room for miscommunication or time for hiding his true emotions. He needed to present the choice to you, his feelings to you. He needed to try. “Satoru was my best friend, but I loved you then and I love you now.”

You looked mortified, bottom lip quivering and cheeks reddening as you rejected the information physically initially, muscles in your face tightening with discomfort, then disbelief and pity. “Suguru…” you breathed in an awed, devastated whisper. “Suguru, what do you mean? Why are you saying this to me?”

“I want you to leave with me,” he proposed to you, standing close and taking your quivering hands in his. You shook your head rapidly, looking between your hands in his palms and his earnest expression, hazel eyes melting over you with hope.

“Leave?” you whispered, shaken by the things he was saying in addition to his physical appearance before you, touching you, speaking to you.

“Leave Jujutsu High,” he pleaded gently, firmly. You were speechless, staring up at him with such intense pain in your normally shining eyes. “Come with me. Make a better world with me, we can do it together. You can do it by my side, and we won’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

You were thrown by his bluntness in asking you to kill human beings alongside him, against your morals, against your life’s devotion, against your school, against Satoru. “You’re asking me to become a murderer with you.”

“I’m asking you to be with me.”

A lump built in your throat as your best friend gazed at you tenderly, helplessly, and you didn’t have the strength to pull away so quickly from the person you lost. Suguru Geto was a criminal. He was no longer your friend, no longer someone you could stomach thinking about, but the love you had for him remained, feeding into your grief over a boy you once knew to never hurt a fly as long as it was weak and innocent. And suddenly, he wanted to slaughter every non-sorcerer with you in his partnership.

And he loved you?

“Please, (Y/n),” his hand lifted to hold your cheek and you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw and tugging at your lips. “You were always there for me.”

It looked like it took every fiber of your being to muster up the strength to shake your head and lower his hand. “No,” you frowned, your lashes dotting your bottom cheek with tears. “You can’t ask me to do this. You can’t tell me you love me knowing that I’m with Satoru. Knowing that what you did is unforgivable.”

Suguru’s heart snapped inside as he stared down at you with a melancholy smile, tilting his head to gaze gently at you. He knew what you were going to say before he had even come to you, and that was okay. You didn’t have to want to be with him, you didn’t have to agree with him, and you didn’t have to love him. You were good, naively obsessed with the protection of non-sorcerers that were the scum of the shoe worn by someone like you, but good, and you were allowed to choose whichever path you wanted to take, even if that path led you away from him and further into Satoru.

He hadn’t come to argue. He hadn’t come to convince you. He hadn’t come to harm you. He simply meant to ask, and he did.

He nodded his head softly toward you, acceptance washing over his slightly wounded face. “Okay,” he said, his voice low and quiet.

Your face fell, shocked by his quickness to oblige. You were prepared to fight, but instead, the look in Suguru’s eye made your heart tremble and your eyes well.

“Wha…?”

Suguru stepped in and lowered his lips to meet your forehead gingerly. His lips were warm against your skin as he lingered for a few moments before pulling away, releasing your head from his hands. You looked up at him wistfully, frightened for what he was about to do. “That was all I wanted to say. I wish you and Satoru all the best,” he nodded his head lightly again before turning over his shoulder and walking off.

You stared after him wistfully, eyes blurring over as the vision of him washed away with his presence. “...Suguru?” you murmured weakly, but he was gone, and you were left alone.

A decade later, you were face to face with Suguru once more at Jujutsu High, standing close to your husband, Satoru, with your posture rigid and your face frozen in shock, Satoru glaring ahead through his blindfold from beside you.

Geto smiled, arm tucked over Yuta Okkotsu’s, your students standing perplexed around you as your former best friend greeted you. “Satoru, (Y/n)! Long time no see!” he called kindly, eyes opening slyly to look between the two of you. “Still together, I see? And as professors no less?”

“We’re married, Suguru,” Satoru revealed sternly, and Suguru’s brows raised and his chin tilted up slightly in response.

“Ah,” his eyes slid over to you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Really?”

You couldn’t respond, for you were too shocked to see him. The last time you did, he was confessing his love to you and asking you to join his absurdity. You never told Satoru about it. You felt as though the moment was too private, too alarming to reveal to your now spouse.

Even years later, Suguru felt the claws of jealousy dig into him again as he scanned the silver ring you wore around your finger. He chuckled slightly to himself, releasing Yuta harshly and turning completely to face you.

“I can’t be too surprised,” he smiled, Gojo lifting a brow at the comment. “After all,” he kept his gaze on you. “The great Satoru Gojo will always get any and everything he wants.”

me personalliy i would've folded, idk.

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vhagarys · 18 days

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just saw someone say he looks like he was made from a fan fiction factory and I think that sums it up brilliantly

#aemond targaryen #hotd #prince aemond #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond fic

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hollowed-theory-hall · 7 months

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re.: the weasleys + parenting

what's always bugged me most abt percy's fight with arthur (especially in the fandom, where everyone's like 'oh, he turned his back on harry and betrayed his family to side w the ministry) is that. that's hardly what the fight is about at all. the fight is about the fact that percy, an 18yo kid who just got promoted to his dream job instead of straight up losing any chance at ever being Minister (because they tried to scapegoat him into taking the blame for the crouch business even though he managed to keep the whole department running while his boss wasn't even there), comes home all excited to tell his parents that "Hey, he's not unemployed and bereft of any and all hope for his biggest dream", but rather that his skills and competence got recognized by The Most Important Man In The Government, and molly and arthur look him straight in the face and go—"no you didn't."

there is no mention whatsoever that they even try to be gentle about it, that they congratulate him first and then bring it up later like "just be careful around Fudge, he's always looking for people to get information from and you are the best of both worlds, close to the action and actually good at the job he hired you for", nothing of the sort. they straight up don't even consider how any of those factors might've weighed in Fudge's decision to hire him.

and, perhaps worst of all, they have no faith in Percy. he tells them "I'm working for the minister", and not only do they not spare a second to be happy for him over this frankly momentous achievement (or at the very least concern for the position it puts him in), they jump straight to conjectures and accusations. "you only got this because of Harry" has got to crush Percy, who was raised to believe that good things come to honest, hard-working people and who has been working for this since he was a small child. and it digs the knife deeper when you realize that most of his siblings have basically replaced him with Harry. Harry, who also plays Quidditch and also keeps throwing himself into death-defying dangers and overalls fits much better into the family dynamic than Percy ever has.

and there's just this. crystal clear implication that they do believe Percy would spy on them. he's so Different and Other and Un-Weasley/Gryffindor-like and they've alienated themselves from him so absolutely that they can't see any reasons he wouldn't willingly and consciously jeopardize his parents' livelihood and Harry & his siblings safety just to stay in the Minister's good graces, when if anyone's actually at risk of losing their job for siding with Dumbledore is his father, who's still working there quite merrily and continues to so for a long time afterwards.

Percy, who runs into a freezing lake mid-February while attending an international event as Crouch's replacement to make sure Ron is alright, who pesters Ginny to eat and have a pepper-up potion most of her first year bc she doesnt look well, who tails Harry and Ron a lot of their second and third years bc there's something petrifying kids and then Dementors on the grounds and a mass murderer on the loose and they all just think he's being willfully bothersome like no you idiots he's worried.

of course he left. of course he left. what did he have to gain by staying at the Burrow, beyond fresh home cooked meals harassment and disagreements? why wouldn't he leave?

sorry I have a lot of feelings about this.

No need to apologize, this is brilliantly written!

I don't even feel like I need to add anything as you summed up the Percy situation perfectly.

But I can't help myself because I love discussing the Weasley family dynamics, so it's a bit more rumbley than my usual...

Percy cares so much for his family. When Voldemort is revealed and the war actually starts, he puts all his disagreements with his parents aside to come and help and make sure they're okay, because he cares. And still, he is being shunned and treated like an outsider.

Arthur and Molly Weasley are just really good at alienating their kids because it isn't just Percy.

Somehow all of them succeded in feeling like outsiders in a family of 9. Bill shows frustration with his parents and only returns to Britain because of the war, Charlie's in Romania for most of the series. Fred and George run away the moment they can and are treated like trouble by their parents most of the time (Molly and Arthur assume they are selling stolen goods from Mundungus when they hear they have money, not that they, idk, somehow earned it), Ron has a whole complex of low self-esteem and a tendency to blame himself for everything. Ginny is isolated from her brothers as the only girl and youngest...

And Percy cares and tries to be the best and most responsible sibling and gets scorned in turn.

Harry and Ron do acknowledge Arthur's and Molly's accusation towards Percy was awful and that he was right to respond negatively in OOTP. Ron is just sensitive about their family's financial state which soured Percy to him after Percy blew up at their dad (rightfully so, honestly, I'd say way worse to Arthur if it was me).

The thing is, Percy also gets scorned by his siblings, not just his parents (like Fred and George do). He gets grief for trying to be responsible and for wanting his siblings to do well in school and not get in trouble, Fred and George lock him in a pyramid...

That being said, do I think Percy is perfect? No, he is pretentious and overbearing at times, but he is a child in a large family who tries to find a place to fit himself in. According to child psychology, usually when it comes to siblings, the eldest would usually (at least in childhood) try to be everything the parents want (Bill), and then each next sibling will carve a different niche for themselves, and we see this with the Weasleys. I think the twins being born right after Percy and demanding a lot of attention from their parents from a young age as they were little troublemakers from the start is a big reason why Percy chose the niche of being bookish, ambitious, and responsible for himself. To contrast himself with them and his older brothers and get some attention from their parents.

I'm not a fan of the epilog (like everyone), but I find it hard to imagine Percy being close to his family post-books. I think he never fully got over the sting of not being seen as skilled and competent and that his parents believed he'd turn on them all without a second thought. Nor do I think he should just get over it.

Like, I'm really salty that Percy was the only one to apologize:

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a—a—” “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron.” said Fred. Percy swallowed. “Yes, I was!” “Well, you can’t say fairer that that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father. “I’m sorry, Dad.” Percy said.

(Deathly Hollows, pages 512-513)

Like, yes, it's great he was smart enough to realize the ministry is corrupt, but this demand only for him to apologize when Molly and Arthur Weasley were just as much in the wrong. Fred and George weren't beacons of sainthood here either. But none of them have apologies demanded of them. None of them are demanded to confess they are "morons". Just Percy.

Who even after his apology is still an outsider. Probably always will be one.

You said it best: "Why wouldn't he leave?"

And that's what we see him do (if temporarily).

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #harry potter theory #hp theory #wizarding world #percy weasley #the weasleys #arthur weasley #molly weasley #asks #anon ask

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grigori77 · 1 year

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Reasons to LOVE Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves

It's brand new in cinemas, so there are still plenty who ain't seen it, so if you're among 'em best skip this and just GO SEE IT, it's SO well worth it, genuinely it's one of the best new movies I've seen so far this year. Hope you love it as much as I did!

So, yeah, there you go - SPOILER WARNING, FOLKS!!! If you don't wanna get spoiled, RUN!!!

Still here? Okay, here we go then ...

This really is, UNAPOLOGETICALLY, a comedy. I mean yeah, this is a classic fantasy action adventure in the Willow, Krull or Ladyhawke mold, but it is also very enthusiastically POKING FUN at the classic conventions of the genre ... albeit CLEARLY done with great affection and love for the material, as only the best lampoons can be. So this is more The Princess Bride or Galaxy Quest than Your Highness or Spaceballs ...

Chris Pine is ALWAYS at his best when he's being FUNNY, so he is PERFECT here. Edgin is most definitely a bit of a douchebag, but he's the sweetest, most lovable douchebag you'll ever encounter.

Holga. Literally just EVERYTHING about Holga. She's my favourite character in this, this REALLY IS the best role that Michelle Rodriguez has EVER HAD, if you ask me. She's a total badass, a truly AMAZING FIGHTER, but I love that despite her dour demeanour she's actually quite sweet, gentle and really a great innocent in many ways. She's an absolute cinammon roll and must be protected at all costs.

OH MY GODS!!! All the easter eggs, SO MANY easter eggs ... FAR too many to count throughout, all the references and nods and winks to the game itself, all the spells and races and creatures and stuff ... but I love how the movie NEVER beats you over the head pointing any of it out, it just lets you enjoy it. So the proper fans will get a huge kick out of spotting it all, but casual viewers will just enjoy it as rich worldbuilding colour and flavour.

Seriously though, it's a D&D fan's DREAM!!! Not just the mimic, or the owlbear, or the gelatinous cube! SO MUCH to spot ...

Justice Smith's Simon gets THE CLEVEREST and best introduction in the film, I love the theatre scene, he's SO BAD at this while also simulataneously being really great. Totally sums up this gloriously clunky hot mess of a sorcerer ...

the opening is GENIUS, totally sets the movie up as it means to go on - the parole hearing is a brilliant comedic take on the scene-setting infodump which is brilliantly carried through in the way the movie delivers exposition in a fun way or just lets you absorb it through what's happening in each scene. This is the perfect, TEXTBOOK way to do it.

"That is one pudgy dragon!" LOL

Doric. Just EVERYTHING about Doric. Sophia Lillis' tiefling druid is a wonderful diminutive little action hero, so fiesty and capable. I love her. It's just a shame she's not primary coloured, I'd have loved it even more if she'd been blue, or red ...

The Wildshape Escape! XD Yeah, I love that, that's THE BEST set-piece in the whole movie, definitely, when Doric gets cught out spying and has to shapeshift on the fly to get away, and it all plays out in one immersive single shot that just leaves your heart in your mouth ...

Oh, the Speak With The Dead montage, that is comedy GOLD. Funniest scene in the whole movie. And with added payoff at the end! XD

Rege-Jean Page's Xenk Yendar. Oh boy, that paladin is something else. I love how LITERAL he is, he's like Drax in GOTG but much more intelligent. Y'know when Holga says: "You're not a lot of fun, are you?" to him? She's so wrong. I just wish there was more of him in this ...

The heist! Oh, the heist! So good ... the portal trick, it's great, love the way they did that, and then that HILARIOUS bard illusion distraction - Pine skipping the song like a broken record was just chef's kiss!

That wonderful wibbly-wobbly illusory reality thing whenever Simon tries to atune to the Helm ... wow, that is some spectacularly trippy shit. Granted, twice is fine for terms of pacing, but I could've done with a few more scenes of that, it's fascinating.

Hugh Grant really has just become a MASTER at playing smarmy, slimy duplicitous gits now, hasn't he? Forge is a reprehensible prick and I love it.

I love how they made Bradley Cooper a halfling for his cameo. They're never gonna let him live down the fact that he's now probably best known for playing a two-foot-tall talking racoon so forever after he will be a Short King.

Wow, Daisy Head's Sofina is a CRACKING villain, she's just SO CREEPY!!! I love how coolly menacing she is, a brilliant dark necromantic wizard that just makes your skin crawl. Especially at the end ... IS SHE a lich? Is that what they were doing there?

That whole big action climax, the showdown in the city centre is FIRE!!! It's so amazing, so brilliantly dynamic, with EVEN MORE great easter eggs! Simon and Sofina having an insanely awesome "arm wrestling" bout with Mage Hand versus Earthen Grasp (I think that's the spell, couldn't be sure), oh my gods! So cool ... and then the way they neutralised the threat! Brilliant.

Chloe Coleman's Kira is an absolutely adorable delight, and I think she's ENTIRELY JUSTIFIED in how pissed she is at Edgin for abandoning her. It makes the payoff when they finally make up so much better.

And that resurrection scene at the end? Yeah, sure, I saw that coming a mile off, but it was so well done, and they played it so well, that it was still SUCH a powerful scene even so. Just perfect.

Seriously, they just did this whole thing SO PERFECTLY. It's visually STUNNING, really it just looks AMAZING, and the action sequences are BRILLIANT but always feel entirely necessary for the story, which is how you want to do it. Best of all, though, is THE PACING!!! This is such a quick, breezy film, it just barrels along at a spectacular clip, so it never drags. Mark Kermode is right, even though this is two and a quarter hours long it doesn't FEEL LIKE IT, it feels like a super-trim 90-minute movie.

And it ties everything off nice and neat, too. Sure, there are definitely possibilities for the future, going forward if they make more, but if the movie DOES tank then it's fine, because this really does do a great job about feeling self-contained and telling its own complete story, so if we DON'T get more it won't be too big a disappointment ...

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1dcommunityficrecs · 18 days

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Rec List: Teacher AUs!

I........ may have completely forgotten to post this for two days. In my defense, last week was about three separate nightmares, followed by attending a lovely but loud and long wedding and then driving home in a torrentially downpouring thunderstorm while my inebriated fiancee babbled adorable nonsense from the passenger seat.

Also my ADHD ass made it 8 months before this happened so we're gonna take that as a win.

ANYWAYS. Teachers. They have so much influence -- I've had teachers who inspired me and made me want to be better, and teachers who made me vow to never take that subject ever again from anyone. Teaching someone can be such a gift, such a sense of intimacy and vulnerabillity and trust, a unique bond.

And thus, I bring you ten teaching fics, from preschool to high school to university to diving to yoga and beyond. We've got 11k, we've got 111k, and plenty in between. Please enjoy, read, reblog, kudos, comment, and get ready for the next theme!

Breathe Me by Elsi-bee (25609, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Louis is a songwriter forced to take part in a meditation retreat, Harry is the coach.

Reccer says: It's a lovely story! Comfort fic! There's pinning, the relationship is sweet and very believable even though the fic isn't very long. There are feelings and emotion. I really loved it and highly recommend it!

Take My Breath Away by RealityBetterThanFiction (153658, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Top Gun AU

Reccer says: It's a remake of Top Gun en Larry, so it's ten thousand times better. Louis aka Rogue is something else. And Sparrow aka Harry is not to be outdone.

You Watched Me Sink by bananasandboots (38000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry and Louis are teachers at the same school and they're sort of casually dating except maybe neither of them is quite as casual about it as they mean to be but they refuse to talk about it until they do.

Reccer says: No matter how many times Harry and Louis tell Niall that they're dating, Niall is absolutely certain that they're not dating BUT THEY SHOULD BE. It's so fucking funny every time.

Hands Clasped Tight by afirethatcannotdie (44300, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry and Louis are teachers at the same school and all their students either think they're dating or want them to date. They're half-right: they've been married for three years.

Reccer says: It's just so sweet and cute and funny, they fit together so well and know each other so well but their relationship still feels vibrant and alive and hot and full of love

Hold My Breath by Zarah5 (19749, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis is a footballer, Harry is a yoga teacher

Reccer says: Why do I love this fic? It can be summed up in a few words: Zarah5, footie Louis. And Harry is the Harry I like: a little clumsy, sweet and kind.

Into the Blue by Zarah5 (117218, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis is Harry's diving teacher

Reccer says: I can't say it often enough: I love Zarah's writing. She makes every one of her stories a wonderful read, and Into the Blue confirms that rule. Pinning, a little angst. Perfection

An Unbalanced Force by kingsofeverything (110000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Harry's picture-perfect future starts to crumble, but something else is born out of the rubble.

Reccer says: Mature OT5 in a realistic world where things aren't perfect. Angst with a happy ending.

come as you are by Stylinsoncity (77438, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

louis is a professor of literature at oxford and harry is his newest and most eager protege. both are caught in a story about forbidden love, loss and second chances, in which one is on the brink of heartbreak and the other comes along when he's needed most.

Reccer says: This fic—the whole series actually—so brilliantly explores complex feelings, poor choices, falling in love, hating oneself…

All in the Golden Afternoon by Leighllbealright (126007, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

When Louis Tomlinson needed to find a new preschool for his daughter, he wasn't expecting the one across the street to be everything he and Goldie ever needed. Or: the one where Louis is closed off, Harry is the weirdest person ever, and Gemma may as well be a psychic.

Reccer says: This fic is possibly one of the best kid fics I’ve ever read! Goldie is a star in her own right. Harry’s reaction to meeting Louis for the first time is so delightfully weird and memorable.

The Section by Bananaheathen (11144, Mature, Harry Styles / Louis Tomlinson)

In which Louis is a TA for an Intro to Cinema course, and Harry is an undergrad with a bit of a crush. Or, the one with "Name: Harry Styles, Date: me please”

Reccer says: The “date: me please” makes me giggle every single time. I love the Zouis friendship and the lusting over the Likely Lads!

#category 16 #teachers #rec list #one direction #louis tomlinson #liam payne #zayn malik #niall horan #harry styles #1dficvillage #1dsource #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #hlficlibrary #hlcreators #ficsfor4am #trackinghome #tracksintheam

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thenameisgul · 4 months

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The tragedy of season 6 Castiel

Season 6 Castiel just breaks my freaking heart.

If I had to chose two dialogues to sum up his whole situation it wouldn't be the popular ones like 'where were you when I needed to hear it" or even "Dean, it's not broken!"

Nothing explains what he's going through more than when he kills the angel attacking him for Raphael in 6x03

"why wont any of you listen"

after he begged him to not fight because he didn't want to kill another one of his brothers

or when he told Sam and Dean at the end of 6x15

"When will I be able to make you understand?"

He's stuck between rock and a hard place and yes, he's not talking because, hey, he learned free will from the Winchesters and they are not the ideal human beings. He thinks he has to do this by himself because he doesn't want to burden Sam and Dean (who does that sound like, I wonder?) but at the same time, its also true that for the entire first half of the season Dean was so completely busy with Sam and his soul problem that he didn't really make Cas feel like he could come to him with his problem.

Cas doesn't want to kill any more angels but they wont stop trying to bring about the apocalypse which will hurt his humans and Cas can't have that.

Cas doesn't want to hurt sam or ignore dean but dean is being a selfish prick who only cares about his problem (admittedly, its a big problem and we all know how irrational dean gets when Sam is in trouble) but it all makes Cas realize he can't rely on Winchesters.

Its an impossible situation. It's classic miscommunication trope done brilliantly with two dumbasses who are simply unable to use their words.

Not to mention how prickly Sam and Dean are being. They snap at him all the time, refuse to listen to anything over what they believe to be right and Raphael just keeps trying to kill him any chance he gets. No wonder the poor angel looks TIRED the whole season.

And the cherry on top he's feels betrayed (they mean well, but he's not in the mindset to see that) by all his friends and that just breaks him. I think every thing Sam, Dean and Balthazar did to try to stop him from going after the purgatory souls only made him feel like he needed to do it all the more. And isn't that ironic.

Cas made some questionable choices, there's no denying that, but lets not forget that is simply Supernatural every single season. Only the questionable choices before were made by Sam or Dean or even John.

I think season 6 did nothing but solidify Cas another one of the pigheaded, dumbass, on his way to hell paved with the best of intentions. Season 6 didn't just make Cas more human, it proved he was a true Winchester!

#he did all that all the while looking like a miserable little baby angel in a trenchcoat #hes so sad and tired and just wants his friends back #i hate sam for not hugging him when he got his sould back #cas needed a hug #He deserved that hug #someone just give the angel a hug dammit #castiel #sam winchester #dean winchester #destiel #Spn 6x03 #Spn 6x15 #spn 6x20 #supernatural #spn #misha collins #deancas

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imagopirateversion · 5 months

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It’s a Pirate Life for Me!

Why I am an adult who still believes in the pirate philosophy and is not willing to change.

An essay by: a person who really hopes future employers will never find this, but will still put their name at the end of it.

Painting credits: Pirate Boarding, Andrey Serebryakov

Can One Still Call Themselves A Pirate in the Twenty-First Century?

There are two answers to that question, and both of them are "yes".

Pirates do actually exist today: there were around 120 incidents of maritime piracy and armed robbery against ships reported in 2023 and around 115 in 2022 (source x). So yes, one can define themselves a pirate in the twenty-first century in a very literal sense; which is not what I'm trying to do here, of course.

While the world has changed and piracy has (almost) ceased to exist, thanks to stories, legends and media, the idea of piracy has become completely detached from the practice. This has led to a concept of "piracy" that has very little to do with sailing, stealing, and killing, and a lot more to do with what most things become over time: philosophy.

What no longer exists in practice in our era (and sometimes what never existed at all) has become a way of living: think about cowboys, goths, hippies, punks and so on. All these things are much more than aesthetics: each one has its own vision, its own practices, its own style, its own way of living; in other words, its own philosophy.

This text is about pirate philosophy and its origins.

First Things First: Why Did People Become Pirates?

Piracy did not appear out of nowhere in 1600; it's ancient and we have proofs of it existing as a practice since ancient Egypt (read more here). We automatically think of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries when we talk about piracy because that period is known as the Golden Age of Piracy. Precisely between 1650 and 1730, there were thousands of active pirates, some of them infamously notorious, as Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, Calico Jack, Bartholomew Roberts and, of course, Blackbeard himself. But why did that happen? Well, the answer is complex but can be easily summed up in a single word: money. The world was changing, and as Lord Cutler Beckett explains so brilliantly in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest: currency was becoming the currency of the country, especially in England. Ruthless landowners forced small farmers to leave their lands, while smaller tradesmen were challenged by larger businesses. Everyone wanted more, and those who couldn't adapt to the new world's rules became unemployed and were forced to move to urban areas to look for work or poor relief. The cities became overpopulated and soon there weren't funds left: distressed people had no hope of making a better life (source x). For this people, piracy was nothing more than a way out: it was either submit to the new society and starve to death, or rebel and survive. What would you have done?

What Kind of People Became Pirates?

Piracy soon became the best choice for many people. Not only for unemployed men who couldn't find a better way to survive, but also for those who, for various reasons, couldn't fit in. people who couldn't conform to societal norms weren't just discriminated against or isolated, they were often killed. That's why, even though piracy wasn't an easy life at all, many people preferred it. So, who were the pirates?

Sailors usually didn't make enough money to survive, and the discipline was extremely strict. Many of them ended up starving, getting sick, and dying. It's not surprising that many chose to become criminals and sail as pirates (source x).

Teenagers, often orphans with no money or future. Young men might have to endure seven-year apprenticeships before they could make an independent living, while piracy offered them a way to earn money quickly (source x).

Rebellious against the oppressive conditions imposed by their governments, specially from the Navy.

People discriminated because of their race. Black people in particular often had no social opportunities all, but could find acceptance within pirate crews, where camaraderie transcended racial or ethnic differences.

People with a religious belief that was considered heretical or nonconformist by the mainstream society could often find themselves persecuted. Pirate crews comprised members from diverse religious backgrounds and were generally more tolerant of religious differences.

People with a criminal background, who were offered an opportunity to start anew and be part of a community, two things that the civilized society couldn't give them.

Queer people, particularly homosexual men. Homosexuality was a crime at the time, often viewed as negatively as piracy, if not worse. Piracy was a male-dominated world; although for a long time media tried to portray pirates as "turning" gay due to the absence of women among them, the truth is that many gay men were pirates because they were gay. Homosexuality was so common among pirates that they had something very similar to same-sex marriage. It was called "matelotage": a legal civil union that bound two sailors together in an informal partnership, uniting one's fortune and future to the other's, and was respected by ship captains and pirate crews (source x).

Women. The majority of pirates were men, but not all of them. In a world that was not at all kind to young girls and women in general, it was not uncommon for them to disguise themselves as men or marry a pirate in order to become one. There have been notorious women pirates, some of them captains, such as Zheng Yi Sao or Huang Bamei (source x).

In short, outcasts. Individuals rejected by society, unable to find their place, and unwilling to conform to strict societal rules.

The Adventurers

There were a few people, a minority of course, who willingly chose piracy even though they had a normal, conforming, and even wealthy life. It's the case of Stede Bonnet, The Gentleman Pirate; he was born into a wealthy English family and inherited the family estate after his father's death in 1694. Despite his lack of sailing experience, Bonnet decided he should turn to piracy in the spring of 1717. He bought a sailing vessel, the Revenge, and travelled with his paid crew, capturing other vessels and burning other Barbadian ships. His story, apart from giving us one of the best pirate stories in the history of media, is significant because it provides evidence that piracy wasn't just about necessity; it was about identity. Piracy had become a way of life long before it was romanticized by the media.

The Pirate Life

What was it about pirate life that was so tempting for so many people? Life on a ship wasn't easy at all; the work was tough, the food was poor, and anyone could die at any moment, whether due to illness, sinking, or murder. Nevertheless, there was something that made it all worthwhile: freedom. People who have had no possibilities nor future in society found in piracy the opportunity to live by their own rules. Civilization's norms had no reason to exist in an uncivilized society; no master telling you what to do, no morality, no societal standards, no need to impress or perform. If you wanted something, you simply had to find a way to get it. That meant you could possibly starve to death, but it also meant that you had a chance of getting everything you had ever desired, and eating and drinking until you died, and in the civilized society you didn't have that chance. You could choose to sail and never touch land again; you could choose to marry or not to marry, to have a family or not to have one, to sleep with whomever you wanted to, to practice your religion. You could change your name and be who you wanted to be. Pirate life was the realization of that question most of us have asked ourselves at least once: 'What if I disappear tomorrow and start all over again somewhere else?'.

Piracy in the Modern World

In our eastern, civilized, technological, capitalist society, we don't need to be part of a crew and sail to be pirates. Piracy as a practice was defeated thanks to pirate hunting in the eighteenth century, but you can't kill an idea, can you? Ideas not only persist, they evolve and adapt to the changes they're forced to face. When we say "pirate" in today's world, we mean a lot of different things:

Sea Pirate: a person who attacks and robs ships at sea;

Software Pirate: a person who appropriates or reproduces the work of another for profit without permission, usually in contravention of patent or copyright;

In Italy, we have a way to describe people who ignore the Traffic Laws, 'pirata della strada', literally 'pirate of the street';

In sexual slang, the word 'pirate' is used to define someone who sleeps around, who constantly looks for casual sex.

The term 'ass pirate' has been used as a slur to describe homosexual men.

In short, the term in today's society is used to describe someone who breaks the rules, whether they are actual laws or societal standards.

If we consider everything piracy represents as a concept, as an idea, in modern society, and put it together, we can sum it up in three words:

Freedom, Anarchy, Resistance.

Freedom

'Freedom' is such an abstract concept it is almost impossible to define. It's widely discussed in philosophy, particularly the question: is it possible to be truly free? As soon as we built a society, in order to gain benefits, we had to partially sacrifice our freedom. We can't freely steal from our neighbors, but in doing so, we ensure our neighbors won't steal from us (at least, we hope). It's a simple concept. However, there's a line beyond which the benefits we gain aren't worth the sacrifices we make to obtain them. This has occurred repeatedly throughout history; it happened in the Golden Age of Piracy, and it was the reason why most of people chose to abandon civilization and sail as pirates, and it continues to happen every day. Whenever a social construct, or sometimes even a law, prevents you from simply existing as a person; whenever your future is dictated by your social status; whenever you're denied free time, enjoyment, rest, and happiness because you have to work ten hours a day just to be paid the minimum wage, if you're lucky enough to live in a country that has one. That isn't a freedom you willingly gave away to have a benefit. It's a freedom someone took from you before you were even born, before you could think and understand that just because everyone acts like it's the normal way of living, it doesn't mean it has to be that way.

Anarchy

It is true that, at least concerning crews, pirate society had a sort of hierarchy, in which the Captain of the ship was at the top. However, it is also true that this hierarchy could collapse at any given moment, considering the possibility of a mutiny, and that, in general, pirate society was anarchic. There has been research on the functioning of pirate society, particularly regarding its potential application in a hypothetical modern society where the value of human life and individual needs are more considered than they were during that era. Most of the work in that sense has been done by Peter Lamborn Wilson in his 1995 book 'Pirate Utopias: Moorish Corsairs & European Renegadoes'. He provides a definition of what he calls 'Pirate Utopias', that are described as "Early forms of autonomous proto-anarchist societies in that they operated beyond the reach of governments and embraced unrestricted freedom" (source x). I highly recommend reading his work and all the other research that followed it if you want to go into detail, because that's not what I'm going to do here (for now).

That being said, this is my personal take on the matter:

In our days, the discussion about Anarchy as a political belief is often ridiculed and reduced to a mere "if there were no rules, people would kill each other". That statement is true; people would. What is usually misunderstood and not taken into consideration is that people who profess to believe in Anarchy do not mean we should abolish every existing law overnight and see what happens. With 'Anarchy,' we mean a hypothetical society in which individuals are free to do as they please, and they willingly choose not to kill, steal, and hurt others because they have no interest in doing so. This hypothetical society is, of course, unachievable; it's what is called a utopia.

Most political beliefs are based on utopias (or dystopias, depending on your vision of them), because a society that strictly adheres to a pure political system is impossible to achieve. There cannot be a perfect socialist society, nor a perfect communist one, nor a perfect capitalist one, and of course, there cannot be a perfect anarchist society. What we can do, though, is aspire to one—or, to use a naval metaphor, we can set the course towards it. We can make decisions, take actions, and build societies around a specific vision.

The western society, for example, tends to a capitalistic system; in brief, money are what our society revolves around. The more money you possess, the more power you wield; your ultimate goal in life must be to gain money so that you can afford basic necessities: food, housing, healthcare and so on. Everything is privatized, leading to the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, being exploited by people whose only purpose is to become even more rich. Consequently, you are forced to wake up every morning at 6 am to work ten-hour shifts for minimum wage. Don't like it? You're free not to live in the capitalist society. You'll probably starve to death, end up living on the street, be marginalized, isolated, persecuted, but still. You're "free" to do it. Of course, this is not a "perfect" capitalist society, it can't be; not until Democracy exists, not until Resistance exists. Still, our society tends towards it.

'Anarchy' doesn't mean we should live in a society with no rules; it simply means we should strive towards it and build a society that is as similar as possible to that utopia, prioritizing the freedom of the individual, but without causing collapse.

Resistance

Most pirates were hardly educated enough to even understand all of that as a concept, of course. They didn't fight for a political idea, most of them fought to survive. Even though it wasn't a utopian society, they still had a shared belief: dissent. Being an outcast means to be disillusioned in how 'mainstream' society works, and we know most of them were, considering their social background. Piracy was, in its own way, a movement of resistance.

Times have changed, and we don't have to engage in naval battles to resist. As society evolved, resistance as a practice evolved with it, and hence Western society has become less and less violent, as have the harmless but powerful acts of resistance.

Every time you protest, you are resisting. Every time you talk back, you expose a normalized injustice, you rebel towards an unfair authority, you say 'no', you go against what's expected from you, you are unapologetically yourself, you refuse to adapt, you decide to ignore or bypass a senseless law, you are resisting. Every time you prioritize your free time over money, you challenge beauty standards, you don't accept a 'that's how it was always done' as a justification. Even when you have fun harder than how you're supposed to, when you rejoice louder than how's considered appropriate, every time you dance like no one is watching you, you are, somehow, resisting.

Piracy in Media

Much of our perception of things we haven't directly experienced is filtered and conditioned by media. Even when we study historical periods like the Medieval Age or the Roman Empire, a part of our understanding will always be influenced by the media we've consumed about them. This is because media is often how we were introduced to these subjects: you can get very passionate about Indiana Jones, and so get interested in studying the pyramids and ancient Egypt, only to find out pyramids are nothing like it was portrayed in the movies. Nevertheless, you got interested in studying them in the first place because of Indiana Jones, so as much as you understand and accept that that isn't the truth behind ancient Egypt, you can also accept that Indiana Jones is part of your vision of it, and that cannot change. I know Pirates of the Caribbean isn't historically accurate, as much as Our Flag Means Death and Monkey Island aren't; still, I cannot deny that they have a role in creating a general vision of Pirate Philosophy in the modern world.

There are, in my opinion, three main aspects that come out from the combination of what we know about Piracy as a historical reality and as it's portrayed by media, and those are Hedonism, Nomadism and Camaraderie.

Hedonism

Hedonism is defined as 'the prioritization of pleasure in one's lifestyle, actions, or thoughts'. It's a recurring theme in the portrayal of pirate society; from songs, to movies where Tortuga is depicted as a place where people drink, eat, have sex and fight as they please, to legends that speak of treasures to be found so one can live a life of excess.

The reason for this is related to what we already know about the history of pirates, particularly the society they escaped from. The society of the seventeenth century was extremely strict, both morally and legislatively. Sex outside of marriage was out of the question, and many things that we consider normal today were seen as affronts to decency, often punishable. To be considered a respectable man or woman, one had to follow certain rules. Additionally, many pirates came from backgrounds of extreme poverty, making them prone to indulging in every kind of pleasure when they could.

Hedonism isn't just a perpetual search for pleasure; it's actually an ethical philosophy that is grounded in pleasure (defined as the avoidance of pain as much as possible) as the only intrinsic value and therefore the only reasonable expression of ethical good. This philosophy of life can be easily connected to the anarchist society that we described earlier; a society that doesn't have rules and in which you don't have a 'place' or need to 'contribute,' since your only purpose as an individual is to pursue pleasure.

I personally believe in Hedonism as an ethical philosophy, particularly Psychological Hedonism, as much as my research of pleasure doesn't prevail on someone else's.

Nomadism

One of the things that fascinated me the most about the Pirate Life as portrayed in media, was the idea of embarking on a journey that would never end. Our society is a stationary one, and I actually think there's nothing wrong with that. My perspective on this matter has nothing to do with morality, ideology, or politics. Being stationary is good; the human species would have never evolved if it didn't stop and build the world as we know it. This is simply a personal preference and stems from my absolute intolerance and repulsion at the idea of being born and dying in the same place. I've always yearned to explore, to see as much of the world as I could. The concept of 'borders' has always bothered me; I firmly believe in cultural exchanges and in learning about how other human beings live in different parts of the world. Of course, I acknowledge that without nations, traditions, and populations that are local and bound to their territories, there wouldn't even be cultures to discover or different societies to explore. So, this is about me, not a hypothetical, utopian society. I'm the one who always wanted to travel without ever stopping; I've never felt like I belonged in any one place or that there's a good enough reason to settle in a single nation and miss out on all that there is to see out there.

Camaraderie

Pirates encompassed men and women with all different kinds of backgrounds, nationalities, beliefs, ideologies and identities. While we speak in absolutes, in a society with no moral or legislative boundaries, factors such as who you were, where you came from, who you slept with, or what you believed in simply didn't matter. You were a pirate, and that was enough.

The official definition of camaraderie is:

"A feeling of friendliness towards people that you work or share an experience with".

In this case, we could even say "towards people that you share a lifestyle with". Being realistic, in a historically accurate pirate society, it's plausible that hate towards differences and minorities still existed, considering the strict and mentally bigoted society most pirates came from. However, we're talking about individuals who chose to leave that society, probably because of its strict and mentally bigoted nature. It's reasonable to assert that this particular kind of hate was at least less prevalent in the pirate society than outside of it.

Piracy in media undoubtedly plays a significant role in romanticizing the sense of brotherhood and companionship felt among pirates; we saw Pirate Codes, Brethren Courts, battles in the name of a common ideal, epic friendships and romances, songs that speak of a union strong enough to beat death itself and slogan such as "Long Live Piracy!".

What attracts me the most about it is that camaraderie as a concept exists in basically all societies or communities with a shared aim or belief. However, there are always rules that need to be followed, and the risk of being excluded and losing the privilege of deserving such camaraderie is always present. The idea of fidelity toward one's society, community, or even nation is essential for its survival, ensuring that those in power maintain control over their adherents, citizens, or believers. The pirate society is the only one I've stumbled across that doesn't need it. The feeling of brotherhood within these people doesn't need any kind of loyalty, proper rules or the fear of losing privileges to make sure that the community keeps existing. That's because the pirate society is made up of people who have already betrayed, renounced, and lost all of their privileges to be there. All they have is that sense of brotherhood and friendship. They exist in a reality in which none of them belongs anywhere and that, somehow, becomes a sense of belonging; one that doesn't need to be continuously shown or respected, simply because it's the only thing that keeps them there.

I believe that is the only reality in which camaraderie and freedom can coexist in a society, and I think it's one of the most beautiful and powerful concepts I've ever seen portrayed.

Conclusions

We finally arrived at the end of this... yeah, let's call it 'essay'. It was more than two weeks ago when I wrote the first word. It was meant to be brief and simply a way to put in words an intimate belief. I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it, mostly because I rarely share such deep thoughts with people around me; though, I'm trying to change that. As all human beings I strive to find belonging and as a true pirate, I never found anywhere to do so. So, to find but one person who reads this until the end and finds themselves to agree with my view, it would make me immeasurably happy.

Thank you if you made it this far, even if you don't agree with a single word I've written, because you dedicated part of your time to me, and I appreciate it.

If you find syntactic errors, please consider that english isn't my first language and also that grammar is a made up concept anyway.

Don't forget to be free, to resist, to pursue pleasure as much as you can, to explore and to show camaraderie not because you have to, but for the sake of it.

Fair winds t' ye!

Imago

#pirates #pirate philosophy #piracy #long live piracy #long reads #essay

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ananke-xiii · 1 month

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I've been mulling over the idea of Jack as the "Puer Aeternus" or "The Student" but, as I was reading something today, I started to pay closer attention to the other side of the coin, i.e. the "Senex", or the archetype of the "Teacher/Mentor".

In SPN Dean takes up different variations of this role quite from the start while Sam is indeed the Puer Aeternus and stays as such (the fact that he becomes a father at the very end means nothing, I personally don't think that Sam, as a character, ever fully comes to terms with nor overcomes the Betrayal of the Father which, if I remember correctly, James Hillman posits as necessary for the Puer Aeternus' individuation process, aka becoming an adult and a better father).

But Dean takes up this role with Cas, too. Cas actually asks him (and Sam) to be his teacher when he "becomes" (ugh. I'll never like this narrative choice) a human. Which is not surprising since Dean thinks that Cas minus his power is just a "baby in a trenchoat" that must be taught how to behave. And even later on in s12 Dean's proactively looking for "teachable moments" for Cas' sex education (which he absolutely has no need of much to Dean's chagrin).

There is, of course, another Father Who Betrays at play here, although I tend to agree with Chuck when he tells Dean not to compare him with John: Chuck is much, much worse.

So Dean's being Cas' teacher, let's go there, interesting power dynamics. Now, a teacher is never a teacher per se, they need someone who needs them to actually be a teacher. This role is strictly dependent on its counterpart. Only the student can really exist. This book I'm currently reading sums it up brilliantly: a teacher is someone who feels the presence of questions in somebody's else mind, who listens to the signals somebody else is emitting.

Isn't this interpretation way more fascinating than the usual? And I think it's quite fitting to Dean who canonically has a sort of fifth sense when it comes to Cas and what the heck he's doing. And it also absolves Dean (a little) of his controlling tendencies while it also explains why Dean doesn't know who he is without Sam (since only The Student can really exist).

Now, the reasons why Cas chooses Dean as his teacher are... complicated and I'm not gonna go there now but I sort of like Cas being a "Student of Life" emitting little signals about what he wants, what he's curious about and what he's hiding and Dean picking them up and trying to give Cas some answers.

Like, I don't really think that Cas cared about the world because of Dean but surely through Dean (which. you know. red alert but anyways). I mean, there's still a dynamics of passivity (student) and control (teacher) but in this light I think the terms can be redefined as "letting be guided" and "wanting to guide" which I find less harsh and stark and definite.

Okay, I don't know where I'm going or where I wanted to go, I got distracted while writing and now I've lost my thread but my point is: Dean and Cas teacher/student dynamics is really worth exploring.

#spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #dean and cas #destiel

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lost-inanotherlife · 2 months

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If you had to convince someone to watch lost what arguments would you use?

Now this is a great and very difficult question, dear Anon.

The thing is that Lost has a bit of a bad rep because of its finale. 14 years later people are still very bitter about it and some of them also still hold a grudge against Damon Lindelof which okay but chill, folks.

And I understand that, well, i do up to a point at least. The issue is that the discourse frames Lost as a series that's not worth watching because it supposedly lacks payoff and this is just unfair (and incorrect, but that's an argument for another day).

Having said that, my arguments will be the following:

it's a show that doesn't feel cheap. Many shows nowadays do. Very small cast, very set-like settings, you can sense the plot is constrained by production's demands. This doesn't happen with Lost. There are scenes in the water, underwater, on the beach, on the beach at night, in the jungle, in a subterranean bunker, there are aircrafts' remains, fighting scenes in the rain... you name it, you got it in Lost. They don't make shows like that anymore. The cast has, like, 20 people in it or something and all, ALL characters are fleshed-out, they are ALL convincing and very well played by the actors. They deliver dialogues that are brilliantly written but that also sound like real, normal sentences people would actually say. 20 years later and Lost S1 still feels contemporary, it's a fucking miracle. There are very few shows that can say the same thing.

the writers have a superb command of the storytelling craft. It's old school but also innovative. Lost was groundbreaking as far as TV storytelling goes. They wrote TV history. You can't say "cliffhanger" today without thinking of Lost. What I mean is that this is a compelling story and you're bound to be hooked on it. With Lost you're in for an experience that can verge on the existential. And I'm not joking.

Talking about existentialism: Lost's themes, they are universal. Destiny vs Free Will? Science vs Faith? Moving on from one's past? I mean, come on. From S1E1 the show goes hard on this stuff thanks to an array of deeply flawed characters that might not be liked by all but that you can't but sympathize with because of how deeply human they are. It's a show that talks about humanity standing in front of Big Questions and how each one of us replies differently to them. These questions are, of course, still relevant to this day, making Lost a sort of universal show. You can watch it in 10 years' time and you'll still find these questions interesting.

So, to sum it up, I'd say that Lost is 100% worth watching today because it's still relevant, it feels like you're actually watching a show and not actors playing in a setting and the writing is so fucking good you'll find yourself addicted to it in a hearbeat.

Have I convinced anyone? Eheheh!

#ask #lost season 1 #lost abc #lost #lost tv series #abc lost #lost rewatch #lost 2024 #lost 2004 #jack shephard #james sawyer ford #lost tv show #john locke #kate austen

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maryrouille · 5 months

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It's Amy Winehouse, but with female rage. About Back to Black (dir. Sam Taylor-Johnson) 2024

Recently, a film telling the life story of the British singer Amy Winehouse was released. I came here to talk a little about the aesthetics of this film, which, by the way, cannot be accused of poor music (Marisa Abela sings Amy's songs in her own voice and she does it brilliantly!) or ugly shots.

In the film we see the transformation from a rebellious teenager with a guitar into an emotionally and behaviorally unstable woman (without a guitar). Of course, this turn of events could have been reflected in Amy's real life, but one gets the impression that the film is set in a different time. It feels like the 2000s have been filtered, sugar-coated, and embedded somewhere in the 2024 aesthetic of angry girlbloggers on Tumblr.

Romanticizing drinking alcohol and mental instability

You probably know the tendencies related to #just girly things and the explanation of all depressive states and tantrums by just being a girl. It is a kind of expression of the life and consciousness of today's young girls living in the rather unoptimistic times of social media and consumerism. But is this aesthetic good for Amy's story? It seems to me that romanticizing alcohol, drugs and blind love leading to complete self-loss and ultimately death is a poor approach.

And while watching the film you definitely feel that something is wrong, but at the same time you fall into this beautified world. Amy's life was darker and more brutal, and her problems were not only limited to matters of the heart, glass and flashbulbs of cameras. Unfortunately, living with addictions is dirty and disgusting. And you can't put a bow on it. But it seems to be a sign of our times.

You Know I'm No Good (song)

Adding the ending to this song title: but I'm not going to rehab. And here we should ask the question about the level of public awareness in 2008 (the year when Amy received five Grammy Awards) and today. In 2024, acceptance and knowledge about all behavioral therapies, addiction treatment and toxic relationships is much greater. And Back to Black, under the guise of nice outfits, make-up and a few minor falls, gives the impression of being up-to-date.

Will someone watch this movie and say they want to live like Amy (just like it was with Coppola's Priscilla)? This is quite possible, because in the end we get the image of a slightly rebellious femme fatale and a slightly weak girl who is harmed by others. And many of us would fit this description.

Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun (song)

Finally, I have to quote Lana del Rey, because today's girl blogging draws from her in handfuls. Is joining the 27 Club really that romantic? The departure of such young people from the world is primarily a tragedy, which later becomes a beautiful myth. That's why it's worth mentioning Lana's example here. She uses aesthetics very well and, above all, separates moving around motifs and drawing visual inspiration from them from real life.

To sum up, movie Back to Black is really worth seeing. However, it is also worth being aware that this is a colorful fiction for 2024 built around the true story of Amy Winehouse.

Edit 24/04/24: I have to mention the update here. I just came across an article from British Vogue that confirms my thesis about drawing inspiration from image of Amy (also Kate Moss, so heroin chic is back in fashion?) Quoting a fragment of the article:

The legacy of Winehouse also lives on in Back to Black, due for release on 12 April. (...) While we’re in no way condoning or glorifying the hobbies of Winehouse and her erstwhile friend Doherty, there was a scene during that time and a smudgy, smeary aesthetic that somehow worked.

#amy winehouse #back to black #back to black 2024 #marisa abela #sam taylor johnson #back to black movie #female hysteria #girl interrupted #female rage #just girly things #club 27 #girlblogging #girlblogger #coquette aesthetic #films #movies #lana del rey aesthetic #lizzy grant

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bigsnaff · 5 months

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MIST MERCH. TRADING - THE BLACK LION'S NEW CONTENDER?

"FOR brilliant-minded individuals, BY brilliant-minded individuals."

Within the last recent months you may or may not have noticed the debut of a new, up-and-coming, self-proclaimed "rival" enterprise to the Black Lion Trading Company. But who is heading this new, mysterious mercantile? To the surprise of many, it's the renowned Ex-Councillor Phlunk of Divinity's Reach, former member of Rata Sum's own Arcane Council, and twin brother to the Councillor Phlunt, (still in office).

"No more blitzing your raptor to the nearest trading agent to receive your parcels -- now your items arrive directly on your doorstep for no extra charge!"

Following the Ex-Councillor's own success with his small wizardry services in Divinity's Reach, he believed it was high time to ascend to even greater heights.

"With the dragon crisis finally dealt with, the economy on the rise, and new trade deals arriving from Cantha, what better time for some new, improved organizations to dig their heels in against the longstanding oppression? It's time to break the monopoly. The Black Lion Trading Company is old news. Our trading company is a vision of a bright and golden tomorrow," Ex-Councillor Phlunk said confidently during an interview.

"What exactly will become of your 'wizardry' business now that you've started this new venture?" Asked Reporter Trekt.

"My business will remain active, although through select appointments by way of my apprentice, who will be handling the simpler affairs."

"Some have made claims that this new enterprise of yours is all just a far-reaching attempt to fund your own independent research in Divinity's Reach," said Reporter Trekt. "What's your response to these rumors?"

"All conjecture formed from envy," replied the Ex-Councillor, shaking his head. "My question is this: is it wrong to succeed? Is it wrong to rise beyond conceivable thought? Did our own Commander not vanquish the dragons by being better at it than everyone else? My enterprise was made by and for such brilliantly-minded individuals."

Further attempts at receiving a response to the aforementioned claims went unanswered.

(interview continued & concluded on pg. 8)

The newly established mercantile's routes and sources are currently unknown, but their lightning-fast deliveries and the unique quality of their goods speak for themselves. However, considering the Ex-Councillor's own proficiency with magic, could this indicate some form of sorcery being used?

Attempts at reaching Evon Gnashblade, head of the Black Lion Trading Company, to hear his opinion regarding the emergence of this new enterprise have had no luck.

Will this new Mist Merch. Trading stand the test of time in such a competitive arena? Or will the proud, black lion stamp yet another opponent under its heel?

It seems we'll all have to wait and see.

- excerpt by Journalist Rittz, writer for the Arch's Accounts.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #my characters #ex-councillor phlunk #my writing #my edits #I've tried to post this so many times lmao it wouldn't show up #30th times the charm though

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randomfoggytiger · 2 months

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so, since i consider you our resident season 8 expert, i have a question for you. i'm re-watching season 8 and i have made up my mind to like doggett, and i *am* warming up to him, but somehow i still find him difficult to connect to. he seems like a really good guy though. honest and loyal and dedicated. but i can't get beneath the surface with his character. do you happen to have any thoughts on him? anything at all. i don't even need detailed meta or anything, i'd be happy with bullet points of whatever positive things about him come to mind.

I LOVE Doggett-- have since my first watch through.

Here's the thing about Doggett: he's a real, true skeptic.

Mulder wanted to believe, Scully was afraid to believe, Skinner secretly believed; but Doggett? 1 +1 = 2; and if the math adds up to 3, he'll acknowledge, outright, that something's fishy. That doesn't mean, however, that a missing agent always known for instability, insubordination, and insurrection = abducted by aliens, because that is the stupidest explanation he's ever heard of. And Doggett's a man who hears a lot of stupid stuff in his line of work. But while Mulder will confront and Scully will glower at a difficulty, he keeps his thoughts to himself. Safety through circumspect behavior.

He lets people in quickly and keeps them there permanently. He's kind in his friendship; and curious, and inclusive. He fits into the Scully era basement because he has Skinner and TLG to bounce off of when she can't-- or won't-- let him into her confidence. He treats others fairly and above board: he doesn't play games under the table, and he tries to make allies out of enemies.

Part of Doggett's circumspect behavior includes personal privacy: he wants to know about Scully's pregnancy because it affects their job. Knowing all the facts will enable him to fully protect his partner-- the military and police force instilled and drilled that philosophy-- and Scully's lack of transparency frustrates then worries him. While he rails at Mulder for digging into Luke's tragedy (because Mulder A. wasn't a friend B. didn't have his trust and C. was poking into personal affairs without permission and without proper authorization-- i.e., he was violating Doggett's personal boundaries), he still swallows the oversight, lets Mulder shoo him territorially away from Scully, and even reaches out to Mulder for advice after his blowup and their tenuous reconciliation.

I also like that he watches NASCAR on the weekends and has a trellis on his front porch (post here.)

These three fics sum him up beautifully to me: kittenscully's home run, Ruuger's Fire and Ice, and doctorhelena's Something In Between. The first brilliantly demonstrates his behavior to and friendship with others; the second briefly explores the conflicted powerlessness he feels with Mulder's methods; and the third shows what it'd look like if he worked alongside Mulder and Scully for a short "scenes-in-between" case.

#asks #thursdayinspace #xf meta #mine #Doggett #rec #thanks for droppin in~#love him a whoooooooooooole lot

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happilyfeatherafter · 9 months

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Happilyfeatherafter's ficrec Fridays

In an effort to actually post on my own blog and not just tag rant I'm going to try and start doing what makes me happy - shouting about the fic I've read and loved recently! ETA: thank you @bloodydeanwinchester for the inspiration and impetus to share recs last week!

So introducing my ficrec Fridays.

5 January 2024 ficrecs

Beggars Would Ride by tiamatv was recommended to me by @ilarual and I am so glad I dived in on their suggestion. Combining two of my great loves, destiel and disney's Aladdin, this AU fic has an absolutely gorgeous depiction of a genie Castiel, in all his trueform splendour! Tia does an incredible job interweaving the two stories, with street rat Dean doing what he must to support his brother and his community, and maybe just maybe finding love and freeing a genie in doing so.

Everlasting by @entropic-saudade (art by @golby-moon) is a recent fic from the stabfest bang, featuring a grieving post-15x18 Dean, and a still adjusting to having Kaia back Claire. It also beautifully examines the parallels between Dean and Claire, and their joint tendency for flirting with people by comparing scars. Achingly romantic, Dean is looking for a way to bring Cas back, and Claire is seeking a momento of Kaia to keep close to her forever...and what's love without a little stabbing?

As A Friend by imogenbynight (@thevioletcaptain) is absolutely best summed up by it's own summary: In which Dean accidentally learns about Castiel's porn preferences, and one thing leads to another. With one last chapter pending, this fic is a smutty delight, in which a newly human Cas in a post-Chuck defeated world and a still adjusting Dean learn a thing or two about each other and decide the best thing to do is lean into it with a secret no strings friends with benefits kink exploration set up...what could possibly go wrong?

doors unlocked and open by sidewinder (@hawkland, art by @fluffsnake) brilliantly combines The Winchesters finale with a post-canon continuation, in which Cas has become the new ruler and embodiment of the Empty whilst Jack is busy restructuring heaven. But Dean is not finding peace, not even in Jack’s improved afterlife, and has instead been traversing the Axis Mundi in the search of his family...in search of Castiel. But there might be a new fate to await them.

tie your wrists with leather by kalmialatifolia is a short but sweet post-canon D/S kinktober fic, in which Cas gets Dean spread eagle in leather cuffs leading to this exchange which captures their voices so perfectly:

“Jesus, Cas,” is all Dean says, and then, as Castiel crawls between his spread legs, “They—they smell good. They smell…” He laughs a little, a soft huff. “Like the Impala? Kind of?”

Castiel snorts, putting his hands on the backs of Dean’s knees and spreading his legs just a little farther apart. Dean goes easy. “Yes,” he says dryly, “I thought you might like that.”

and if that wets your appetite for a longer form wip, then reclusive secret romance novelist Dean and Priest with a past Cas are getting up to all sorts in their fic Benedictions.

#happilyfeatherafter ficrec friday #destiel #destiel fic #spn fic

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misfitwashere · 7 days

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“We did not do well”: MAGA admits Kamala Harris broke Donald Trump

And all the King’s horses and all the King’s men won’t put him together again

By Brian Karem

Published September 12, 2024 9:00AM (EDT)

Beware the prosecutor who smiles. Be wary of the cornered sewer rat who feels threatened.

That sums up the contentious presidential debate between Vice President Kamala Harris and former president and convicted felon Donald Trump in Philadelphia Tuesday night. At every turn, she brilliantly laid out bait that he couldn’t resist. By the end of the night, he was the cornered sewer rat – and he knew it. His closing speech was just a volcano of rage spewing at an opponent who had just thoroughly destroyed him.

Harris proved beyond all reasonable doubt she was presidential. Trump again proved he is not.

The Republicans, curiously, find themselves in the same position Democrats were in following the last debate.

Then, on Wednesday the nation took a breath from the divisive politics of the day to remember our fellow Americans who died 23 years ago in the most infamous act of terrorism ever perpetrated against our country. Democrats and Republicans, political rivals and enemies for a brief moment acknowledged what the rest of us face on a daily basis; we are all in it together.

If only Donald Trump and his minions understood and practiced that ideal. But, as my dad used to say, “wish in one hand and s**t in the other and see which one fills up first.” Political realities these days, being an inexhaustible source of feculence, ensure that at least one hand is filled at all times with an undesirable solid waste disposal project – and usually it is courtesy of Donald J. Trump. Five minutes after a somber ceremony in Pennsylvania honoring those who died, Trump was back grifting; asking for money and calling Harris a Marxist.

Trump dabbles in the devious, delights in the disingenuous and hopes to destroy with deception. Being decrepit and a demonically driven demagogue, he has only been successful in duplicity with those who cannot differentiate between fact and fiction.

The debate was a total debacle for Donald Trump

Immediately following Tuesday’s debate (just think of how far we’ve come since Trump debated Biden in June) Trump again declared victory – saying in emails to his supporters that he destroyed the Harris campaign, while Harris issued an email declaring she had done the same to Trump.

The only thing both camps agree on, seemingly, is that the moderators sucked. I gave both moderators much better grades than their counterparts at CNN during the first debate. ABC News’ David Muir and Linsey Davis actually fact-checked both candidates in real time. Democrats thinks Trump got too much time to talk and was never muted. The right thinks Trump was fact-checked too often and the moderators sided with Harris. The fact that both sides have complaints about the moderators is an indication that they did a better job than their CNN predecessors. Muir was good at fact-checking Trump on the false claim of Haitian immigrants eating pets and pinning Trump down on his 2020 election loss. Davis was really good at getting Trump to shut up when he rambled. Trump and his supporters complained that he was fact-checked more than Harris, but that’s merely an admission that he lied more often than she did.

I covered the Trump administration daily for four years. I came to know him as an unprincipled man of greed, lust and carnal desires that continue to rule him and thus make him unfit for office. As Harris said Tuesday night, he’s a disgrace.

A year ago, I was not a fan of the vice president. I served as the pool reporter on a trip through Los Angeles and noted how laughably inept the staged visit was. I noted that she looked like a local city council member making an appearance rather than the person who was only a heartbeat away from the presidency. Worst of all, she simply wasn’t impressive when she spoke.

Harris has grown considerably in her role since then.

Her acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention was impressive. Though she ad-libbed next to nothing of that speech, she delivered an impassioned call to voters to turn the page on Donald Trump and his outlandish, outmoded thinking. Tuesday night was impressive on another level – she proved not only that she could think on her feet, but she nailed the issues. From the beginning, when she forced Trump to shake hands to her closing when she charted a course for America that resonated, she owned Trump. She looked right at him with the gaze of a prosecutor as she called Trump out, and she looked out at the audience as if we were the jury as she made a plea for a better nation.

Trump couldn’t offer a complete answer to any policy question. The closest he came was saying he had a “concept” of an idea for healthcare after nine years of dealing with the subject. I guess he was channeling his inner George Costanza. He never said how he could end the wars in either Gaza or Ukraine - though he claimed he would do both. Finally, he failed to explain why he called GOP lawmakers to kill a bipartisan immigration bill while he continued to try and campaign on the issue. Harris nailed him there when she said he “wanted to run on a problem rather than fixing the problem.”

Trump failed to understand the abortion issue and why women are so upset that men get to make choices about their bodies when women cannot. Again, Harris nailed him on that. Davis as moderator asked Trump why women should trust him. He couldn’t answer that. Harris reminded everyone how unconscionable Trump was and that “one does not have to abandon their faith or deeply held beliefs to agree: The government and Donald Trump certainly should not be telling a woman what to do with her body.” At that point in time, they should’ve sent in a coroner to check for Trump’s vital signs. He was dead in the water.

Mind you, Trump didn’t know who was running the Taliban (Abdul?) and when Harris said he was manipulated by flattery from international leaders who laughed at him, he could only say that Viktor Orban loved him.

At the end of the day, even Trump staffers were quietly talking about the fiasco.

Trump is ultimately blind to what America is, and only attracts those who are willing to give up their independence to him and believe that despite whatever facts are available to the contrary – Donald is the only truth-teller.

Of course, to Donny Darko, a day in the life of an immigrant in the U.S. is to wake up in jail, get your transgender operation before you have your dogmeat breakfast, then take over Seattle or a small town in Ohio before you chow down on your favorite feline for dinner.

Bless his heart.

Donald Trump is many things. He is rude, crude, socially unacceptable, inflammatory and demonstrative. He constantly called the U.S. a failing nation, said only he could fix it and that world leaders (who laugh at him) are so afraid of him that if he isn’t let back into the Oval Office, World War III will ensue.

To Harris’s credit, she never took the bait, even as he clumsily tried to talk about race. “Same old lies,” was all she could muster, in between laughs. “Now that’s extreme,” she laughed off his absurd claims about immigrants eating dogs.

At the end of the day, even Trump staffers were quietly talking about the fiasco. “Down ballot Republicans are very angry and worried,” one Trump staffer told me. “We did not do well.” That was certainly the reason why Trump appeared in the “spin room” to talk to reporters after the debate. He was trying to shore up the press response to a horrible outing. It didn’t work.

The question, of course, is did this debate move the needle at all?

The Republicans, curiously, find themselves in the same position the Democrats were in following the last debate. Trump is seen as old, out of touch and delusional. When Harris mentioned that Trump was still having “a hard time processing” the fact that he lost the last election, to many people she was speaking directly to a loss of mental capacity. “World leaders are laughing at you,” she said to his face. Dictators, “would eat you for lunch,” she chided. And then, she used his own catchphrase against him when she said “81 million people fired you.” He was a crushed lunatic. A cornered sewer rat. She reminded everyone that 200 former Republicans, including some of the highest members of the former Trump administration had endorsed her. He could only lamely say they were all bad people.

But does it matter? For the Trump cult, nothing has nor apparently will it ever make a difference. He consistently polls between 42-44 percent of the electorate who will vote for him. If that number drops below 42 percent in the next few weeks, then Trump is done.

The better chance, of course, is that of the two candidates on stage in Philadelphia Tuesday, only Kamala Harris did what she had to do to reach the fabled undecided voters. “I could see her as the president of the United States,” an undecided voter who is a friend of mine told me after watching the debate. “I didn’t see her that way before.” As for Trump, “He’s a lost ball in the high weeds,” I was told.

Nope. He’s the cornered sewer rat. Norm Ornstein, an American political scientist and an emeritus scholar at the American Enterprise Institute, a Washington, D.C., conservative think tank, said on Mary Trump’s “Nerd Avengers” show Tuesday night that a damaged Trump is still a very dangerous Trump. “We cannot rest. We cannot give an inch. Don’t let them get away with the stuff they will try to get away with.”

The Republicans themselves understand the desperation. Though they are at the same place the Democrats were in June, they are well past their national convention and cannot switch candidates as easily as the Democrats did after Biden’s lackluster performance in the June debate. In short, the Republicans are stuck with Donald Trump. Desperation is mounting as the GOP sees its chances to dominate either the Senate or the House dwindling.

That makes Trump and his minions more dangerous by the day.

“We cannot pretend he is not one of the most dangerous people we’ve encountered in American history. He doesn’t care about any of us,” his niece Mary Trump said.

Be wary of that sewer rat.

#Opinion #brian karem #Salon

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