#he like. never escaped. his emotions regarding people he loved (his father most of all) were manipulated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

owlmoonboi · 13 days

Text

Dear Ashley,

I am writing this letter to you for reasons that I cannot quite comprehend. Honestly, I have no idea why I am writing to you, but nevertheless, I am. I wish I knew why I’m writing to you but I don’t. Why don’t I know? Why can’t I just know?

Maybe it’s love. Is it love? Could it be love? But if it was love, I would want to be with. I would want to see you. I would want to see you undress. I would want to kiss you. I would want to give you the world. I would want to protect you at all costs. Except I feel none of these. I am certainly not meaning it against you. I do think it would be nice to see you, but I don’t feel a need to see you. I don’t feel we are connected.

Except maybe it is live and I just don’t know it yet. In fairytales it says it is live at first sight but honestly I think the princes were just horny and the princesses wanted an escape. I don’t think Romeo and Juliet knew it was live the moment they met.

My parents didn’t know it was live the moment they met. My father was a wealthy white man who was preparing to go off to Vietnam to fight in the war as he thought it was the best way to escape his past. While my mother was a black Indigenous woman fighting for equality. They didn’t know it was love at first. They never thought they were going to fall in love. Although they were both fighting. Maybe that’s what joined them together. They both sought a better life. Being rich doesn’t stop you from having an abusive father.

Maybe I am writing to you to seek you out as a friend. Not that we aren’t friends already. I just mean for you to be a real friend. At the moment we don’t even know each other properly. We don’t know each other’s dreams or aspirations. We don’t know each other’s secrets. I wish I could know more about you but I’m questioning if I would want you to know about me. I think maybe one day but at the most it might be best for me to be the quiet kid who sits at the back of English class.

I want to know the real you. I say thus but I’m not sure if anyone has a real self. We all have a million different versions of ourselves, for each person, for each situation, but there is one version we know. One version everyone keeps to themselves. I know that there are things I’ve never told anyone else. Things I’m not sure if I could ever tell others.

Maybe I am writing to you to see if you’re ok. You gave me worrying. Pondering. Scared. Confused. You have me if you want. You can trust in me.

I’m feeling so many feelings about you. So many emotions. I wish I knew why you ran out of science class crying. I wish I knew why people say you like me but you’ve never said a single word to me. Well, that’s an exaggeration. We used to be friends back in primary school.

Anyway, I wish I knew why you were being accused of sending nudes. I wish I knew why you with dating the quarterback on the football team even though you told me you’re a lesbian.

I wish I knew why I had been writing you this letter. I wish I knew why u was writing you this letter full of lies. I wish I knew why I care so much about you even though I don’t believe in love. I wish I knew the truth. I wish I knew the truth about you. I wish I knew the truth about you and all the lies in this world.

I hope you read this letter but you don’t have to.

Kindest regards

Echo

Echo took the pen away from the paper. He wouldn’t have much luck if writing more. Even if he wanted to. The pen was running out of ink. Not that he would know what else to write. He had pretty much just spilled his guts. Even if all he said was everything but nothing. H could never truly say everything.

Echo dug his hand into pocket to retrieve a lighter. He wasn’t much of a smoker. He liked the occasional smoke but that wasn’t what he was using it for this time.

He rolled up hush left sleeve. His arm a tapestry. Each cut or a scar a story of when he has felt, felt sadness, or something else, like, frustration, anger, fear, anxious, vulnerable, apprehension, broken, melancholic, or just plain depressed.

He flicked the lighter. It made that kaching noise that was all too familiar. Even though the lighter was only used in moments of distress, the sound it made when being opened brought a feeling of calmness, safety.

The fire glazed over his numb skin. Each time burning more skin. Each time painting an ever deeper red. Each time sticking more flesh. He continued to burn his skin until he decided the layer of blood that oozed over it was starting to become too crusty.

“Hhhhhhh hhh” Echo sighed. If his breath was recorded. If it was recorded it could mean so many different things. Each person who listened to it, would think something different. Would feel something different. For thus breath would be able to strike up as many words as a picture can tell. Maybe even more.

The next day Ashley wandered long, draining halls, filled with red, blue, green, and yellow lockers, but that seemed to be one of the small bits of colour left in this grey world. She stopped at her locker. She took her key from her leather jacket pocket and unlocked the door. She had shaved off her long pink hair and dyed it blue.

She was known to change her hair often but she had never shaved it down to a number one. It was making heads turn. She was always making heads turn, but this time more than usual. It surprised people to see her like this. It even surprised herself. She hadn’t planned to change her hair. It just happened. It was an impulse.

For Ashley, lots of the things she does she does on an impulse. She always did as she pleased. Her Father was often telling her to care more about her studies. To try for higher grades. She could get straight A’s if she wanted to but she wouldn’t be doing it for herself. She wouldn’t want to do that. If she did, they would be doing something for her Father, and she hates her Father. Who wouldn’t hate a man that uses his daughter as a punching bag when he gets drunk.

Her Mother was always telling her to dress differently. “Do not dress like such a dike or a slut.” Telling her she’s soon to be knocked up but she’ll never find a husband. Ashley would just laugh or smile shyly. She would never argue, or cry, or say a single word. Doing any of those things would only be pleasing her Mother. She liked to please people, but her parents. She used to try pleasing them but gave up when she came to the conclusion that her birth is the consequence of her parents not using contraception and not having an abortion as that is not whether God would want.

As Ashley grabbed her math book from her locker, a folded piece of paper met the floor. She bent to grab the paper. Some boys whistled. “You can stay like that all day.” One boy said. “Gyatt!” Another boy screamed. “Ashtray is finding her place on the floor with the rest of the trash.” Holly screeched. A bunch of girls giggled. “Shut it Holly whore.” Ashley snarled back. There was a roar of laughter that scattered across the hall like a rumor spreading.

Ashley picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was the letter Echo had written. She read the letter, over and over, and over, throughout the day. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts always came crawling back to the letter.

“Should I write a response?” Ashley thought to herself that night while lying in her bed, staring at the grains in the ceiling, like a beached up whale. “Maybe I should.” She thought.

Hesitantly she sat up, before reaching to her bedside table to grab a piece of paper and pen. Her shaky hand put the pen to the page and was soon enough writing a letter.

Dear Echo,

You wrote me a letter. I’m confused. Why did you write me a letter? Luke honestly. I know you said you don’t know why you did but I think deep down you know why you wrote it. I think I deserve the right to know why you wrote.

We used to be friends. We used to be best friends. For a moment we were each other’s worlds, but that was before high school. That was three years ago.

I used to tell me secrets and you told me yours. People said we were in love. We weren’t. I said I could never love you in a romantic way since I’m a lesbian. You told me that you could never love me because you believed you don’t have a heart. Though I think, now it seems clear you have a heart.

You are curious about my relationship with Andrew. For your information, we aren’t dating. Not for real. I just let him kiss me in public so people believe he is straight. I don’t care what people think. Well I to a little but I do this to protect him. His father hates gays. He’s gone to extremes of saying “If I had a gay son I would shoot him. I wouldn’t mind too much if my daughter was a lesbian, but lesbians kissing is hot.” It doesn’t sound like a complete lie. He owns a gun that he uses for hunting.

You want to know why I ran out of science class. I can tell you. I hope reading this answer makes you happy. I was crying because Lacey said to me “I wish I could be as curvy as you but instead I look like this piece of chicken.” She knows I’ve struggled with my weight in the past. I’m a recovering bulimic. It was a secret I had trusted her with.

So you also wish to know why people say I like you and why people accuse me of sending nudes. Well, people say that I like almost everyone at school. For a while, people were saying I liked Mrs Wilson, just because I was a bitch towards her.

So, onto the nudes, it’s not an accusation. It’s not a lie. There is one thing people at school are saying that actually isn’t just a rumor. I did send nudes. I sent nudes to plenty of old men on Snapchat but it’s not because I’m a slut. I can tell you the reason but you won’t completely understand. You probably wouldn’t even believe me. Most people wouldn’t believe me.

I sent the nudes because my parents need money. We are barely getting by with rent. Both my parents are addicts. It’s just that my dad is addicted to alcohol while my mum is addicted to crack. That’s how she keeps do skinny. Like me, she also has an eating disorder. I guess it’s genetic.

Each fortnight, I secretly been giving the money I make from selling nudes, to the landlord so we don’t get evicted. For if we get evicted, we have nowhere to go. Both my Mum’s parents are dead. My dad’s dad is still alive but their relationship is strained.

If we get evicted, there’ll be no one to take care of my parents. Most likely I’ll end up in a foster home or group home. But no one wants to take care of me. No one wants to live with a teenager. Especially not a female. It’s too expensive with the pink tax.

If my father was on the streets he would probably end up getting into a street fight or maybe even ending up in jail because he wouldn’t have me to be his punching bag.

You can’t tell anyone any of the stuff I’ve written in this letter. If you do my life will be ruined.

Sincerely

Ashley

The next day, Echo was pleasantly surprised to find the letter Ashley had written in his locker.

He read it throughout the day. He kept reading it. Reading it secretly. Hoping no one would find out but they all changed in math class.

“What are you reading?” Brad asked. “Nothing.” Echo replied. “You can tell me.” Brad persisted. “It’s a letter from Ashley.” “You mean Ashley as in Ashley Green.” “Yes”

Lacey heard them speaking. Lacey told Holly, and soon enough almost the whole school knew about the letter.

“Is it true you wrote a letter to Echo?” Missy asked. “That freak. Yuck. I hate him. He probably wrote it, so while reading it he wanked off. He’s that kind of pathetic.” “You’re right.” Missy laughed a little. “I wish he could just drop dead.” Ashley said, staring in his direction. “Yeah.” Missy and Chloe said in sync.

Echo stormed off. His anger palpable. With the letter Ashley wrote in his hand he stormed straight to the principal’s office.

“I need to speak to you.” Echo said coldly while putting the letter right in front of the principal’s face. “May I please see this note?” “It’s actually a letter.” Echo passed the piece of paper.

The principal slowly read over the paper. Having read over parts to process it properly. “This looks very concerning. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Echo. I’ll have to speak to Ashley as soon as possible.” “Thank you” Echo said with a malicious smile. “Shut the door when you leave, please.”

In art Ashley was given a note to see the principal by a soft spoken year seven student who had been stuck with office duty. Ashley anxiously screwed the note between her hands while strolling to the office.

Ashley walked into the principal’s room. “Take a seat, Ashley.” “Why did you want me? I’ve done nothing wrong.” “I’m concerned about a letter you wrote.” He slid the letter across the table. “I didn’t write this. Whoever told you about this is lying. This isn’t my writing.” “Ashley, please be honest. If any of this is true you have to tell me. You need help.” “Shut the fuck up! I don’t need help!” Ashley got up and slammed the door behind her. The door fell off its hinges.

“Echo!” Ashley continuously screamed while wandering the halls until she bumped into Brad. “Echo’s gone off to the senior bathroom.

When Ashley came stomping into the senior boys bathroom she found Echo lying in a pool of blood next to a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the piece of paper and began to read.

Dear Ashley,

I never told you how I wished for you to be happy. I heard you wished for me to drop. I hope both our wishes have come true now. I know yours has.

I’ll love you forever

Echo

0 notes

tehuti88-art · 2 years

Photo

2/17/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Margit Dannecker. She's a pretty new character and is the mother of THIS guy. She's deceased before the main story takes place but played a large role in the personal development of her son's character. There'll be more about her later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding her design, since her son is intended to be a purebred Siberian husky I guess that means she is too, though she's quite petite in size. She's intended to resemble her son's (later) stepdaughter, Margarethe (similar name too), although they're not related.

TUMBLR EDIT: I'm stepping into it deciding to draw this particular character 😕 but I want to exorcise her from my head. I'm going to have to try to keep details vague but a WARNING ahead of time, the Dannecker family is probably the most disturbing aspect of this story (well, aside from the literal Holocaust), so whenever their detailed profiles go live on Toyhou.se I may finally use an individual profile warning page (currently I just use a general warning for my entire account since I have so much triggering content). Meaning that although I won't go into gruesome detail here, yes, it will still be disturbing and offensive.

I'll say outright that the Dannecker storyline involves intergenerational child abuse. So please skip the rest of the entry if that's too much, I fully understand. Just a note that this isn't a plot point "just because"--in fact, while I knew of the situation with Dannecker and his stepdaughter, I only recently learned of that between him and his mother, it wasn't planned from the start. I generally don't try to get too far into the psyche of people like Dannecker, I figured he's just similar to a psychopath (if not specifically one), but the reason behind some of his behavior (a reason, not an excuse) emerged, so I felt the need to develop it. It's not intended merely to shock but to explain how somebody became so despicable.

All right, now that there's been a warning...

I've already gone over, various times, the terribly inappropriate relationship between SS labor camp commandant Ernst Dannecker and his young stepdaughter Margarethe, or Gret; I've never just come out and said it. Dannecker literally stalks and then marries Gret's mother, Else, for the specific purpose of grooming Gret, whom in a twisted way he considers to be his "true" wife. She's like fourteen or fifteen when he marries her mother; he gives her a year. So she's about sixteen when the abuse starts, and it continues until she's around eighteen or nineteen when she encounters Josef Diamant at the labor camp and the rest of the story has been told. Gret knows about the hidden passageway under the labor camp, which she and the prisoners use to escape, as Dannecker took her down there once to abuse her; this is why he told her nobody would be able to hear her scream.

Their relationship is a painfully complicated one in that, while on some occasions (like in the passageway) he's an absolute brute toward her, even going so far as threatening to target her younger sister, or put her family in his camp if she doesn't obey, on other occasions he comes across almost like a normal, doting father, spoiling her with gifts, fawning over her accomplishments, treating her with actual kindness. Part of this, obviously, is just the typical grooming process. Another part of it, however, is Dannecker's genuine feelings. He DOES love Gret. But it's a very messed-up, twisted-up love in that he doesn't have the same emotional capacity that other people do. He realizes what he does to her is morally wrong but that's not HIS morality, and on some level he does hope she'll come around and willingly become his wife. He's not insane. I don't even think I can call him a pure psychopath/sociopath as he DOES care about her, and his mother Margit, in a way I don't think psychopaths can. But...it's just corrupted and hopelessly messed up. Dannecker isn't capable of normal, healthy love; this is the way he was born, though his mother's actions helped refine it and bring it out. I think he still would've been messed up, and incapable of a healthy relationship, even without what his mother did (she herself sees this dark side of him emerge more than once, and it unsettles her). It's just that he probably wouldn't have ended up continuing the cycle by targeting Gret. Margit just helps cultivate what's already there. I. e., Dannecker was screwed from the start.

Result of all this is Gret despises her stepfather and tells Diamant she wants him dead, AND she actively participates in his murder, even taking a trophy--his honor sword (symbolic?)--afterward; yet after the dust has settled, and he's no longer a threat...she realizes, oddly, that she loved him, too. She always refers to him as "Papa," and frequently recalls the loving things he did for her--sure, most of these were just his grooming efforts, to try to win her over--but there was a genuine fatherly moment here and there and she remembers these fondly. There's even this unsettling scene, where Gret, by now aiding in the plot on Dannecker's life, asks him to take her back down to the hidden passageway where he did such awful things to her; he's actually surprised that she'd ask this (indicating that he's aware of how he hurt her), yet agrees. It's for reconnaissance reasons, but still, a harrowing--and confusing--experience. This has been edited (mostly text omission but a word change or two, as well) for obvious reasons; I'm going to eschew my typical ellipses, as they seem too suggestive. This was written before the plot point with Dannecker's mother developed, BTW.

She was skilled at readying herself relatively quickly, washing herself up and restyling her hair into its two customary long blond braids which her stepfather loved so much, putting on her undergarments, choosing her best dress from the closet full of beautiful dresses Dannecker had bought for her. She knew he liked the black dress the most, the way it complemented his SS uniform, drawing looks from both inmates and guards as they'd walk across the prison grounds. He was a lot like a vain cockerel puffing itself up as it paraded around its prize hen, she mused, and this thought gave her a tiny spiteful tang of delight as she hurried to slip the dress on and tie herself into it. Shiny black boots much like his own, and black bows on her braids, joined it, and with a final glance at herself in her mirror, she headed for the breakfast table.

Her mother, younger brothers, younger sister, stepfather all glanced at her as she entered; her mother and the older of her two brothers looked pensive, while Dannecker beamed even brighter than her mother had earlier, and she knew her ruse had worked; his vanity about his beloved camp and his position in it were his weak spot. "Come, sit beside your papa," he said, patting an empty chair, and she obeyed. The rest of breakfast went relatively normally, Gret eating silently as the others chattered, though under the table, her stepfather clasped her hand in his own, caressing her fingers.

Dannecker didn't follow the standard practice of a commandant living at his camp, she wasn't sure why, perhaps because of his family; she suspected he'd live there if not for them. Obviously someone higher up had granted an exception. His camp had never had any major incidents, his inmates and guards were well behaved, so perhaps this earned him some leniency. Every day he took a shiny black chauffeured car to the camp and today was no exception; they were allowed to drive within the main gate and slightly into the yard itself, where Dannecker would exit, taking hold of Gret's hand to help her step out and avoid muddying her boots and dress. She would loop her arm about his and he would walk her toward the main building as if she were his prize. They were always greeted politely by the adjutant and the other guards and the kapo if he were assisting Dannecker that day; Gret always greeted them politely back. On their way across the yard, she would also surreptitiously peer toward the inmates, see if any were paying especial attention. She spotted him off to the left and somewhat toward the back today, the Jew prisoner whose plan she'd seized onto as her potential salvation. His eyes met hers for just a fraction of a second and that was the extent of it: Gret averted her stare, looked toward the ground, ignored the dull business talk of the adjutant as they passed inside the building and headed to Dannecker's office.

It was a large, well-appointed office, yet she hated it, everything it had come to represent, especially the ornate wooden desk. She could tell from the furtive glances he cast her now and then that he was thinking similar things and probably would have loved nothing more than to indulge right then, but his adjutant was still talking, and the kapo stood at the back of the room with his head lowered respectfully. "This is really that important...?" Dannecker asked just as Gret came out of her thoughts; when the adjutant nodded a bit meekly (Dannecker's temper was well known everywhere, Gret mused), he sighed and stepped away from his desk. "Have to take care of a little business first, dear Gret, then we can go on our tour, ja?" She nodded. "Schindel will get you anything you need." He gestured and he and the adjutant left the office, the door going almost shut behind them.

The room grew quiet although she could hear distant voices in other parts of the building. "There is anything you want, Fräulein...?" someone asked softly, and she glanced up to see the kapo peering at her. She shook her head.

"Nein, danke, Herr Schindel."

He bobbed his head, shifted his gaze to the side, said nothing else. Gret tried not to think about the camp too much but the position of the kapo had always struck her in particular, someone having to do such odious things, and feign that everything was fine, just to survive. It seemed far too familiar. She didn't doubt he'd been on the receiving end of her stepfather's torments more than once, though there was no way she could speak to him about it.

Although it made her feel ill at ease, she went to sit in Dannecker's chair; she kept herself perched on the edge of it and tried not to think too much about him sitting in it. Everything in the office seemed to have a hidden connotation that made her insides clench unpleasantly, even some of the decorative items on the shelves. Oddly, the only neutral thing was the room just off the office, behind his desk; she knew this was meant as his personal quarters, where he was intended to sleep and easily be called on if there were any trouble in the camp, yet it was mostly empty, devoid even of a bed or cot, with just a few items for storage. It was dark and secluded and the perfect place for him to attack her savagely whenever he wished with no repercussions yet for some odd reason he never had. She suspected that the room was too private, too intended for that purpose, for him to get off on using it.

As if in response to her thoughts, the office door swung open and Gret jumped. Dannecker smiled and gestured; she obediently stood.

"Come now, pretty, we can take our tour." He glanced at Schindel. "We'll be looking around the camp for a while, maybe an hour or so. Let anyone who might stop by know that I'm not to be sought out or disturbed until I return, ja? Unless it's an emergency."

"Ja, Herr Kommandant."

"Let's go." Gret slipped silently out of the room as Schindel watched and she had the sudden dim wonder, did he know...? Did he suspect...? Dannecker looped his arm around hers and they headed up the hallway, footsteps echoing as they drew further away from all the business going on elsewhere in the building. She peered up at him, once only; he looked back down at her and gave that smile again, that smile that looked so kind and indulgent to anyone else who looked at him and saw a good father, but which to her was snakelike and menacing and reminded her of something far different from a good father. She didn't look at him again and as far as she could tell he didn't look at her, though she knew he must be thinking of all the prospects that were open right now, prospects that she was willingly walking into.

She briefly remembered her real father, who'd never been particularly attentive or doting toward her the way Dannecker was, yet he'd never done any of the other things her stepfather did, either. Although not especially loving or affectionate, her father had definitely been attentive to her mother, if the four living children, and several miscarried and one stillborn one, were any indication.

"Here we are, pretty Gret." Dannecker slowed his step, letting go of Gret's arm and reaching for his belt. She felt the tiniest twinge of panic even though all he did was remove a large keyring and approach a tapestry hanging on the wall before them. He nudged it aside and inserted a key into a hole that was barely visible; a dull thunk sounded when he turned it and then removed it. The hidden door was heavy and unwieldy, and he had to push at it with his shoulder to get it to obey; when it cracked open he gestured her forward. She slipped past him through the narrow space, trying to avoid touching though she brushed against the front of his uniform anyway; she felt her face grow hot and her insides twist again, but he didn't react, just pushed the large door shut and locked it again before returning the keyring to his belt. Another gesture, and they fell into step with each other, descending the slight slope into the passage. The air grew damp and cool the further they went; they approached the place where he'd first shoved her against the wall, and Gret felt her body start to shake, her heart thudding in her throat. Suddenly, the Jew prisoner's plan didn't seem worth it anymore; nothing was worth being down here again, alone with him, no one knowing where they were and no one able to hear them if they made any noise. She wished more than anything to be back on the surface, to just keep accepting him because at least that was more tolerable than being here. She fully expected him to notice her trembling, to deliberately misinterpret it, to offer that oily smile; yet the most surreptitious glance at his face showed he wasn't even looking at her, was staring at the passage ahead and seemed more pensive and distracted than anything.

Although she dreaded any sort of interaction with him--one could never tell what might set him off--she murmured meekly, "Something is wrong, Papa...?"

"Nein," Dannecker said. "Nothing for you to think about. Here..." He slowed to a stop, gesturing at the intersection at which they'd arrived, the passage continuing ahead but also left and right. "This way"--he gestured right--"is a dead end, a room with some storage at the end. This"--gesturing left--"leads under the west side of the yard. Ahead continues to the edge of the camp. Which way would you like to go?"

"A...ahead, Papa."

She peered at the darkness ahead, envisioning him dragging her within like some feral monster with her unable to see him. He reached up just after they stepped into the hallway and dim light surrounded them, from an old dingy bulb hanging from the ceiling. Gret let out a breath; this part of the tunnel was smaller, narrower, than before.

"You're nervous?" She nearly jumped, glancing up at him; she hadn't expected him to talk. "You're holding my arm rather tight," he added, and she hurried to loosen her grip, taking a step back for good measure, as she'd been almost pressed to his side. This bizarre muddle of actions and reactions--all of it stemming from a father who acted very little like a father--was bewildering. Although she'd never been close to her real father, she certainly longed for him now, to clutch his arm instead, have him protect her from the monster who was currently protecting her.

"S...sorry, Papa," she whispered.

Dannecker turned away, making a noncommittal noise. "Hold my arm all you like, there's nothing dangerous down here, though. Damp and mold and spiders is all."

You can scream and scream as much as you like... She made herself keep holding his arm, since he might get angry if she let go, though she kept her grasp loose. Something far more dangerous than a spider was down here, right here with her, yet Dannecker's voice and expression remained neutral, oddly disinterested.

So you can see Gret's confusion, longing for the protection of a distant, absent father, being protected by the very person she usually needs protecting from. She loves him, and she hates him. She doesn't take his honor sword merely as a trophy, a sign that he has no power or threat over her anymore. She also takes it as a reminder of his protection, literally using it to defend herself as he's no longer there to protect her from everything but himself. Yeah, it's confusing, as I imagine it'd be for anyone who's been victimized by someone they love and who's supposed to love them. It takes Gret a very long time to work through her feelings; it's easier to just shut them off most of the time. (This is the reason the other characters view her as cold and uppity--the man she later ends up with, Lukas Mettbach, at first refers to her as "Nazi b*tch," misinterpreting her aloofness and her similarities to her stepfather (she often dresses in black, wears shiny black boots, goosesteps a bit when she walks, and parrots Nazi tropes while collecting Nazi memorabilia) as blind devotion to him and his ideals.)

(All this is even further complicated by her mother, Else's, reaction when Gret tries to get in touch with her after the war. Else truly loved Dannecker, seeing him as having rescued her and her children from a potential life of poverty following her husband's death in combat; she has no idea how he never cared for her at all, frequently calling her a "fat old cow" behind her back. She's infuriated with Gret for taking her beloved Ernst away from her; she refuses to believe Gret's account of Dannecker's abuse, and even when Gret's brother Christof reveals to her that he himself witnessed it, she insists Gret must have seduced her stepfather. She disowns Gret, and dies never having forgiven her; ironically, the woman Dannecker admitted to Gret he could barely even stand to touch is the one person to really grieve for him when he's gone. Gret's two other siblings also pretty much turn their backs on her, making her doubt her own perceptions; only Christof, who helped her out after she escaped into the Diamond Network, shows her any sympathy.)

Dannecker went through a similar experience himself, with his mother, Margit. He, too, is very confused. This is the part of the story that emerged most recently and I touched on it in Isaak Schindel's entry.

Margit is married to Walther; they're a decent upper middle-class family, and she dotes on their lone child, Ernst. Ernst is a rather willowy, shrimpy kid, physically awkward and easily cowed, the sort who would get beaten up frequently under normal circumstances. The thing is that Ernst has a mean streak; it doesn't come out often, but it does peek its head out just enough for his classmates to leave him alone. He makes no friends, but then again he doesn't want any. He's cold and aloof and keeps to himself.

At home, his father is stiff and formal, a bit distant, but his mother lavishes him with love and attention. He's the center of her life. Walther finds her attention to him to be a bit offputting--he thinks Ernst needs to toughen up some--but he has no real reason to suspect anything's amiss, especially since Ernst doesn't respond much to Margit's affection. That changes one night when she visits his room at an awkward moment. He's embarrassed, but she tells him not to be, it's just natural. And maybe it is, but what she does afterward isn't.

I'm not sure of Ernst's age, but yes, he's underaged. And a one-time thing becomes an ongoing thing. The situation confuses him at first but his own mother says it's normal--she went through it with her father when she was young, and if Ernst ever has a daughter, she tells him, perhaps he'll do the same. So Margit's coming from a nasty background herself, and just continuing a cycle she was taught to normalize. And her son follows along, because it's his mother, of course she knows better than he does. They have to keep it secret from his father as she had to keep it secret from her mother, but that's just the way of things. Nobody else would understand the connection they share. (At least that's how Margit puts it.)

Ernst quickly latches on to the relationship with his mother in a way he never did before, seeming to become almost addicted to it. Margit sometimes has to coax him into calming himself down or being patient, he's so impulsive and starved for her attention. She sees the first hints of malice lurking beneath the surface whenever he doesn't get his way, but he's generally quite obedient to her, as long as she keeps a soft sweet placating demeanor and promises to reward him later on. For quite some time, this is how things go, until one day Walther catches them together.

Of course he's aghast--he knew something inappropriate was going on, just not THIS inappropriate. He starts yelling, Margit starts yelling--the only one not yelling is Ernst, who just watches the two screaming back and forth. It doesn't get through to him the exact import of his father's words: "How could you do this to him?--your own son!" Even through all his disgust, Walther rightly sees Ernst as a victim, but it's a thought neither of the others shares--they both fully believe they share some sort of sacred love. He finally yells for Ernst to get out and go to his room--Ernst refuses to go until Margit tells him to--and once he's there, Walther locks him in and keeps the key from Margit. After some further arguing he figures out this has been going on for years. He vows that this is the end of such "degenerate" behavior, and the next day they're going to address it head on. He goes to call somebody on the phone and makes some sort of arrangements; then pulls Margit away from Ernst's door, threatens her to knock it off, and orders her back to their room. He himself stays in the hallway and prevents her from heading to Ernst's room again. The rest of the night passes in this uneasy stalemate, but as soon as morning comes, Walther unlocks Ernst's room and orders him to wash up and pack--"A few changes of clothes, toiletries. Pack! Now!"

Walther's never been so livid, so Ernst obeys, while Margit hovers outside, begging to know what's going on. Walther refuses to answer, orders Ernst out to the car; Margit insists on going along, and Walther doesn't argue. He still doesn't answer any questions, either; though when he drives them to the railway station, the other two have figured out he means business.

Walther purchases a single one-way ticket, steers Ernst toward the platform, Margit on their heels, pleading. The train arrives not long after, and based on its next intended destination, Margit figures out where it must be headed. "The military academy?" she cries, and pleads with Walther--Ernst isn't made for military life, not her boy, he's no soldier. Indeed, though he's grown somewhat by now--he's about sixteen--Ernst is still shy and awkward and gangly, all arms and legs, and has never shown any militant propensities--he just wants to stay with his mother. Walther is undeterred, however: "Maybe there, they'll raise him right. Unlike in our house!" The train stops, the conductor opens the doors and starts calling for passengers; Walther grabs Ernst's arm and hauls him forward. Ernst finally protests, calling for Margit, and she calls him back, while still pleading with Walther; the three raise such a commotion that faces start peering curiously out the train car windows. When Ernst refuses to board the train, Walther first threatens to thrash him; then, when that doesn't work, he hisses, "If you don't get on now, I promise you you'll never see your mother again." That threat works; Ernst glowers, but takes his bag and ticket and gets on the train. The doors close and he hurries to the window to look out; Margit sees him, yells his name, runs after the train a bit as it starts to move, then collapses on the platform, sobbing.

Behind Ernst, one of the other teenage boys occupying the car murmurs, "Muttersöhnchen"--"Mama's boy." Everyone else chuckles. Ernst shoots the other boy a livid glare, but just as quickly looks back out the window, and doesn't stop until his mother is out of sight. The conductor arrives to ask for tickets, and everyone loses interest in joking; Ernst sits down at last to gloomily await his arrival at the academy.

Margit, meanwhile, is ordered back in the car--"If you don't get in, I'll leave you here," Walther vows--and they head home. From that point on, things are very strained. Margit refuses to even talk to her husband for a good long while, and when she does it's to rebuke him for abandoning "my boy." She definitely doesn't share a bed with him anymore. When a letter from Ernst arrives from the academy, Walther intercepts it, reads it, is infuriated all over again; even being away from home, Ernst's attitude toward his mother hasn't changed, and Margit's attitude hasn't changed, either. Walther tears the "vile" letter up and throws it away, though Margit manages to fetch it out, put it back together, and read her son's profession of his feelings for her. Walther manages to keep any other letters from getting through, so she doesn't get to hear from him for the next couple of years or so. And then, the Great War begins.

The dreadful news comes: Those at the military academy who are of age will be sent off to the Western Front. Margit doesn't even get the chance to see her Ernst one more time before he's sent off to fight. She breaks down sobbing, and spends the next several years in utter torment; Walther doesn't have to intercept letters anymore, as Ernst doesn't send any. The army sends no notice that anything's happened to Ernst, but this isn't much of a comfort to Margit, who slips into a deep depression. She largely ignores Walther, who sticks by her nonetheless; he still dimly hopes this is what's best for their son, though he hadn't counted on a war breaking out. He's admittedly anxious about Ernst, as well.

A letter at last arrives shortly before the armistice is declared: Ernst Dannecker has been wounded, but not seriously; he'll be coming home. The Danneckers arrive at the railway station to wait. Margit cranes her neck and anxiously watches everyone who disembarks, looking for her boy. It's only after most of the passengers have already gotten off that a young man climbs off with his bag, keeping his arm pressed close to his side; he doesn't really catch Margit's attention aside from the fact that he's wearing a military uniform. She looks at him until he finishes fiddling with his luggage, stands straight, then just happens to look in her direction--and freezes. The two of them stare at each other; Margit is confused, she was waiting for her gangly awkward boy, yet this is a tall, well-built man. But there's no mistaking those eyes, or the way he looks at her. It's been several years, after all. Of course her Ernst is all grown up now.

The three head home; Dannecker has a wound to his side but it isn't too bad. Nonetheless, his mother fawns over him, repeatedly exclaiming over how much he's changed--maybe serving in the army wasn't such a bad idea. Dannecker is both taller and more fit than his father now, and when the two of them look at each other, it's very awkward; Walther has to avert his eyes, as Dannecker can be intimidating with merely a glance, now. They sit for dinner, talk a little, then retire to the parlor for drinks, talk some more. After a while Walther starts to nod off, finally slumping in his chair, snoring. Margit catches Dannecker's attention--she's holding a little bottle. She slipped something in Walther's drink to knock him out. The two of them smile at each other, then leave the room together. All that time away in the military didn't change everything; Dannecker is still his mother's boy.

The two of them aren't as subtle about it as they used to be, mostly because Walther doesn't have much leverage over his son anymore--all Dannecker has to do is look at him and he realizes he stands no chance in a fight. He really has no choice but to put up with it. Dannecker, meanwhile, moves up in the world; when a paramilitary organization called the Schutzstaffel forms, it looks to be exactly what he's interested in; he resigns his military post to join, and is assigned to a camp as a guard. Margit proudly irons his new uniform and polishes all the shiny bits like a good obedient wife; Walther chafes but does nothing.

Dannecker quickly earns a reputation in the camp. He'd already told his mother of some of the things he did at the front, including his behavior toward the women; Margit finds it distasteful but obviously he did such things only because he had to, growing boys have needs after all. He seemed anxious that she'd be angry, yet she isn't. This is another peek at the darkness lurking beneath the surface, however, and his job in the camp just seems to bring it out even more. There's one especially nasty incident in which a Jewish prisoner, seeing Dannecker approaching, turns and runs straight at the fence, electrocuting himself; it turns out he'd had a run-in with Dannecker while they served at the front. It also turns out they'd had an interaction before that, when he'd so casually called Dannecker "mama's boy." Dannecker has a very long memory when it comes to perceived offenses, and is more than willing to act on them. Which puts his own father directly in his sights: Despite how well it may have turned out for him personally, he still resents Walther for separating him from Margit all those years. Walther has good reason to avert his eyes.

I'm not sure what it is, but one day something sets Walther off, makes him lose his temper; maybe he catches them together in his own bed. Whatever it is, he snaps and starts screaming at them like the first time, except this time he no longer considers Dannecker a victim--he's a rival now, going along with it willingly. Again, Dannecker refuses to leave when Walther yells at him to, and only a soft word from Margit makes him obey; he glowers at Walther as he passes, a glare much like the one he gave the young man who called him "mama's boy." Walther ignores the implication, and continues arguing with Margit; this is it, he insists--Dannecker will have to move out. When Margit says she'll simply go along with him, Walther replies, well then, he's going to make a call tomorrow, and inform Dannecker's superior officers of exactly what's going on. Given the SS and their rules and regulations, there's no way they'll permit such "degenerate" behavior to continue unchecked--Dannecker will surely lose his position in the SS-Totenkopfverbände, and face possible punishment, as well. Margit has no response for this, as she knows it's true; Walther says he's going to sleep on the couch, and they'll pick this up in the morning. He exits, and Margit sits in the bed crying until she falls asleep.

Walther doesn't know that after he left the room, Dannecker didn't retreat to his own bedroom as he did when he was a boy; he listened to the entire conversation. After Walther falls asleep on the couch, he slips into the room silently and approaches. Walther wakes abruptly when Dannecker makes a small sound, and blinks up at his silhouette in the dimness, mumbling, "Ernst?"--right before Dannecker shoves a pillow down over his face. Walther fights back as much as he's able, but his own son is a lot stronger than he is now, thanks to all that training Walther sent him off to, and it isn't long before his motions grow weaker and slower and then he falls still, going limp. Dannecker continues pressing the pillow over his face for a few moments more until he's sure the job is done--like I said, he's very patient when he sets his eyes on a target--then he carefully lifts it and sets it aside, damp side hidden. He closes Walther's eyes, repositions his sprawled limbs, and draws the blanket back up to look like he's still merely sleeping, before heading back to his own room. He falls asleep easily.

Early in the morning, Margit wakes, gets out his uniform, iron and shine, makes him a quick breakfast. Glances at her husband still sleeping on the couch but doesn't disturb him as she doesn't want to deal with him right now. Dannecker gives her a small kiss before he leaves--they look and act just like mother and son, nothing untoward, though once he's gone she agonizes over what they're going to do next. She can't bear to be separated from her boy, yet she can't endanger his job. She grows more anxious as the morning goes on, no solutions coming to mind; all she can think of is divorce, though Walther is unlikely to let her go without a fight. It finally occurs to her that it's almost noon and he hasn't awakened yet; she at last goes to rouse him, steeling herself for an altercation. He doesn't respond to her voice, not even to her gently shaking his arm; growing concerned, she tries to turn him toward her. Then gasps and recoils--his skin is cold, eyes half closed, mouth slack, a bluish tinge to his lips. Margit shrieks and heads for the phone--she tells the operator to call the camp, and begs to speak with Dannecker. When he's at last put on the phone he has to order her to calm down, she's grown so hysterical. She manages to tell him she's found Walther no longer breathing--apparently a heart attack, she has no other idea what to think--and she needs Dannecker there. He promises to come as soon as he can, and ends the call. Margit takes a moment to try to settle herself before it occurs to her how calm Dannecker himself was throughout the exchange, not raising his voice even once as she cried and babbled over the phone; something compels her to go look at Walther again. She can hardly bear it, yet she looks him over without touching him--nothing amiss--but she notices the pillow sitting against the back of the couch, atop Walther's leg--something about it seems off. She gingerly picks it up, turns it over. The other side is damp. Margit immediately drops it back where she found it, full of dread. She tries to tell herself it can't be what it's starting to look like.

Dannecker arrives with an SS doctor in tow; he looks Walther over, confirms his death (obviously), but seems puzzled when Margit suggests a heart attack; she admits he has no history of heart issues, yet what else could it be? The physician replies that Walther's eyes have tiny hemorrhages in them: a sign of suffocation. The dread rises even higher in Margit's breast; yet the doctor says perhaps he choked on something in his sleep, and calls a team to collect Walther's body and take him away for autopsy. He expresses his condolences and they all depart, leaving Dannecker and Margit behind.

Dannecker comforts Margit as she cries and remembers how poor her last exchange with Walther was; the comments he makes in response start out sympathetic, but slowly grow more resentful. Margit picks up on this and the dread seeps back; when Dannecker outright says, "He asked for this, keeping you away from me," Margit looks up at him and finally whispers, "Ernst...don't tell me you...?" He doesn't even deny it, just repeats that Walther was the one keeping them apart, of course he had to act. He seems genuinely confused when Margit reacts with horror--"Ernst! He's your father! I didn't mean THAT [you should kill him]...!"--though the more she protests that she didn't want him to do this, the more the perplexed look on his face changes; his eyes grow dark, his mouth turns down. The ugly malice just under the surface peeks out--this time, it's directed right at her. And for the first time, Margit is afraid of her own son, as she knows exactly what he's capable of--he told her himself. As horrifying as his own actions are, as much as she didn't want him to do this, she realizes she can't afford to cross him as he could do the same to her. She immediately changes tack, brings out her soft sweet placating voice, touching his arm and pressing close and calling him her boy, promising that they'll stick to the story Walther must have choked in his sleep and they're the proper mourning wife and son. Anything to protect his position. She's terrified of getting on his bad side, but just as when he was a teenager, the tactic works; the malice fades from his eyes, the tension leaves his muscles, slowly her sweet loving boy returns. He agrees to go along with her plan.

Margit now knows exactly where she stands: Dannecker can, and will, turn on her as quickly and easily as he's turned on everyone else who's wronged him, if she sets him off. He won't give her a pass simply because she's his mother and his lover. This is something she never counted on dealing with; she's never come across anything like this. She knows there's something fundamentally wrong and broken inside "her sweet boy" and no amount of her love and affection, however twisted, can fix it. She's walking through a field of landmines same as everyone else, and she acts accordingly, being extra careful to remain in Dannecker's good graces. She likely won't get any second chance.

Fortunately for Margit, she's good at what she does. She and Dannecker convincingly play the roles of devoted wife and son in grieving; Walther's death is perfunctorily investigated by the Allgemeine-SS, then the file is quietly closed and life goes on. Dannecker and Margit continue living in the same house and now freely share each other's bed. (They aren't aware that the Allgemeine-SS never COMPLETELY shuts down its observation--they've picked up that something is off, but don't have enough to act on, and their chief, Col. Heidenreich, advises them to tread softly to avoid a scandal.) Margit continues keeping house as if tending to her husband, even while gently prodding Dannecker once in a while that he should look into starting a family of his own, as the SS requires. Dannecker resists the advice--she's all he wants, there is nobody else. And it's true--he's never cared about anyone else in his life but her. It isn't love the way normal people feel it, but it's the closest his broken psyche can experience, and he feels it only for her. He doesn't want to get married, to be with any other woman, to start a family, if it isn't with her. Margit knows this is impossible--she never had a family with her father, for example--yet is sure not to push too hard lest she set him off. There's plenty of time to change his mind.

Except, as it turns out, there isn't. I think this occurs shortly before Dannecker is promoted and sent to watch over his own camp, though I'm not 100% sure. Margit faints one day and falls while Dannecker is at work; he nearly panics when he returns home and finds her on the floor. She insists she's all right, just tired--she's been fatigued lately--but with this, and the nasty bruise she's suffered, he doesn't even need convincing, he calls a physician. Margit is taken to hospital for tests and observation. After a while, a doctor appears with a sorrowful look and bad news: Blood cancer. This is the late 1930s/early 1940s; there's no effective treatment for leukemia yet. No matter how much Dannecker protests, and then threatens, that they need to try more, there's nothing much they can do, aside from trying to keep her comfortable and manage her symptoms. Dannecker's not used to his demands being refused; Margit has to calm him down so he doesn't target the doctor. She tries to keep her head for her son's sake, though when they're alone she fights not to break down, crying, "I'm afraid, Ernst." Although obviously just as rattled by this news, he comforts her again, promising to stay by her no matter what--she's his mother, his love, after all.

Margit rapidly declines; the disease is fast acting, aggressive. The morphine keeps her in a stupor much of the time, during which Dannecker forces himself to return to work, though when she wakes he's there to hold her hand and stroke her hair. The hospital staff take note of their odd closeness, but say nothing. One day in a moment of painful lucidity, Margit finally does break down: "I can't bear you seeing me like this, Ernst. I don't want your last thought of me being a shriveled little shell in this bed. I want you remembering me how I was." Dannecker insists he doesn't care how she looks, but she grows more and more adamant; she doesn't want to go this way. And then, meekly, she broaches the subject: "My Ernst, isn't there...isn't there something you can do...?"

This is Nazi Germany, and Dannecker is in the SS. He works in a camp. The Nazis have ways of dealing with people they deem a burden on society, "life unworthy of life"--and among these are the physically infirm, the terminally ill. People like Margit. Euthanasia, as it's so optimistically called, is legal. Dannecker knows immediately what his mother is asking of him as he's helped oversee the termination of countless unworthy lives himself. He pales, then grips Margit's hands harder and insists, "Mama, you don't mean it. That's just your sadness talking. There are other things we can do." She insists, though--the doctors have said there are no other options, and she doesn't want to suffer to the very end: "Bitte, my Ernst, you can't let me, you must be able to help me." She grows more strident and despondent the more he tries to talk her out of it and at last he realizes there will be no changing her mind; for once she stands firm against his pleas. And eventually he stops arguing. She can tell from the look on his face that her decision crushes him inside yet he calls the doctor back to consult with him.

The doctor comes to talk with the two. Margit knows of the SS's euthanasia programs but something she ISN'T aware of is the exact method used--what the Nazis call "euthanasia" isn't really a "good death" at all for most people. So no, Dannecker can't offer her this option himself, unless she wants to go in the gas chamber. The doctor is sympathetic and suggests a drug overdose--done properly it'll be like drifting to sleep. Margit jumps at the idea; Dannecker isn't happy, but doesn't object. After making absolutely sure this is what she wants, and having her sign the proper forms with Dannecker as witness, he brings in the proper equipment and administers the drug, then retreats a bit so Dannecker and Margit can sit together and wait. The two stare at each other while Dannecker clasps Margit's hand and she strokes his face, smiling and murmuring, "My sweet boy." Her voice and motions start to slow down though she does manage to tell him, "I'll always be there for you...I'll never leave you," before her eyes drift closed and she dozes off. After a little while longer, her breathing stops. Dannecker puts his head to her chest but can't hear anything; the doctor returns to check her vitals, finds that her pulse has stopped. He tells Dannecker the news though it's obvious already. Dannecker just stares mutely at his mother, his eyes wet. It's probably the first and only time he's ever cried over anyone.

Life goes on, though it's dull and tedious with an empty bed and no one there to greet him when he returns home, no one who "gets" him the way only Margit did. He gets a shiny new post as commandant of his own labor camp and moves into a nice big house nearby but even that doesn't do much to assuage the hurt, which is a really strange emotion he's not used to feeling. Then while walking down the sidewalk one day, in a bit of a hurry, he rounds a corner without watching where he's going and slams into somebody else who's also walking too fast and not watching where they're going. The other person drops their grocery bag; Dannecker drops, period, losing his balance and hitting the ground. He angrily snaps, "Watch where you're--!" before his eyes lock on somebody standing several feet away--a young girl, petite, in a long dress, with long blond braids and big blue eyes. The two of them stare at each other in silence as the woman Dannecker had run into hurries to pick up his own scattered items and help him up, apologizing profusely. A few other children, two boys and a younger girl, also stand to the side, but it's the oldest one Dannecker can't stop staring at. She's the spitting image of a much younger version of his mother.

He finally notices the older, frumpier woman trying to assist and placate him--obviously his SS uniform has her rattled, and she's terribly apologetic, taking the blame for his fall, retrieving his belongings before seeing to her own. He pushes himself up, dusts himself off, takes back his papers, grumbles for her to watch where she's going from now on; she thanks him repeatedly for his leniency, collects her scattered groceries, urges her children to come along now, she's so sorry, so sorry. Dannecker and the teenaged girl continue staring at each other as the little family passes by. She even glances back at him while they're walking off before turning away. Dannecker can't stop staring after her. He's distracted all that day, returns home at night, lies in bed staring at the ceiling. Murmurs softly, "Is it a sign? Is it you...?" He's not religious or spiritual whatsoever...but those braids, those eyes, that face. Margit had promised she'd never leave him. Is this her? Has she come back to him? He knows that was not literally his mother...but just maybe, his mother sent her to him. It must be a sign.

Dannecker has connections, and he's patient and perseverant. He does some asking around, some digging. Finds out the frumpy woman's name is Else, and her older daughter's name is Margarethe. "Margarethe," Dannecker whispers to himself; even her name is like his mother's. This is all the proof he needs that the two of them are meant to be. Margit had told him, after all, that one day he should have his own family, and hopefully his own daughter, to carry on what Margit had taught him and what her father had taught her. He's never been interested in starting a family, yet here is one ready made for him. He has a new pet project. When he learns Else is a widow, he starts making his plans to win her over. He's not interested in her in the least--Gret is the one his heart is set on. He's willing to do whatever it takes to get her, and eventually, he does.

Here's Dannecker's entry, somewhat outdated but the rest of his story. Here's Gret's.

Dannecker fulfills his mother's vow that the cycle of abuse would continue with him as the perpetrator and Gret as the next in a line of victims, including himself and Margit, that goes back who even knows how far. Gret, however, finishes the cycle, by participating in his murder--the abuse ends with her. It's a bit ironic, though, that she DOES repeat her stepfather's behavior: He murdered his own father as well. So although she manages to break free of the abuse itself, she doesn't ENTIRELY free herself of his influence over her. She carries his sword as a weapon of defense...but it's still also a symbol of the man who should have protected her unconditionally, yet ended up hurting her most of all.

[Margit Dannecker 2023 [‎Friday, ‎February ‎17, ‎2023, ‏‎3:00:10 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #SketchDaily #original characters

0 notes

auliasbookcorner · 2 years

Text

Review: Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami

Book 1 of 2023

Start Reading Time: 28 December 2022

Finish reading Time: 27 January 2023

Page Count: 467 Pages

TRIGGER WARNINGS: ABANDONMENT, RAPE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, ADULT/MINOR RELATIONSHIP, ANIMAL DEATH, BODY HORROR, ANIMAL CRUELTY, DEATH, INCEST, AND VIOLENCE

This is the spoiler-free part of the review. I will put up a spoiler alert before going into the review that contains spoilers.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ?!

Last year I started the year with one of the best books I have ever had the pleasure of reading, A Little Life, but this year... I started the year with this steaming hot mess.

Oh, and happy new year, by the way. I wish you a much, much better start of the year than mine, and I'm also wishing myself, and all of you a much better rest of the year.

I think this is the first book that has gotten me feel so mad and disgusted, while simultaneously intrigued me enough to make me want to find out the answers in the end so I kept reading it (painful though it was) until the very end, and then left feeling immeasurably disappointed by the ending, and just the whole book as a whole.

I am well aware that there are A LOT of people who love this book, and no offense to those people, but this book infuriates me unlike any other, so this might not be the review to read for those people, as this will be a rant review. But again, I'd like to remind you that maybe I am just a dummy who doesn't have the brain capacity to understand or appreciate the genius of this book. However, this dummy has a lot of thoughts and feelings that need to be expressed, thus the rant review. If these thoughts and feelings offended you in any way, please know that it is never my intention. I respect everyone's tastes and preferences, and I understand that art is subjective, and I hope you would extend the same sentiment to me.

In other words, please don't come for me.

This is the first Murakami book I've ever read, and this book has been sitting in my TBR since about 3 years ago. Almost everyone and their moms were talking about it and recommending it to me, including my friend, who recommended this book to be our book club's pick. I hate to say that I now have beef with those people. (Nope, just kidding, although I am now highly skeptical of their book recs now)

Anyway, I know Murakami is a highly regarded author and has written many books that are highly praised. But now, having read one of his books, I don't think I like his style of writing, which is very disappointing to me. I thought he'll be an author that I will like, and I planned to read more of his books this year. I have now scratched that plan. Listen, I want to give him another chance, maybe this book is just the only book that just doesn't work for me, and maybe I'll like his other books, I really wanted to believe it. But, I am just still so freshly traumatized by this book that I can't even bear the thought of reading another creation of the man who wrote about some of, if not the most brutal animal killing scenes in books I have ever read, among other brutal scenes like incest and rape.

I am definitely NOT a fan of this book, and I will try to not make this review overly negative and be a constructive criticism instead.

BOOK SUMMARY:

Kafka Tamura has just turned 15 years old, and he's running away from home. He's going to be the world's toughest 15 year old. Why? His father told him the prophecy that he was cursed to do three of the most despicable things:

Murder his own father

Have sex with his own mother

Have sex with his own sister

Now, Kafka's Mom and older sister left him and his father when he was younger, and he can't even remember their names or faces. Kafka doesn't really talk to his father, and they don't really have a relationship. Kafka has been planning his flee from home for years, and on the eve of his 15th birthday, he's finally going to put that plan into action.

Kafka's main reason is he's trying to escape his "fate" of killing his father, and having sex with his mom and his sister. Kafka knows if he keeps living with his father, the prophecy will come true, but if he's far away from his father he might have a chance of changing his fate. Also, since he can't remember his mom and sister's faces and names, he suspects almost every woman he met of being his mom or sister, but he knows he can't know for sure.

Meanwhile, Nakata's been looking for a house cat that's been missing for days. That's Nakata's job, people pay him with money, food or clothes to look for their lost cats because somehow, the well mannered though intellectually challenged old man has ways of finding lost cats. His secret? He can talk to cats. Yup, Nakata may be old, living on government's aids and can't read, but he sure can talk to cats, and that's how he's able to find all these lost cats.

But he's been looking for this one cat for days now, but he still couldn't find it. No matter, Nakata's a patient man and he doesn't mind waiting for hours for the lost cat to show up at one spot where another cat told him they spotted the cat. However, somehow, Nakata found himself being cornered by a strange man asking him to kill him, otherwise the strange man would kill more and more cats in the most gruesome ways.

Will Kafka be able to change his fate?

What will Nakata do to the strange man?

Kafka and Nakata may not know each other, but their fates would intersect in the most bizarre way.

🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨

From this point forward in the review, I will mention spoilers, plot twist and the ending. So, if you don’t wish to be spoiled, you can skip the rest of the review and come back to this review once you’ve finished reading this book.

The best things about this book for me are...

THE PROSE. It's beautiful, not gonna lie.

The philosophies scattered in between scenes, though they were being delivered in some of the most peculiar ways. The craziest one must be when that sex worker was telling Hoshino about philosophy that she's learning in the university to keep him from coming too early. I love the philosophies, absolutely DESPISED the way it's being told.

Oshima. Him and Nakata are two of the best characters of this book (except when Oshima said he had no problem with Kafka and Saeki having sex). Hoshino can be relatable sometimes, and at other times he can be hilarious and generous, but he can be an ass too, and that sex scene traumatized me.

Nakata is so endearing. He reminded me of Charlie from Flowers for Algernon at the beginning of the book, before he gets the operation. I kept reading the book because of Nakata, honestly. I was hoping he'd get his memory pre-incident.

Some *hopefully* constructive criticisms…

I think this book could do with so much less description about body parts, and just the overall perversion. Maybe don't make the characters to be so fucking horny? Also make it to be less sex scenes, or maybe make them to be much more subtle and tasteful. Some of the sex scenes straight up read like a very bad script for a very bad porn movie.

Seems to me that the author could not help himself but mentions a female character's legs, body and breasts while describing her, and it is SO uncomfortable to read, oh dear God it's like being inside a pervert's mind. EW.

I don't mind the magical realism aspect, but please make it make sense a little, or at least give answers to the questions that intrigued the readers in the first to half part of the book. What was the plane that made all the kids collapse? Who is Kafka's dad and what is his powers? Was Sakura really Kafka's sister? How did Nakata get his powers?

NO INCEST, PLEASE. Take it out of the book and make the curse something else, literally anything else, murder his mother maybe? Tank her business and take away her power to live? Anything else but incest please. Why did it have to be incest and why did it have to be described so graphically?

NO RAPE SCENES, PLEASE. What is the point, it seems like the author just wants to gross out the readers and get a massive reaction out of them by including that "dream incest rape" scene. I legit want to throw up while reading that part.

My favourite moments from the book:

I don't think there's any... My favorite part of this whole experience is when I finally finished reading it, and ended my misery.

And finally, here are my favorite quotes from the book:

""Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions," Crow says. Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine."

""You're going to be the world's toughest fifteen-year-old," Crow whispers as I try to fall asleep. Like he was carving the words in a deep blue tattoo on my heart. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about."

"The world is a huge space, but the space that will take you in—and it doesn't have to be very big—is nowhere to be found. You seek a voice, but what do you get? Silence."

"Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That's it. That's my heart."

""'In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion,'" she repeats, making sure of it. If she had paper and pencil, it wouldn't surprise me if she wrote it down. "So what does that really mean? In simple terms." I think it over. It takes me a while to gather my thoughts, but she waits patiently. "I think it means," I say, "that chance encounters are what keep us going. In simple terms.""

""'Even chance meetings'... how does the rest of that go?" "'Are the result of karma.'" "Right, right," she says. "But what does it mean?" "That things in life are fated by our previous lives. That even in the smallest events there's no such thing as coincidence.""

""According to Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium, in the ancient world of myth there were three types of people," Oshima says. "Have you heard about this?" "No." "In ancient times people weren't just male or female, but one of three types: male/male, male/female, or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangement and never really gave it much thought. But then God took a knife and cut everybody in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into male and female, the upshot being that people spend their time running around trying to locate their missing other half." ... "Anyway, my point is that it's really hard for people to live their lives alone.""

""There're all sorts of cats—just like there're all sorts of people." "That's exactly right. Nakata feels the same way. There are all kinds of people in the world, and all kinds of cats.""

""What I think is this: You should give up looking for lost cats and start searching for the other half of your shadow." Nakata tugged a few times at the bill of his hat in his hands. "To tell the truth, Nakata's had that feeling before. That my shadow is weak. Other people might not notice, but I do." "That's good, then," the cat said. "But I'm already old, and may not live much longer. Mother's already dead. Father's already dead. Whether you're smart or dumb, can read or can't, whether you've got a shadow or not, once the time comes, everybody passes on. You die and they cremate you. You turn into ashes and they bury you at a place called Karasuyama."

"I go back to the reading room, where I sink down in the sofa and into the world of The Arabian Nights. Slowly, like a movie fadeout, the real world evaporates. I'm alone, inside the world of the story. My favorite feeling in the world."

"Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through, is now like something from the distant past. We're so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology... But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone"

"It's all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It's just like Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibilities. Flip this around and you could say that where there's no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise. Just like we see with Eichmann."

"But that calm won't last long, you know. It's like beasts that never tire, tracking you everywhere you go. They come out at you deep in the forest. They're tough, relentless, merciless, untiring, and they never give up. You might control yourself now, and not masturbate, but they'll get you in the end, as a wet dream. You might dream about raping your sister, your mother. It's not something you can control. It's a power beyond you—and all you can do is accept it. You're afraid of imagination. And even more afraid of dreams. Afraid of the responsibility that begins in dreams. But you have to sleep, and dreams are a part of sleep. When you're awake you can suppress imagination. But you can't suppress dreams."

"Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear."

""From my own experience, when someone is trying very hard to get something, they don't. And when they're running away from something as hard as they can, it usually catches up with them. I'm generalizing, of course.""

""That's how stories happen—with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There's only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.""

""Kafka, in everybody's life there's a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can't go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That's how we survive.""

""You build up relationships like that one after another and before you know it you have meaning. The more connections, the deeper the meaning. Doesn't matter if it's eel, or rice bowls, or grilled fish, whatever. Get it?" "No, I still don't understand. Does food make connections between things?" "Not just food. Streetcars, the emperor, whatever." "But I don't ride streetcars." "That's fine. Look—what I'm getting at is no matter who or what you're dealing with, people build up meaning between themselves and the things around them. The important thing is whether this comes about naturally or not. Being bright has nothing to do with it. What matters is that you see things with your own eyes.""

""Things change every day, Mr. Nakata. With each new dawn it's not the same world as the day before. And you're not the same person you were, either. You get what I'm saying?""

""The world of the grotesque is the darkness within us. Well before Freud and Jung shined a light on the workings of the subconscious, this correlation between darkness and our subconscious, these two forms of darkness, was obvious to people. It wasn't a metaphor, even. If you trace it back further, it wasn't even a correlation. Until Edison invented the electric light, most of the world was totally covered in darkness. The physical darkness outside and the inner darkness of the soul were mixed together, with no boundary separating the two. They were directly linked. Like this." Oshima brings his two hands together tightly. "In Murasaki Shikibu's time living spirits were both a grotesque phenomenon and a natural condition of the human heart that was right there with them. People of that period probably couldn't conceive of these two types of darkness as separate from each other. But today things are different. The darkness in the outside world has vanished, but the darkness in our hearts remains, virtually unchanged. Just like an iceberg, what we label the ego or consciousness is, for the most part, sunk in darkness. And that estrangement sometimes creates a deep contradiction or confusion within us.""

""Were you lonely when you were fifteen?" "In a sense, I guess. I wasn't alone, but I was terribly lonely. Because I knew that I would never be happier than I was then. That much I knew for sure. That's why I wanted to go—just as I was—to some place where there was no time.""

""My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime.""

""Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time. It's just a natural feeling. You're not the person who discovered that feeling, so don't go trying to patent it, okay?""

""The strength I'm looking for isn't the kind where you win or lose. I'm not after a wall that'll repel power coming from outside. What I want is the kind of strength to be able to absorb that outside power, to stand up to it. The strength to quietly endure things—unfairness, misfortune, sadness, mistakes, misunderstandings." "That's got to be the most difficult strength of all to make your own." "I know....""

"Life's crappy, no matter how you cut it. He just hadn't understood that when he was little."

""Archduke Rudolph didn't make a name for himself as either a pianist or a composer, but sort of stood in the shadows lending a helping hand to Beethoven, who didn't know much about getting ahead in the world. If it hadn't been for him, Beethoven would have had a much tougher time." "Those kind of people are necessary in life, huh?" "Absolutely." "The world would be a real mess if everybody was a genius. Somebody's got to keep watch, take care of business." "Exactly. A world full of geniuses would have significant problems.""

"Listening to Fournier's flowing, dignified cello, Hoshino was drawn back to his childhood. He used to go to the river every day to catch fish. Nothing to worry about back then, he reminisced. Just live each day as it came. As long as I was alive, I was something. That was just how it was. But somewhere along the line it all changed. Living turned me into nothing. Weird... People are born in order to live, right? But the longer I've lived, the more I've lost what's inside me—and ended up empty. And I bet the longer I live, the emptier, the more worthless, I'll become. Something's wrong with this picture. Life isn't supposed to turn out like this! Isn't it possible to shift direction, to change where I'm headed?"

""I had a kind of revelation last night. Taking crazy things seriously is—a serious waste of time." "A very wise conclusion. There's that saying, 'Pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.'""

""But this is something you have to figure out on your own. Nobody can help you. That's what love's all about, Kafka. You're the one having those wonderful feelings, but you have to go it alone as you wander through the dark. Your mind and body have to bear it all. All by yourself.""

"I've always been a great fan of the Chunichi Dragons, he thought, but what are the Dragons to me, anyway? Say they beat the Giants—how's that going to make me a better person? How could it? So why the heck have I spent all this time getting worked up like the team was some extension of myself?"

""Do you think music has the power to change people? Like you listen to a piece and go through some major change inside?" Oshima nodded. "Sure, that can happen. We have an experience—like a chemical reaction—that transforms something inside us. When we examine ourselves later on, we discover that all the standards we've lived by have shot up another notch and the world's opened up in unexpected ways. Yes, I've had that experience. Not often, but it has happened. It's like falling in love.""

""Let a bright light shine in and melt the coldness in your heart. That's what being tough is all about.""

""Every one of us is losing something precious to us," he says after the phone stops ringing. "Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads—at least that's where I imagine it—there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.""

This book makes me wish that there was a way to remove a memory from your brain, like some kind of a bleach, so you can wash your brain clean off of the nastiness of this book. Also, I would like my 1 month worth of reading this book back, such a waste of time.

Anyway, the silver lining is that we can only go up from here, right?

PLOT - ⭐

WRITING STYLE - ⭐⭐⭐

ENTERTAINMENT LEVEL - 💔

BOOK COVER DESIGN - ⭐

OVERALL BOOK RATING - ⭐

#kafka on the shore #book review

1 note · View note

mahoushojoe · 2 years

Text

thinking about how neji spent his entire life being the victim of gross injustice at the hands of the people closest to him and being constantly told his feelings towards that injustice were invalid and being manipulated to the point that he died thinking exactly the way the system wanted him to think under the illusion that it was his free will all along

#im in pain and i feel bad for him #he like. never escaped. his emotions regarding people he loved (his father most of all) were manipulated #to make him complacent with his own suffering #maybe not actively manipulated on naruto's part but ultimately neji's emotional vulnerability as a traumatized lonely kid was what made him #so easy to steer away from his righteous anger #his skills were used and then he was discarded #ughhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH im upset #neji hyuga #naruto #naruto shippuden

348 notes · View notes

husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :>

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition.

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow.

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you.

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart.

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted. Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies.

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled.

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow.

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine."

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart.

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers.

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!" Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!"

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass.

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life.

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger.

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted.

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort.

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom. That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence.

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie.

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do.

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

425 notes · View notes

tj-wrote-things · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝗼

Nikolai Lantsov x fem!Grisha!reader

Based off of this ask

A/N- Hey besties, this is kinda late,, and i hate it but only a little bit. Can you guys like -stop requesting arguments??? pls its breaking my heart.

Mega thanks to @itisroe e for being my editor and shoulder to whine on :)

*Id like to take a moment to say that Nikolai is a bit of a dick in this one, and id like to reiterate that its never okay to invalidate or insult a so. I dont condone that type of behavior, im just writing it

enjoy:)

•

If there was one thing Nikolai Lantsov knew how to do, it was pout. You caught him— more than just a few times— slouched over on the blush red couch with his arms crossed, face smushed into a scowl as he studied you packing your bag.

You sighed, casting an increasingly irritated glance at him as you folded the coarse cloth of your winter coat and tucked it away with the rest of your belongings. The weight would be too much to bear, but you knew it would be cold up north where you were headed alongside Zoya and the Bataars.

“I’m leaving at dawn, whether you like it or not, Sobachka.”

The King looked away briefly at your words, hating understanding that you were right. He hauled himself out of his seat and redirected his sulking to the world outside the large window. It was beautifully blanketed in steadily falling snow.

“Will you really make our last night together a bitter one?” you commented.

“It wouldn’t be our last night if you’d just let me come with you,” Nikolai huffed.

You exhaled, dreading that this would be the third time you had this discussion, which, in his world, was more so a debate.

The reason was simple: Nikolai had no business accompanying them. The objective of the mission to Fjerda was a peace treaty between the Drüskelle and the Grisha populous. As Nikolai fit neither category, it had been decided that he would stay back and continue to hold the country together.

“We’ve been through this: to bring more people on the expedition would only irritate the Fjerdans. Especially, the king of a country with which they’ve been at war for a considerable amount of time,” you reiterated.

Nikolai shook his head again, unwilling to accept it. He refused to welcome the fact that the love of his long life would be away and in perpetual danger for weeks.

The wind whistled as it bounded against the window, filling the room with a violent creaking.

“It’s dangerous, Y/N, why can you not understand—”

You cut him off swiftly as his voice began to rise, “You watch that tone, Lantsov, or I’ll—”

Now, it was Nikolai’s turn to cut you off: “You’ll what? Leave early?” The young man turned to you from the window and met your incredulous gaze. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know it's your only vice.”

“My only vice,” you mocked cynically. “In what regard?”

Nikolai spread his arms patronizingly as if he were explaining the obvious to his childhood self.

“Your heart craves adulation,” he said, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger your way. “You’ll take any opportunity to leave Os Alta— leave me— and flaunt your gifts.”

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. In anger or despair, you could not tell.

You would not lie to yourself. You knew with all your heart that, all things considered, your mastery of the Small Science was a blessing, hidden behind the mask of a devil. In the days you served faithfully in the Second Army, your gifts were revered and you were respected in the highest regard amongst your Grisha peers. However, in the years following the war, you became like everybody else.

It was at the behest of your husband that you progressively began to use your power as an Inferni less as the days passed. Ever the political mastermind, he had approached you one summer evening and begged you refrain from using your power in public, claiming that the presence of a Grisha Queen was too much for his fragile country to bear. In the beginning, you had agreed, for if there was one thing that surpassed your love for your husband, it was your shared love for Ravka.

You knew that relations between the Grisha and the others were strained, and so you agreed, taking your husband's hand and promising to limit the displays of glowing orange flames which had burned your enemies as well as warmed the hands of your allies.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to train behind a closed gate, under a roof, beneath the watchful eye of First Army guards armed with fire extinguishers. In fact, it had grown so stifling you had begun to resemble Alina Starkov when first she came to the Little Palace, with her pallor skin and brittle locks.

You brushed the aforementioned hair, now soft and healthy from the effects of tailoring, behind your ear as you placed the brush down and sharpened your stare at Nikolai’s face, shrouded in silver shadows from the icy light of the moon.

“Craves adulation,” you grumbled, knowing that if your voice rose any higher, it would betray every emotion storming around your heart. “Have a look in the mirror, Nikolai, and tell me which of us truly fits your description.”

His description, in all its insulting glory, fit Nikolai Lantsov to the tee.

Nikolai Lantsov, who would smile and wave to a crowd with a Sun Summoner on his arm, allowing you to watch with disdain from your place on a horse beside Mal. Nikolai Lantsov, who would hide behind a pair of gloves to escape the truth of what he had become. Nikolai Lantsov, who had pushed his wife into a state of sickness, albeit unknowingly, sacrificing her life’s blood for the sake of his country.

Nikolai Lantsov, who resolutely shook his head, running a hand through the already dishevelled hair on his head, before waving it dismissively, as if swatting a fly. “Please. You’d flick your hands for anyone who’d ask— if they clapped hard enough.” Nikolai moved for the bookshelf, drawing out a novel as if his words were mere small talk with an old friend.

Your anger blurred to shock. “Flick my hands—”

“Honestly, you take every opportunity to flaunt it. I’m surprised the Little Palace is still standing after having you inside for twenty years!”

There was no sense to his vile declarations now. Though, Nikolai could not see it. The anger, betrayal, and frustration at being left behind were all that clouded his boyish mind as he hurled one unkind word after the other.

“Nikolai,” You moved towards him, arm outstretched, eyes beginning to water. “Lapushka, please—” As your hand approached his, the storm heavier than ever. He wrenched his arm away from you, leering his head back to look you in the eyes.

“Truly, I can’t be sure why you haven’t left already.”

“For saints’ sake, Nikolai. Look at me!”

The dam broke as you flicked your hands, removing the tailoring to your appearance, unveiling the truth of your restrictions.

Nikolai stared with an open mouth and hard eyes as the warm winter flush of your cheeks was replaced with dulled skin, and the sleek shine of your hair was redefined with a brittle and unkempt bush.

“The only person from whom I crave adulation,” you whispered, “is the only man who’s too thick to look past a wavering mask.”

The Lantsov King swallowed, flipping the book restlessly in his hands. “Y/N—”

“Get out.” You left no room for him to argue, even when he opened his mouth once more. “I said leave!” You stalked to the door, pulling it open with a loud shriek of wood. “Now.”

Nikolai Lantsov, who spent the night in a guest room, in a state of perpetual regret.

No amount of tossing and turning brought any comfort to his aching heart, nor his pounding head. He flopped halfheartedly in the guest bed, stiff from lack of use, and from lack of you, revisiting the disgusting words he’d spat. The reason for them, however unjustified, sat heavily on his chest, suffocating him at an agonizing rate.

Nikolai Lantsov, who was afraid that— like his mother and father— you would grow to resent his blood, resent it for its stark difference to yours. The fear that you would regret your marriage to what your people called an otkazat’sya: the abandoned.

The King figured it was only a matter of time before the title served him fully.

It was reasonable, wasn’t it? To lash out at a time of vulnerability? Nikolai couldn’t be sure, having grown up in a family of despots who had never given him the time of day when it mattered most.

Watching the tailored facade fall from his wife’s face, Nikolai was reminded solely of his mother, who, like you, was coerced into moulding her face into that of the perfect queen, at the behest of her husband. He knew then that all he had said and done was wrong. Wrong to her, and wrong to her people.

How could he bring himself to apologize? To walk into their bedroom and beg forgiveness? Would she forgive him? Even if he stooped— a king in tears and on his knees for the woman he loved perhaps more ardently than the country he vowed to govern— would she, in all her scorned glory, crouch beside him, take his face in her hands, and kiss away his regret?

Could he expect her to?

Dawn came around all too swiftly, rousing husband and wife from their fitful sleep in separate rooms, and with it came your departure to the northern lands.

You stood side-by-side with Nikolai as the carriages were loaded with provisions, luggage, and gifts for the Drüskelle, refusing to look at him. Instead, digging fruitlessly in your shoulder bag as an excuse to keep your head down.

The call came from the footman as the time arrived for you to leave. You didn’t make it more than one step forward with your hand gripping the leather strap of your bag before a firm grasp was on your waist.

“Wait,” whispered Nikolai, tugging you back. He cast a glance at the guard, letting him know that they would need a moment. “I can’t let you leave— not like this.”

You held your gaze to the floor. Gently, he tilted your head back up with his thumb and forefinger. “Not now, not when you can barely look at me,” he continued. You held his stare as his hand shifted tentatively towards your jaw. “Not when I can’t be sure you won't come back to me, Milaya.”

You sniffled softly at the nickname, moving your own hand to his face and pausing to tuck away a loose golden curl.

“Please come back to me,” he said softly as if he were sharing a secret. There was an unspoken apology apparent in his reddening eyes while the seconds ticked by.

“Of course,” you murmured back, tipping his head down as you pecked his brow, then his cheek. “Nikolai, there’s not a thing in this world that could keep me away from you.”

You kissed him soundly, your hand running across the expanse of his jaw as he leaned into the tender forgiveness settled in your palm. When you broke apart, Nikolai took your hand from his face. He kissed your palm and walked you to your carriage. The King watched with concerned eyes as you took your seat.

Nikolai kissed your hand once more from his place on the ground and looked up at you. “Swear you’ll write,” he said. “Or I’ll crash the proceedings.”

You barked a hearty laugh, squeezing his hand as he tried to let you go. “I will,” you promised. “And I’ll see you when I come back.”

It was another moment before you let go of his hand. His palm hit the carriage door bearing the Lantsov crest. You watched as the carriage travelled further and further away, Nikolai’s frame disappearing into the horizon.

“I promise,” you whispered.

•

338 notes · View notes

themculibrary · 2 years

Text

Miscommunication Masterlist

and you needed someone to show you the way (ao3) - SailorChibi bucky/steve/tony T, 24k

Summary: Tony knows what the team really thinks of him. It's a delicate balance: they tolerate him because of his money and his toys, and he gets to stay on the team and fight with them. He's okay with that. So long as he hides the fact that Steve's and Bucky's names are written on his skin in the most embarrassing act of one-sided love affection ever, everything will be fine.

It just figures that a fantastically stupid villain, a kidnapping plot and a video camera will bring Tony's well-kept secret out into the open.

Assumptions Makes An Ass Out Of You And Me (ao3) - misbehavingvigilante steve/tony M, 11k

Summary: In which Tony thinks Steve is an Alpha but he never actually asks and the ensuing chaos that happens because of this one (1) miscommunication.

Been There, Blown That Up (ao3) - GwendolynStacy T, 68k

Summary: After Loki’s defeat and his fall from the portal, Tony starts preaching about a murderous purple titan out to get them in the depths of space.

Wait. What?

On the other side of the universe, Nebula loses her cool approximately two seconds after laying eyes on Thanos and finds herself on a wild chase through the galaxy. Now, where exactly was that pathetic piece of rock Terra again?

Brave as a Noun (ao3) - edema_ruh M, 161k

Summary: Some people think that Peter is Tony's son. Why shouldn't they? Peter seems to be orbiting Tony all the time, and it's not like the billionaire tells him off. They have a nice relationship - Peter is glad to have a father figure, and Tony cares for the kid as if he's actually his son.

The first problem regarding this arises when the people who think that Peter is Tony's son kidnap him for ransom.

The second problem regarding this arises when one of the people who kidnaps Peter turns out to be Mac Gargan, the Scorpion, and he's hungry for revenge.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) (ao3) - aloneintherain T, 3k

Summary: Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Fractures (Filled With Liquid Gold) (ao3) - itsallAvengers bucky/tony T, 63k

Summary: Ultron happened. The Avengers left.

Tony is fine with being alone again. He always worked better as a Lone Wolf than a team player anyway. He's not sleeping or eating or resting or... living, but it's fine. It's good. It's okay.

And then there's James.

Home (ao3) - fadedlullabyes, Silver_Moon_Lit_Forest clint/steve/tony M, 11k

Summary: When Steve realizes he's fallen in love with Clint and Tony, who are already in a relationship with each other, he tries to escape his emotions by taking a vacation. Things go terribly wrong when he's kidnapped by people who have no idea he's Captain America. In the aftermath of his rescue, he finds out that Clint and Tony's feels weren't that far from his own.

In Deep Water (ao3) - itsallAvengers steve/tony T, 11k

Summary: The Avengers want a pool. Tony can arrange that for them. He can. The thought doesn't fill him with horrible, daunting dread and crippling fear.

Not at all.

(Or maybe denial does more harm than good)

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) (ao3) - mokuyoubi peter/wade, steve/bucky E, 42k

Summary:

There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point... OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

Kidding Around (ao3) - MusicalLuna T, 25k

Summary: Tony may not be the most self-aware guy in the world, but there are a few things he knows:

1. Iron Man and Tony Stark are one and the same, 2. he’d make a terrible father, 3. and his teammates don’t trust him.

So naturally, he’s the only man left standing when Loki ages them all back to toddlers.

This is going to go well.

Master of Communication (ao3) - somanyfeels (orphan_account) steve/tony T, 10k

Summary: Tony didn't like being touched, on the rare occasions he wanted physical contact he would initiate it. It was how things were, how it had always been, and he was fine with it. His new team didn't know, they just kept touching and Tony wasn't quite sure how to ask them to stop.

Nobody Panic, Everything's Fine (ao3) - itsallAvengers steve/tony T, 14k

Summary: Steve doesn't get jealous. He doesn't. Honestly.

It's just...well- Tony's been spending an awful lot of time with a new employee. Who's smarter than him. And funnier. And more interesting and generally a better match for Tony than he ever would be.

But he's not jealous. Honestly.

One more stupid fight, then I can kiss you (ao3) - Neverever, Sadisticsparkle (sadisticsparkle) steve/tony G, 5k

Summary: Steve and Tony have just began dating - but after an interdimensional monster from beyond the stars attacks Tony, Steve gets very pouty and very passive aggressive.

Will their honeymoon phase survive this?!

pink raspberry cosmo (ao3) - graveltotempo loki/tony T, 269k

Summary: It's the last night of the Millennium.

Tony Stark's plan is to score a night with Maya Hansen, listen a bit to her research and have a fun little night.

But then he meets Loki, a handsome Prince from a faraway land, and the timeline is veered completely off course.

seeing the world through your eyes (ao3) - itsallAvengers steve/tony T, 9k

Summary: Sometimes Tony does things that Steve doesn't really understand. Turns out, there's a reason for that. But it's not really one that Steve is all too aware of, what with him being from the forties and all. Back then, they would've called it laziness.

Now, apparently, it's ADHD.

Steve's still got a lot to learn about the future. And his boyfriend. But never say Captain America isn't up for the challenge.

Star Spangled Spider (ao3) - Red_City steve/tony, clint/natasha M, 18k

Summary: Steve and Natasha are bros.

Steve likes Tony, Tony likes Steve. Natasha likes Clint, Clint likes Natasha. Too bad Tony and Clint think Steve and Natasha are dating.

Or, the one where miscommunication and assumptions add a whole lot of unnecessary (and delicious) angst.

The Only One (ao3) - rupertgayes peter/wade M, 70k

Summary: Tony Stark has some suspicions that one of his employees in R&D is sneaking tech to his competitors. He definitely doesn’t like Deadpool, but the regenerating degenerate is reliable - so long as the price is right.

Wade Wilson has been trying to emulate Spider-Man and get out of the merc business for a few months now, and happily takes Stark up on his offer. He even gets to brag to his role model/crush about how he’s been trailing his mark, a nerdy college student named Peter Parker.

Thorns for Flowers (ao3) - Valkirin T, 7k

Summary: Hawkeye don't mind working with Daredevil, really. He's a good guy to know and clearly cares about Hell's Kitchen.

Clint Barton would like Daredevil better if the guy was a little less ableist about Clint's hearing loss.

what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more (ao3) - hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes), starksnack steve/tony T, 5k

Summary: Steve thinks they're dating. Tony thinks they're in a relationship. Angst ensues.

You're Looking a Little Stark (ao3) - Midnight_Clover miles/peter, pepper/tony T, 52k

Summary: Peter Parker is just an intern at Stark Industries. Or, rather, that's what he wants everyone to think. But after meeting Tony Stark for the second time in his life, change gets launched his way left and right. It takes time to accept these changes and understand them, even longer to accept them. He's not used to having someone care about him like this since Ben died.

Or:

The one where Peter is Tony's intern and then falls in love with Miles while Miles falls in love with Spider-man.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #miscommunication #miscommunication masterlist #masterlists

4 notes · View notes

itsbeaker-bxtch · 3 years

Text

Why do we love Strangetown ?

Pleasantview is a realistic neighbourhood where tragic and terrible stories are unfolding. We all know how nothing looks like it seems, and the perfect and polish facade hides the most dysfunctional families and individuals. No wonder why so many players likes it. Strangetown is different. Very different. It has, in my opinion, a very special feels to it that makes it almost... welcoming. Why do we feel so attached to a hood that was supposed to be only a test, only silly jokes and crazy stories ? What if the truth we’ve been looking for is...hope ?

We almost all went – or witness- hardships in life: treason, sadness, a difficult family life, hate, love... While Pleasantview takes a real turn, Veronaville played upon the vitriolic nature of human emotions. It's fun to see drama takes place in front of your eyes, like your private TV Shows. The Sims is a life simulation, therefore, feelings and relationships are at the core of all this story. I think that no matter how a hood is depicted, we are kind of inclined to link those stories to our own. In her video, « why we play the sims » TheSimsLore says that some of us play so we can escape reality. Of course, it's true, but I can't stop thinking about how it could be quite the opposite. Specially regarding Strangetown.

Of course Strangetown is appealing for the weird kids. I mean, all the « weirdos-loving aliens-mad scientists » are in this town, it's the main point. It screams « if you are strange you belong in Strangetown »! I think that 1 It is a very shallow and unsatisfying explanation and we can really go deeper if we want. 2. It's untrue, not everyone feels at home in Strangetown, it’s not about being different. I will explain so to make my point, let's take a look at all the main families and plots.

Nervous Subject and Ophelia Nigmos are two family Sims that are both orphans. They live in a loveless houshold with people who don't care about them, to say the least. A very sad and scary situation, to say the least. One lives with scientists who have no regards toward others, and another one with presumably a murderer.

The Grunt family (are an only male Sims household after the mother Lyla past away) lives under the strict military rules imposed by a demanding Father, Buzz Grunt. The boys have no choice: trying to please their never satisfied despotic father, or disappoint the only parental figure they have left. No wonder why the middle and rebellious child Ripp is a romance Sims, looking for the love he doesn't have at home.

The Curious are three brothers who look like your average nerds, but upon closer inspection, they all have their own personalities and issues. They wanted to meet aliens and of course their wishes was to be granted but with consequences. Fatherhood will change their lives. For better or for worse...

And then, the Smith. The Smith are an alien-hybrid family with a dubious heritage who s children try to fit in. But, let’s be honest, even with them being a mixed-species and having a weird family tree, they are the only real family in town.I think this is what the town description means by nothing is what it seems.

The Smith family isn't just about how to fit in when you're different. The real question asked goes further. Johnny IS integrated, he has a girlfriend (and probably a future wife given Ophelia’s family aspiration), gets along well with Ripp,his popularity aspiration gives him social abilities. In fact, he is the one that fits in well. The question goes beyond the integration aspect, it is rather: how do we change the world so we don’t repeat the mistakes of the past? It's like a joke, because the Smith-Curious family, strange as it is, seems to me to be the most functioning one. The Beaker are not integrated, Olive Specter is not integrated, Ajay is not integrated. The Grunt boys not that integrated. Even the three Curious brothers are very self-centered.

Many households are not families. Srangetown tells us about trauma, acceptance and change. It confronts us with the worse, but gives us a glimpse of what we can do with our traumatic heritage.

What if we play so we could face our problems, rather than escaping them? Yes, we have some power over what happens to us. Watching how Strangetown’s teenagers differ from their predecessors (Ripp/Ophelia), how those who get bogged down in the past are less happy (Vidcund). And if we got exactly what we came here for, would we be ready to accept the full magnitude of change (Curious)? Strangetown is familiar because it is not a neighborhood where we have to find our place: it is what we WANT to do with this place that is important. How do you integrate inerrant pain into everyday life? How to build when everything seems destroyed, scary, barren? The answer is not by finding acceptance within other but by finding acceptance within ourselves, our history, however painful it may be, so we can turn our valley of tombs into a garden.

Jonnhy asks the question: how can this generation do better than the last ? How do we all interact with each other to create a healthy community to be supported and loved? The desert represents the aridity of life. Most families carry the traumas of the past. Those stories give us choices to make. Because even the desert carries life, the young generation brings hope, a new perspective. Some of the adults can carry this change, too, but are they willing to do so ? Strangetown is really strange because it started from a slightly crazy observation: what if hope could change things? What if, even if we don't control what happens to us, we have the power to heal ourselves, to change, to grow, to take matters into our own hands?

A slightly crazy idea, a slightly strange world....And yet with the most sensible message in my eyes. I like Strangetown because I'm weird, I like and, at the same time, I've experienced rought things in life. But I am fond of these stories, and perhaps and above all, of the message they carry. I need to see the worst, but also what could came of it.

And because mad scientists are cool.

#strangetown #ts2 #sims 2 #the sims 2 #the sims #sims #sims theory #slight tw

61 notes · View notes

douxie-casperan · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Titans and the assassination Hisirdoux Casperan’s character development

I’ve been ranting so much since Wednesday morning that I finally condensed by thoughts of WHY this one subject keeps setting me off namely the utterly diabolical way they handled Douxie and Archie’s relationship in Rise of the Titans and how it wasn’t just enough to hit him with the nerf bat.

Please note I’m at the point where I literally cannot tell the difference between Aaron headcanons, Teny headcanons and my own they are all mixed together in the blender that does funky things. I also apologise for typo/weird wording it’s half 1 in the morning and I’d rather sleep than edit.

If asked to sum up Hisirdoux Casperan there are certainly several things that come to mind:

Sees the value in people as a whole and will find do anything if there is a chance of help someone out

Prefers tactics that disable/banish rather than kill an enemy yet willing and able to pull the trigger if circumstances become forced

While not academically inclined he is very capable of thinking on his feet and outside the box calling back to his time on the streets where a split-second decision making is the difference between being caught and not

Terrible at planning he’ll be in there figuring it out as he goes along which is what makes the previous point so vital to literally how he goes through life

A natural charmer that would let him talk his way out of trouble 9/10 providing a perfect cover for his distrustful nature and reluctance to be touched by random people

Very down to earth, humble and never one to brag unless outright sassing someone

Will bang out some hot tunes at the drop of a hat, his love of music has never wavered once since he caught the bug despite instrument hopping ironically becoming a jack of all trades much like his magic style

The earliest memories he can recall are him as a young boy lost in the woods where he was for an unknown amount of time before his soon to be familiar finds him amongst the roots covered in dirt and drying tears, there is nothing before that. Unbeknownst to him is the colour of his magic matches the blue of a lost mother’s eyes and the song that haunts his nightmares as much as fire could well be hers though there is no way to be sure. From that moment on Archibald, shortened to Archie, would become his entire world and their friendship only becoming closer during the years they prowled Camelot together trying to keep themselves in one piece until the fateful day Douxie tricks the wrong person leading him straight into the path of the famous wizard Merlin Ambrosius.

It's no real secret that Merlin is a very closed off person who keeps his emotions as well guarded as his secrets, prefers the style of negative reinforcement over positive encouragement and is a very strict perfectionist in his. At this point in his life he can be very easily described as a disaster that is genuinely doing his best with every little mistake held of his head and his future self when brought back to that time period is belittled by Lancelot (Errand boy) and Arthur (Boy) too meaning it’s hardly a wonder his confidence was very fragile revelling in the times where he could do things without being told off for it. With Morgana largely ignoring him too (Though personally I like to think as he got older she’d occasionally take an interest until the blistering arguments with their master started to talk over daily life) a certain disguised dragon would have remained a lifeline and give that physical affection he craved much like being told he’d done well never seemed able to earn.

With Killahead he’d lose that home and family he made leaving just the two of them behind struggling to figure out their place in the world that had abandoned them.

There wouldn’t have been the words for it back then but the way he had been treated prior was outright abusive instilling very bad habits into Douxie yet by irony he was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and help those in trouble without thinking earning a reputation as the Shepard of Fire. He refused to become like him seeking to be better, perhaps not as a wizard (Even though he was learning new charms and spells along the way) but certainly as a person. Despite everything he suffers through or witnesses in the intervening years, the loss of friends and kindling of far newer ones he never loses his good heart

That said is it any wonder that after rightfully sassing Merlin for resurfacing, ignoring his existence despite being in the same town and only visiting him to run a finding errand that all the confidence he’d managed to build completely from scratch after Camelot wavered causing him to fall back solely into trying impressing his old Master who was acting like his humble apprentice must have coasted the past few centuries who himself fell back into old habits of belittling? It’s only when Merlin started to truly listen and acknowledge that this was not the same Moppet he once knew after Excalibur was fixed that their relationship finally started to become more like equals. After the defeat of Janus the changeling that broke into the castle he touched Douxie’s shoulder with a genuine smile and for a second he simply didn’t know what to do because the old man never did this before his brain kicked into gear and realised he’d finally earned that one thing he’d been so desperate for his entire life: That in Merlin’s eyes he could be more than a failure who only caused problems for the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had, never solved them.

A staff will be earned, history would be set back on trap by banishing Morgana tag teaming with Archie because they know one another inside and out, as promised he’d get the kids back to the present but soon after things would go badly wrong. They’d lose Jim and because of his very nature he’d make a gamble to try and get him back because that life is worth trying for just for in a moment of surprising selflessness Merlin would be sacrificed to save him. The only constant in his life apart from Archie would apologise, openly express pride and how the greatest thing he’d ever done was saving this orphan, call him son for the first and final time before turning into ash in his arms. There would be no time to grieve for things will barrel into the crescendo of Douxie sacrificing his own life to buy everyone time to escape because if they did that everything he’d ever done would be worth it with one last whispered goodbye.

(Zoe sees him fall, so does Archie – His heart would break if he was conscious just like theirs does when his body crumples into the ground)

On the very fringes of the Light Realm he is gifted one more conversation with Merlin in a truly heart-breaking sequence (THANKS TENY) where they can just talk without any fear of consequence or politics and just be completely honest. Douxie is allowed to stand equal to Merlin, to have the hug he’d needed since he was a child and be allowed to simply let go of every pretense and cry his heart out because this can never happen again. He’s allowed to say goodbye to both his master and Morgana who had both shaped so very much of his life but like the painting he’d always remained firmly in the long shadows of until that moment.

When Hisirdoux Casperan finally leaves Wizards if we just accidently deliberately put the shawarma back in along with checking in with Zoe before departure, it is with having learned to live during his wandering years but this is the point of true freedom because he can finally escape into his own light with Archie by his side to keep Nari out of the hands of those that would see the world harmed. It won’t be easy but it feels possible somehow even with the knowledge everything is simply running on borrowed time.

Then Rise of the Titans happens.

At first everything is genuinely fine! No more running, they engineer a solution shut the Order’s magic down to make them a lot less dangerous and potentially at least incapacitate them until they can come up with a longer-term solution but all the best laid plans and all that. Douxie’s quick thinking stops the train from crushing any of the people below and it’s a very him style move to switch places with Nari to stall for time because for some reason the plot disabled Claire from portaling her or any of the threatened people/heroes to safety. He openly sasses the Order despite knowing the consequences will be bad for him because once again he’s managed to trick them, buy time that at the other end isn’t even slightly utilised until he’s forced back into his own body in excruciating pain. Archie immediately mobs him with comfort just as he has done every single time the wizard is distressed or collapsed with exhaustion without thinking because that is what their bond is like, incredibly close and far more than the Soul Bond mark that connects them together. They’re very alike in that regard, you have to earn the right to touch while equally knowing exactly what form the other needs the most in that precise moment in a way very few others could.

Bar the moment of figuring out that an illusion is in place to hide where the Order is opening the Genesis Seals and the brief insistence on reconnecting with Nari somehow Douxie manages to forget everything that makes him who he is after this point choosing to stand in the background being very no thoughts head empty or can only use the most basic spells of his youthful days not the seasoned master wizard he should be. Nomura is treated like an innocent slip rather than an outright death he did absolutely nothing to prevent (Not to mention the stupid daytime thing) nor seems to care particularly about afterwards yet with Nari’s he’s allowed to openly grieve in a gorgeously animated visual showing how he’d failed to keep her safe despite everything. He did nothing to help here either mind despite allowing himself to be tortured in the same piece of media to keep her safe, just watched another loss happen right in front of his eyes in his conga long line of them.

Then there’s Archie, oh god then there was Archie.

The dragon who even here he’d been shown to have an incredibly close bond with him decides you know what sod that tell him goodbye I’m going to make a joke about having a kingdom now dad and me are trapped in here forever. Douxie on his part looked sad for all of three seconds saying that he hoped he’s happy like it's a pet that wandered out into the world one day and never came back instead of a lifelong companion that has been there for as long as he can remember. He was now completely alone in the world since Zoe was also written out entirely and because every bit of his background had been forgotten about it somehow meant nothing. This wasn’t “I know you miss him, I know you need to grieve but you are running out of time” moment like things had been with Charlie, this was “cool shapeshifting dragon cat is now stuck in a plot hole that’s a shame” with zero pay off or any of the genuine reaction that should have been there or hell even trying to Ohana him back that very second because it never should have happened in the first place. Then even this wasn’t enough somehow, they managed to de-power Douxie even further into uselessness bar the (Admittedly nifty!) sticky feet stunt, the one who fought Skrael and Bellroc to a stalemate was shunted aside with barely a thought and his head would somehow get even emptier.

The one person who knew the danger of time magic the most stood by and said nothing.

The one person who would suffer the most by a reset because the lynchpin to his issues would be asleep if you got it wrong and should have drilled it into Jim’s head the best time to aim for stood by and said nothing.

The one person who had just suffered the loss of his familiar, best friend and only family along with the almost sister like Nari stood by and said nothing.

Then to add further insult to injury the caption when Douxie and Archie is shown says Some go their entire lives living an existence of quiet desperation because every drop of his character growth, his ability to finally start addressing his trauma instilled back in the 12th century, the staff he longed for was instead openly mocked by going “Aww he got his cat friend back how nice!” Everything he’d rightfully earned and had now would be unable to progress until certain criteria are met because it hinges entirely on the Trollhunter going to Merlin’s tomb and there’s only so much your support network of two (One if she’s written out) can do, the root of the majority of his issues all stem from one man.

And this folks is why I’ve been going on multiple rants about Douxie in particular, everyone was hit with the out of character bat to some degree in this film but when they came for him they didn’t just stop after they took his legs out because they wanted him to suffer from something he’s never had any control over to begin with all over again. Abuse survivors deserve better, these characters deserve better and we as viewers deserve far far better writing than we were forced to endure.

#Ooc - Behind the curtains #Rise of the Titans #Rise of the Titans spoilers #RotT Spoilers #RoT spoilers #Wizards #Tales of Arcadia #ToAWizards #Hisirdoux Casperan #Douxie Casperan

192 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 3 -

“No classes for the remainder of the day today,” the teacher said, and everyone, most of them already long ago having started to drift off in the hazy afternoon, sending longing looks towards the windows, turned to look at him, surprised. Even Lan Wangji couldn’t help himself – not that he’d been looking away, of course.

(He’d been not-looking at Wei Wuxian.)

Their teacher smiled indulgently. “A special treat for today, in anticipation of the special treat you will all be receiving tomorrow.”

“A treat?” Nie Huaisang asked, sitting up straighter. “What treat?”

“The sect leader’s brother has returned for a visit –”

“Teacher Lan?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, looking irrepressibly excited, and abruptly the entire room burst out into a flurry of speech. It was only that they had all met him or heard of him, in his years of wandering through the cultivation world – the teacher of whom it was said that he could teach anyone, turn even the most dissolute waste into a proper and upright gentleman, deserving of respect. It seemed as if everyone had an anecdote to share: some visit they’d heard of, some trick or talent, an opportunity to hear him play…

Lan Wangji maintained his composure through an effort of will. No matter how much he might want to leap to his feet and rush out the door, going to find his uncle at once, there would be no point: his uncle was a stickler for decorum, and he would first pay his respects to his brother, Lan Wangji’s father, and then to the memorial hall. Only in the evening would Lan Wangji have a chance to see him and speak to him, and even then there would be a limited amount of time before they all had to go to bed…

Lan Wangji found himself rising to his feet despite himself.

“Hey, hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, bouncing over to him and grabbing at him, tugging on his sleeves as if to get his attention. His hands felt hot as a brand, and Lan Wangji could only be relieved at the protective layers of clothing that separated them. He felt his ears go a bit hot regardless, undoubtedly affected by Wei Wuxian’s unnecessary spreading of warmth. “Teacher Lan, he’s your uncle, right? You must have met him lots of times – you must have the best stories – tell us some!”

Lan Wangji leveled his best glare at him. It was a good glare, one that the junior disciples found quite frightening and made guest disciples avoid him.

Well. Most guest disciples.

“Noisy,” he said, disapproving, but Wei Wuxian was undeterred.

“Teacher Lan says that I learn best through action,” he boasted. “Quiet contemplation is wasted on those with too much energy; it’s necessary to excise the energy first, and to channel it, and so for people like me, it’s best to confront things directly, to see things with my own eyes and confront me with puzzles to challenge me!”

That seemed like a remedy his uncle would have prescribed. Lan Wangji could imagine the slightly-amused, mostly-long-suffering his uncle’s eyes would have had when he had recited it, undoubtedly in the same monotone he always used which for some reason seemed to irritate other adults so much.

“It was amazing!” Wei Wuxian continued. “I got to go on night-hunts two years early, thanks to him!”

“He also said that you needed to be smacked on a regular basis lest you get too full of yourself,” Jiang Cheng interjected, and that also sounded very much like something Lan Wangji’s uncle might have said. “Also, remember when you called him a boring old stick in the mud?”

“Argh, Jiang Cheng! Don’t mention that, you’ll embarrass me in front of Lan Zhan –”

Lan Wangji belatedly realized that Wei Wuxian was still holding his arm and felt his ears go from slightly hot to very hot, feeling somewhat attacked even though he knew it wasn’t something Wei Wuxian was intentionally or maliciously doing towards him. He shook Wei Wuxian off and slipped out the door.

He had to talk to his uncle right away.

His uncle, he thought, would know how to fix his current malady: the one where he thought about Wei Wuxian all the time, whether during the day or at night. The way his temperature rose, his heartbeat accelerated, how he couldn’t control his emotions or maintain his discipline the way he should…

His uncle would fix everything.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. He’d gone wandering through the world long ago, well before Lan Wangji was born – before Lan Xichen was born, even before their father ever met their mother. He’d been barely older than Lan Wangji was now, in fact; it had been far earlier than it should have been, in the normal course of things. There had been some dispute, though whether it was with Lan Wangji’s father or grandfather remained unknown; indeed, Lan Wangji didn’t know anything about it at all, only that his uncle had left without looking back.

He’d first been a traveling musician, but eventually he had developed a reputation as a teacher. It was said that at some point when he was staying as a guest in some small sect or another, he’d run into some disastrous good-for-nothing of a person, useless and bitter with it, and somehow managed to figure out how to help them cultivate properly – or was the first one he’d helped a beastly hellion who wouldn’t learn anything, and he’d taught them both their letters and how to study, turning them into a scholar?

It didn’t really matter which had come first. In the end, he’d gotten a reputation for himself as a valuable teacher in the same vein as some legendary marvel of an itinerant doctor, the sort that could only be hoped for but not invited, and a bit of an adventurer besides – it was said that he’d saved Lao Nie’s life through some unspecified circumstance, averted Cangse Sanren’s doomed fate through happenstance, helped repair Jiang Fengmian’s broken marriage, and was even rumored to have had a brief personal liaison with the terrifying Sect Leader Wen…

Not that Lan Wangji listened to such things, of course. Talking behind other people’s backs is forbidden…although naturally, as the head of the discipline hall, he had more reason than most to need to know about all the wildest things people were saying.

At any rate, it was all beside the point. Lan Wangji’s uncle had gone out, made a reputation for himself, and then, just when he might have been tempted away for good somewhere else, had come home and won back his place in the Lan sect from his brother. Indeed, Lan Wangji’s father had reason to thank him more than most – it had been upon hearing what had happened with Lan Wangji’s mother, all those years ago when his parents had first gotten married, that Lan Wangji’s uncle had returned. Perhaps it was his years out on the road that had given him the strength and boldness to reject the solution the elders had devised, to castigate them all viciously and demand a better result – it wasn’t really clear.

What was clear, though, was that no one knew the Lan sect rules better than Uncle Qiren, and he’d developed a temper at some point during his travels outside; he’d attacked the whole arrangement from start to end, insisting that they come up with some other way to balance love and justice, protection of the person and protection of the sect’s face. Lan Wangji’s mother to this day swore that if she’d actually been locked up in a little house for the rest of her life, she’d have been long ago died of sheer boredom.

Of course, now that she was a little older, she tended to stay at her Gentian House most of the day regardless, disdaining the outdoors. But her home there was a place with windows open and people coming and going at all hours – it was a place of joy and happiness, laughter and light. Lan Wangji’s father tended to go there when he was starting to revert back to how he’d been before, those not-so-good days when Lan Wangji was young, and he always vastly improved after getting a tongue-lashing or two.

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure how many of the stories about his uncle were true and how many were rampant exaggeration – his uncle claimed the latter, but his mother insisted on the former, and his father, who rarely spoke without careful contemplation, eventually opined that it was somewhere in the middle.

In fairness, Lan Wangji didn’t much care, either. He had long ago taken his uncle as his role model, trying to fashion himself to be just like him whether in righteousness or rule-abidingness or even in musical talent. He was sure, deep in the depths of his soul, that his uncle could solve just about anything he put his mind to.

And yet he was sure, sure, that his uncle could never have encountered a problem like Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Wuxian?” his uncle said, blinking and rubbing his eyes – he’d stepped out of the memorial hall just now as a result of Lan Wangji’s urgency. “Oh, yes. I remember him. Bright boy. I thought you’d like him.”

Lan Wangji shook his head resolutely. How could he like someone like that?

Someone who made him feel…the way he did?

“Explain further.”

Lan Wangji did his best.

Irritatingly, about three-quarters of the way into his stumbling description, his uncle began to smile, his eyes curving just a little, and eventually to chuckle quietly.

Lan Wangji stopped, frowning – his uncle rarely smiled, and even more rarely laughed.

“No, no,” his uncle said. “Forgive me. It is a serious matter.”

Lan Wangji knew it!

“I will spend some time carefully observing Wei-gongzi,” his uncle continued, and Lan Wangji frowned again, suddenly anxious. “I promise, I will not let anything escape my gaze.”

Lan Wangji’s anxiety spiked even further: his uncle was quite strict regarding the rules in the Cloud Recesses, and Wei Wuxian had already broken so many – he would undoubtedly be found out, and punished. It was no more than Wei Wuxian deserved, really, and yet – at the same time….

He cleared his throat. “Uncle, are you sure that’s necessary?”

“Oh yes,” his uncle said. “I must make sure he’s acceptable if he’s to be my in-law, isn’t he?”

Lan Wangji stared.

“You’re my beloved nephew,” his uncle said. “Naturally I must make sure that anyone you like is up to standard –”

“Uncle!” Lan Wangji cried out, feeling deeply betrayed. Possibly by himself.

His uncle shook his head. “Forgive me, Wangji. I will stop. But that is the explanation for your symptoms. I have observed similar things many times.”

Lan Wangji sat down, distressed. It hadn’t even occurred to him, although knowing his parents as he did meant that he was very familiar with the notion that love was not necessarily an enjoyable feeling, and perhaps especially not when you were first afflicted by it. “But…what do I do about it?”

His uncle touched his shoulder lightly, offering comfort. “Having emotions is a good thing, Wangji; it connects you to the rest of the world,” he said. “Understanding them, and knowing what action to take, is a matter of experience, for logic is of limited use in interpreting the heart.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “You will help, then?”

“…I will do my best,” his uncle said. “I may need to consult on the matter from those that understand certain aspects of these sorts of things a little better than I. But I promise, you will not have to face it alone.”

Lan Wangji nodded yet again, deeply relieved.

They would figure it out.

They would fix it.

His uncle would help.

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

159 notes · View notes