#in the interests of what seems like adolescent cruelty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nerdanel01 · 3 months

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Here's an ask about Agnes and Emmrich that I hope leads to a slutty little drabble: we know Agnes has fantasized about Emmrich, but is the reverse also true? What would that look like for Emmrich? When would it have happened in their relationship: before or after she left? How awful did he feel about it?

*laughs nervously* the short answer is… a lot?? And in the most Catholic way possible??? 4k+ below the cut very NSFW

9:48 Dragon

Though he would never admit it to Agnes, the truth of it was, Emmrich found the opera to be just fine. Catching a performance with Agnes was a lovely way to spend an evening, but by no means did that make Emmrich himself any kind of aficionado. It was Agnes’ avid interest that first brought him to the theatre, and Agnes’ continued fervor that kept him coming back: he went, not to see a performance, but to see her —so engaged, so happy.

This opera, in particular, he was finding impossible to enjoy. Agnes had practically begged him to take her to The Marriage of Figaro, and by the title alone, Emmrich had thought it would be innocuous enough. Another light, romantic comedie, like the Donizetti works of which she was so fond.

It was most definitely not that. If the opera was humorous, Emmrich found it to be a dark, almost sadistic kind of humor. The plot centered around the titular servant Figaro and his bride-to-be, Susanna… and their escalating attempts to prevent the master of the house, Count Almaviva, from asserting his droite de seigneur. Emmrich could not fathom how it was that Agnes could so breathlessly throw herself into a plot that all too well reflected what little he knew to be true of her own conception; of the cruelty and the violent torments Agnes’ mother had suffered at the hands of her father. And yet, she seemed unperturbed.

As if that were not bad enough, he could not help but feel (irrationally, of course) that the entire premise of the opera was pointing an accusing finger directly at him. Agnes was not his servant, of course—she was far more than that—but he could not help but feel that his longing for her shared a similar, lecherous undertone to Almaviva’s licentious pursuit of Susanna. Certainly he held professional power over Agnes, as the Count did Susanna; the fact that he was often reluctant to wield it did not wish that fact away. And just like the Count, his advantage of age he held over Agnes was… considerable.

And so, by the second act of the opera, Emmrich had more or less mentally checked out of the performance entirely. Pleasant as the music may have been (when it was not pulsing, throbbing, thrumming with anxiety; imminent danger; repressed sexual desire) Emmrich found his eyes wandering across the theatre: at the orchestra playing below, at the audience seated at the level of the stage, at the wide balconies where even in the dim performance light he could make out figures packed in the seats. He had never been a particularly devout man, but sometimes, when the mood was just right, being in the opera house reminded him of the most peaceful moments he’d ever spent in a Chantry. He would give Agnes that: there was something special about all these people—strangers—gathered in the dark, assembled in the worship of a great piece of art. It was peaceful, to look upon all those dark faces. Something almost holy about it.

Which made what Emmrich saw next all the more upsetting.

As the adolescent servant Cherubino took to the stage, preparing to sing his invented love song for the Countess Almaviva (with whom, Emmrich had gathered, he was hopelessly infatuated), movement drew his eye to the theatre box opposite his, on the lefthand side of the stage.

At first Emmrich blinked, resisting the impulse to shake his head—surely he was seeing things? Were they—? They couldn’t be—! And yet, they were: cozied up in a balcony box all to themselves, a young woman had snuck her hand into her companion’s lap and, by the white flash of her arm in the dim light, Emmrich could tell she was pumping that hand up and down quite enthusiastically. Though her date had taken care to conceal his lap from view by fanning his performance program wide across his legs, it was all too clear exactly what was going on from the open-mouthed, slack expression on his face and the way he was tilting his head back against the chair.

This late in life there was not much that could still shock him, but Emmrich’s jaw fully dropped. At first he merely sat there, stunned, staring… before his senses returned to him, and he snapped his eyes (wide with disbelief) back to the action on the stage, thoughts an absolute whirl. What should he do? Agnes’ attention was fixed on the stage, deeply engrossed by the drama unfolding (though he still could not really understand why); he did not want to draw her focus to the absolutely debased act that was happening just across the room. Should he excuse himself? Rise from the box and alert one of the theatre’s ushers? Was this even something they were trained to deal with?

Perhaps they had stopped; perhaps he had imagined it. But when Emmrich let his eyes slide, as innocuously as he could manage, back to the opposite box, he saw not only that their public affair failed come to a conclusion, but that the man had thrown his arm around the woman’s shoulders, and was rather obscenely squeezing at her breast over her bodice.

´Andraste have mercy!’

Never in his life had he witnessed such indecency, and as one of the most senior members of the Mourn Watch, his presence had been requested at some extremely indecent parties hosted by the noble class. His face was burning with shock and embarrassment. Trying to get ahold of himself—hoping that if he ignored it for long enough, they would cease or (Maker’s breath!) reach the natural conclusion of such affairs and settle down. He turned back to the stage, watching over Agnes’ shoulder at the scene playing out in the Countess’ bedroom, the teenage Cherubino, all hot-blooded and virile, singing at center stage:

“You women who know what love is, Look and tell me if it is within my heart?”

Truly, they were no better than teenagers, those two nobles in flagrante delicto across the theater. Certainly if he, Emmrich, had endured the past three years of his increasingly inescapable (and increasingly inappropriate) desire for Agnes, they should have been able to keep their hands off of each other for three hours.

And yet, as if summoned, he felt the tickle of those depraved imaginings in the back of his mind. He watched the stage at Agnes’ side, over her shoulder; his eyes slid away from Cherubino to trace the delicate black lace of the blouse she wore over her bodice—the woven pattern of the fabric offering a rare, tantalizing glimpse at the bare skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck… the tops of her breasts, straining against her bodice as she took in the aria with ecstatic, rapt attention.

“Let me tell you what I am feeling: It is new to me, and I cannot understand it. I feel affection, I am full of desire, A desire both delightful and miserable…”

He wanted to brush tenderly at the lock of raven-black hair that had escaped her chignon, curled and coiled charmingly tight by the summer humidity. He wanted to lean in close, to breathe hot against her neck, to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

“I sigh and lament without wanting to…”

Intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to pull off his dress gloves, to put his hand on her knee. To draw, slowly, inch by inch, her skirts up over her leg, revealing calves clothed in deliciously sheer stockings, the clips and straps of the garters that kept those stockings secure… to round his hand around her knee, for fingertips to creep past the band of her stockings and along the soft skin of her thigh…

“I tremble and I throb without knowing why…”

…and climb higher. To find her swollen? Wet, already? Slick with anticipation at the promise of his touch—

—and at once, the sudden, mortifying tightness in his trousers brought Emmrich back to reality. He pulled the inside of his cheek between top and bottom teeth and bit down hard, trying to anchor himself with the pain and will away his arousal. Agnes, thank the blessed Andraste herself, kept her eyes glued to her opera glasses; she did not turn to see, and so he did not have to excuse, the flush across his cheeks and his ears, nor the far more conspicuous evidence of arousal tenting his trousers.

He did not know what would be worse: if Agnes assumed, rightly, that it was her own presence that had pitched him into the throes of desire, or if she assumed, wrongly, that it had something to do with Cherubino, a woman in men’s clothes playing as an innocent, virgin, teenage boy on the stage below them.

“Though I find peace neither day nor night, Still, I cannot get enough of the feeling.”

Inconspicuously, taking a queue from the deviant across the theatre, Emmrich laid his paper program over his lap. Focused his eyes on his hands. Picked idly at his nails, willing away his desire.

Knowing pettily, venomously, that if he happened to encounter the couple in the opposite box on his way out of the theatre that evening, he would do everything in his power to trip them on their way down the opera house steps.

But of course, in the sudden throng of activity as the curtain fell and the theatre emptied, the offending exhibitionists were nowhere to be seen. Probably gratifying themselves further in the powder room, Emmrich thought with disgust (and though he would never admit it to himself, even under pain of torture or death: envy.)

He wanted nothing more than to get back to the Necropolis, to put the evening and the terribly obvious handjob and horny little Cherubino behind him. But when Agnes threaded her arm through his and tugged him towards the champagne bar, he was as incapable as ever of refusing her—though he almost certainly should have. Though he knew it was ill-advised, he tried (and failed) to put the memory behind him with drink. By the time he had finished his second glass, Agnes was still sipping politely at her first.

But all the drink in the world could not break the spell of her beauty. In the walk from the opera to the bar, more tendrils of hair had shook loose from her bun, and the flyaways curled like tender pea shoots around her head. He loved her most like this, he thought, when the facade of perfection and rigor and discipline she worked so hard to maintain began to fall away. His eyes lingered too long on the crimson print her lips had left on her apricot-colored coupe glass.

Desperate to shake himself out of it, Emmrich confided in her, at last: “Nessa, you will not believe what I witnessed at the theatre tonight.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth, and her bright grey eyes met his, full of curiosity and innocence. “What?”

But he was not even sure how to politely say it. He licked his lips, a wry, disbelieving grin tugging at his mouth as he told her at last, “A noblewoman in one of the balcony boxes opposite ours… manually stimulating her companion under the cover of his paper program during the second act.”

Agnes’ eyes widened; she set her coupe down forcefully enough for the glass to clink on the table top, covering her mouth politely as she coughed up the drink she had accidentally inhaled in surprise.

“You saw what?”

A lovely, delicious color was rising in her cheeks, red to match the stain on her lips.

“Should I repeat myself?” he asked, full of dry humor. “Believe me, I was not sure myself, but when he started groping her over her dress that more or less quelled any lingering doubts I had in my mind.”

Agnes lifted her glass to her mouth once more, her eyes boring holes into the table before her. Whispered, lowly, “Andraste have mercy.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Emmrich said, pleased to see her scandalized, to have his own reaction to what had transpired mirrored and confirmed. “I mean, really. It would have been perfectly easy for them to step deeper into the recesses of the box, into the cover of darkness where no one could see them. But did they? No, and I do not believe for a minute that is because concealing themselves did not occur to them. I think they wanted to be exposed. To be witnessed, to be seen.”

But as he continued to speak, Agnes’ blush receded. She watched him, too keenly, over the rim of her glass; she was neither as outraged nor as scandalized as Emmrich wanted her to be. Needed her to be, to draw a line: to stand in firm opposition to the Agnes he had all too readily conjured in his mind: the fictive siren that would gasp at his touch, that would part her legs all too willingly for his hand, without regard for the risk, without a care for who might see them.

“It bothered you quite a lot, didn’t it?” was all she asked him, softly, probingly, when at last he had finished his tirade.

He blinked at her a couple of times. His fingertips found the stem of his third glass of champagne, and he spun it back and forth between forefinger and thumb. “Well—yes,” he managed, at last. A terrible, traitorous heat rising in his cheeks, in his ears. “Did it—does it not bother you?”

Agnes only shrugged and offered him an indifferent smile. “I did not see it,” she said, at last, “engrossed as I was in the music. I am sorry, however, that you found it so distracting.”

“You think it was merely distracting?” Emmrich prompted, in a state of disbelief. “Not… not shameful—nor disrespectful? To the performers, to the rest of the audience?”

The blush had returned to her cheeks. With a nervous smile, she confessed, quietly, “Perhaps I am not as disciplined as you.” She was not looking at him now, staring into the fizzing depths of her coupe glass. “Perhaps… I understand how easy it is, to be suddenly overcome. By the music, by… by desire.”

Obscene scenarios clamored for attention in Emmrich’s mind. An arched back, a cry of pleasure—how beautiful she would look, how desperately he wanted to see her overcome, to be the one responsible for bringing forth such pleasure and desire within her—!

Without looking at him, Agnes lifted the glass to her mouth and drained the rest of it in a single sip. Placing the coupe down with something like a grimace, she raised her hand, motioning for the waiter to bring her another. As soon as he did, she took a second generous gulp.

“But enough of that,” Agnes said at last, reasserting her control over herself, redirecting the conversation. “What did you think of the music?” she asked, then teased him: “The parts of it you were not too distracted to pay attention to, that is.”

The music? She was just going to drop that explosively erotic phrase into the conversation, and then she wanted to talk about the music? Emmrich fumbled for something intelligent to say. “I thought the basso who sang Figaro had a very fine voice.”

“Oh, did he not?” Agnes effused; and then she was off, chatting a million miles an hour about everything she knew about that particular Rivaini singer, his training, the roles he had performed in other venues, the lyrical quality of his singing. Emmrich nursed his champagne, happy to simply listen to her as he fought to subdue the heat in his face.

By the time they returned to the Necropolis at last it was late, the halls silent. Agnes had held his arm the whole way back—not, he feared, out of affection for him, but out of concern that he had drank too much, that without her support he might stumble and fall. He had drank too much, which was both embarrassing and most unbecoming. Worse still, the drink had done nothing to dispel the ludicrous fever those idiots in the opera had set in his blood; it had only fanned the flames. When they had reached the door to his bedroom, Emmrich had stopped for a moment, hovered awkwardly in front of Agnes as he debated, then decided against, pressing a grateful kiss to her brow. He did not think, in his current temperament, he could manage to keep it appropriately chaste.

Indeed, as soon as the door had closed behind him and he was left to his privacy, all the intrusive thoughts he had fought in the theatre and the in the bar and on the long walk home returned to him, tormenting him: the light rasp of his nails along the inside of her thigh; the fine hair of her legs standing on end in the wake of those touches; the damp warmth of her smallclothes as he’d push them aside; her anxious little whisper, aroused, anticipatory, cautious: “Emmrich, your nails…” and how he might respond, lips brushing against her ear, “I will be most careful with you.” Throbbing and freezing and burning like poor Cherubino, like a young man a quarter of his age as he imagined her wetness, the slickness of her beneath his fingertips as he circled her bud—

(There was nothing for it now but to see it through. Only one way to truly relieve himself, to exorcise the thoughts that haunted him so at last he could rest. Hastily, inarticulate drunken fingers stumbling over buttons, he unfastened his trousers and dropped onto the edge of his bed.)

—her parted lips, the little hitches in her breath, the pleasure sounds she would try to stifle as (carefully, so carefully, true to his word) he would slip middle-and-forefinger deep into her hot wet heat—

(Ragged edge to his breath like torn parchment as he closes his hand around himself and begins to stroke. Delicious tightness in his core, feet arching against the floor.)

—placing a kiss on her neck. Breathing hotly against her ear. Agnes’ hands trembling, her opera glasses shaking in her hands as her satisfaction builds, mounts; a keening cry; the way her back would snap, her hips driving his fingers into her, grinding against the palm of his hand—her cunt tightening reflexively around him—

(Free hand white-knuckling, twisted in his bedsheets. A gasp and low groan as fist tightens over the slick head of his arousal. It’s rotten, it’s foul, it’s wrong in a thousand ways to imagine her this way—but it feels much too good to stop.)

—would she follow him back after? Rise before the curtain had fully fallen, before the applause had concluded, racing with him back to the Necropolis, creeping into his room? The blush of her face in the champagne bar: “Perhaps I know how easily it is to be overcome by desire.” To hold her in his arms, to kiss her in this room—! Loose the buttons on her blouse and slide the lace past her bare shoulder, bare neck, bare clavicle… lifting her skirts, sinking into her—

(“Hha—ahh! Nessa—!”)

—with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her hands clawing across his back for purchase, enveloped in the smell of her, by her warmth… here, in the privacy of the bedchamber, where she would not have to hide her pleasure sounds but could pitch his name upon them like a storm-tossed ship, scream it as she reached the height of her pleasure—

Tension in his body snapping white-hot, shooting sparks through his limbs and coiling in his core, Emmrich held the back of his hand firmly against his mouth to stifle his own obscene, satisfied groan as he spilled into his hand. He came so hard it left his toes curling; thighs shaking; short of breath.

The next day, he did not arrive at their study until nearly noon.

He had woken hungover, head pounding, light-sensitive. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the agonizing guilt and shame that washed over him when he recalled the events of the night prior. Why couldn’t he have minded his own business? He should not have let what he saw in the theater get under his skin; it was inconceivable to him in the sober light of morning that he had thought telling Agnes about it was a good idea. Had he really used the words ‘manually stimulating’? How uncomfortable had he made her? He recalled how quickly Agnes had changed the conversation, cringed at how long he had lingered over it. Fighting through the hangover to shower and shave did nothing to cleanse the pervasive filthiness he felt.

He could not remember the last time he had attended Chantry service—but some habits were difficult to break. Seeking even the slightest reprieve of absolution, he left the Necropolis shortly after dawn, heading towards the Chantry in Nevarra City. But even among the incense and the singing Mothers, he could not escape from his regret, the Canticle of Threnodies echoing among the vaulted ceiling in accusation:

Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven And doom upon all the world.

He had something beautiful—a partner to stand by him, to protect and care for him—and he was going to spoil it, desecrate it as thoroughly as the Tevinter Magisters of old had corrupted the Golden City of the Maker. Every lurid imagining he indulged in, he knew, brought him closer and closer to doing irreparable harm to the thing in his life most precious to him.

When at last he returned to the Necropolis, Agnes was already in the study, waiting for him. The smell of lavender oil was thick in the air; she must have spent the morning cleaning, a task which he had repeatedly told her she need not take upon herself, and one to which she repeatedly insisted upon undertaking nevertheless. Now she stood at one of the tables with Wilfred at her side, watching him with scrutiny as he clumsily tried to grind down some fresh herbs, his bony hands struggling with the mortar and pestle.

She looked up at him the minute he entered, her bright eyes full of anticipation—and was that a hint of concern?

“Where were you?”

Beaten down by his excessive drinking and shame alike, Emmrich did not have the willpower within him to lie. “In Nevarra City. I attended Chantry services this morning.”

Agnes smiled, like it was a joke. “No, really, where were you? You missed breakfast. I was not sure you’d want to eat after last night, but I saved you a bit of toast, just in case.”

Emmrich took a deep breath, following the slender line of her arm to the table near the hearth, where four slices of toast were stacked on a plate beside an artful dollop of jam and a pat of butter. Though his stomach still felt wretched, he knew eating would probably help. “Chantry services, really,” he repeated, again, in answer to her question, his tone resigned. He walked to the table, tore a slice of toast in half and lifted it to his mouth without bothering with the ornamentation of butter or jam—he did not think his stomach could endure the grease nor the sweetness. “Thank you, dear, for saving me something to eat.”

“Seriously?” Agnes asked. Emmrich did not have to look up to know the look of incredulous disbelief on her face. It was plain by the tone of her voice.

Emmrich chewed through the dry toast, swallowed. His stomach gave a discontented growl, awakening at the prospect of food. “Quite seriously,” he answered at last. “Though I am far from the most devout among the Mourn Watch, old habits are difficult to shake. Every once in a while, it’s like an itch that needs to be scratched.” Not that the debasement and self-flagellation he frequently associated with Chantry service had done him any particular good this morning.

Agnes gave a low huff of amusement. Without needing to be asked—knowing, as she knew him so well, that the toast would go down easier with a bit of tea to help it—she crossed the room, cast iron teapot in hand, and bent before the heart to suspend it over the fire.

“So did it?” she teased him. “Scratch your itch?”

With her back turned to him, she did not see the ugly grimace he made, the way his lips curled into a frustrated scowl at his own lack of discipline. Nor did she see, blessedly, the way his eyes were fixed upon her: her narrow waist, the pert swell of her backside as she bent over the fire.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Emmrich said, tearing his eyes away to stare at his toast. “Not this time.” He recalled to himself the verse from Threnodies, repeated it in his mind, beating himself against it until it obliterated the image of her (legs spread, back arched) that had begun to resurface in his mind:

Those who had once been mage-lords, The brightest of their age, Were no longer men, but monsters.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrook #lost my mind for a minute there but it's all good

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atimeofyourlife · 1 year

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She's Overdue For a Breakdown

Transfem Steve (Evie) has a breakdown surrounding everything after coming out post s4 (title from Silence is a Scary Sound by McFly) cw: gender dysphoria, implied cheating, implied neglectful parenting

It's a lot of little things that bring it on. Well, and a few big things too. But it's the little things that seemed worse.

Evie was just going to use the bathroom when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and her eyes were instantly drawn to a tiny patch of stubble on her jawline that she had missed when shaving that morning. And it was what tipped her over the edge.

She grasped the sink as harsh sobs wracked through her body. She couldn't place what she was crying over, when it was everything. Having to shave her face every morning to avoid stubble when most girls, normal girls, didn't have to. Losing her adolescence to fighting interdimensional horrors. The clothing she wanted to wear never fitting right, because of too broad shoulders and firm muscle in place of soft curves. Never leaving the house unarmed in fear of what was lurking around the corner. Still having to live most of her life as Steve. The loss of who she once was. Her parents' indifference and knowing they'd never accept her true self.

She cried for a life of having to perform. As the perfect son, as the boy whose main interest was sport, as the popular 'King' of the school, as the desirable heartthrob who was kind and respectful to girls but also really good in bed, as the strong guy capable of taking the hits, as the decent young man from a good family that would make a good father and husband one day. Having to perform as Steve.

She cried for every time that she couldn't. For every time her father had told her 'Boys don't cry, Steven.' For every time she had to hold back tears to avoid being teased. For every time she had been told not to be so sensitive. For every time she had pushed away her own emotions to focus on someone else's. For every time she had to be strong for her found family while everything fell apart around them.

She cried for her insecurity surrounding relationships. For her father's infidelity causing so many issues at home. For the way her relationship with Nancy had torn itself apart, and Nancy's cruel words at the end. For all the girls that had only dated her for what they could get out of it, her status, her money, her reputation of being so good in bed. For her fear for future relationships. For the flirting she'd shared with Eddie, and how it hadn't changed when she came out. The fear that came with it, that Eddie still saw her as Steve, as a man, because he'd never spoken about liking girls.

She cried for the body that never fit right and felt more broken as time went on. Her vision and hearing deteriorating with every concussion. Her too-flat chest and too-narrow hips. The scars that increased in number with every round of the Upside Down. The fact that down there would never reflect her being a girl without surgery.

She cried for every time she felt alone, both when she was by herself or with other people. When sitting at the dinner table with her parents felt like there was more distance between them than when they were on a different continent. When time spent with Tommy and Carol turned her into a third wheel, or an accomplice in their cruelty. When she tried to fill her empty house with parties. When she was with girlfriends, Nancy and others, that were there physically but she knew that their mind was somewhere else. Finishing out her senior year without any friends her own age, at least none that understood.

A knock on the bathroom startled her from her spiraling thoughts, reminding her that she wasn't alone in the house.

"Evie?" Robin's voice sounded concerned. "Are you okay? You've been in there for ages."

Evie took a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself. "I'm fine, Rob." She winced at how thick her voice sounded, almost cracking on the word 'fine'.

"You don't sound fine," Robin spoke softly. "Can we come in?"

Evie hesitated. If she said no, they would leave her alone. But only until she was ready to leave the bathroom. If she let them in or not, she would still have to talk about it. She moved to the door, just enough to unlock it. She moved away again, before calling "It's open."

Robin was the first in, sweeping Evie into a hug. Eddie hung back in the doorway.

"What's going on?" Robin asked, pulling Evie down so they could sit on the floor together.

"I. It's nothing." Evie sniffed, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. "I'm just being stupid."

"Evelyn Sue Harrington. What have we said about the 's' word?" Robin admonished her choice of words.

"Evie, you're not stupid for getting upset about something. You're the one that tells the rest of us that it's okay to feel things and be open when we need help." Eddie added, sitting down on Evie's other side. "But does this have to be done on the bathroom floor, or can we move somewhere more comfortable?"

"Get used to it, Munson. All of our big, important moments happen on bathroom floors." Robin replied, managing to drag a small smile out of Evie.

"Muppet." Evie agreed, getting a punch in the arm from Robin.

"C'mon Evie. You can talk to us. What's going on up there?" Robin tapped the side of Evie's head.

"It's just...Everything? I guess. It all feels too much." Evie stopped for a moment, before it all came spilling out. Everything that she'd been holding in, that she'd never told anyone about. Everything she'd kept from the ones she loved so she would be the one people could turn to for support instead of being the one who needed support. The tears returned as she spoke, varying from silently running down her face to accompanied by harsh sobs that punctuated her words. "And I just feel so lost. I don't know what to do with it. I just want to scream, and cry, and break things."

"It's okay to feel like that, Evie." Robin murmured, holding Evie closer to her.

"It. It's not though? I looked in the mirror and saw a few hairs I missed while shaving. And instead of having a normal reaction, I started crying about it. I wanted to punch the mirror and smash it into pieces as if it was to blame for how I look." She rubbed her face harshly. "God, I'm being too much."

"Evie, it's not too much. You're never too much. You've been holding this shit in for so long, you never talk about what you've been through, you never ask for help, but you're always there for us and let everyone unload on you. You're basically overdue a breakdown at this point." Eddie replied, pulling Evie's hands away from her face.

"We're here for you. Through everything. And screw your parents and anyone who thinks there's something wrong with you. There are so many people that love and adore you, that would be happy to listen and help you. Hell, if you wanted new parents, you'd just have to say the word and there's a bunch of parents that would fight over who gets to adopt you. You named yourself after two of them."

"You're exaggerating." Evie rolled her eyes.

"She's not. It's obvious that Hopper basically sees you as his daughter. He's referred to you and El together as his girls." Eddie added. "I'm pretty sure you could kill someone and he'd cover for you and help hide the body."

"Yeah, and you've got Mrs Henderson. She's already passing on her family recipes to you that she won't tell anyone else. And the Sinclairs. Ever since you defended Lucas from Billy, they've adored you and thought you could do no wrong. Even my parents, which is kinda weird because less than a year ago they were basically planning our wedding and thought that you'd be their perfect son-in-law and I'd have your babies, which I mean, gross. But now they talk about us as if we're sisters."

"And Uncle Wayne. He's always asking when I'm going to bring the Harrington girl around again. I think he just likes having someone to talk sports with. And he would do anything for your cooking." Eddie insisted.

"I-thanks." Evie was a little lost for words as she rubbed the last of her tears from her eyes. "I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"You don't have to always be okay, Evie. It's what we're here for. We're always here for you." Robin assured her.

"Whenever you're not okay, my shoulder's always open for a pretty girl to cry on." Eddie said, his tone light and joking.

Evie choked on a laugh as she relaxed into the group hug. "I love you guys."

I am planning on writing a short second part about how Evie chose her names, but I do not know when it will get posted! I have started it, though! Now with a companion piece on how Evie chose her name

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #trans steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #platonic stobin #steddie #pre steddie #its just implied but yeah #steve harrington has bad parents #atimeofyourwrites

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spacetimeaccordionfolder · 12 days

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Oathbringer spoilers I suppose

(also I am only just beginning part four please no spoilers for me in notes thank you)

Every time Nightblood mentions Vasher or Vivenna I get so excited also AZURE ARE YOU VIVENNA KABAL ARE YOU VASHER Lighthouse keeper over here talking about both heightenings and saying merciful domi I am shaking

Nightblood I mean sword nimi: yeah vivenna said that cruelty and mercy are only a thing of men and she carried me for a while! at least a few days!

*thinking back to Warbreaker when Nightblood said something that happened 500 years ago occurred yesterday* vivenna how old are you also what happened what cool things have you done I need to know

Azure: oh i'm just someone who's been out of her league since adolescence [or approximately that I don't have the book in front of me right now]

everyone else in that scene: press x to doubt meme

me: ahhhhhhhh(wait does 22 count as adolesence- you know what yes it does)

Also the sword- she covers her arm when she fights with it, said it's like a shardblade but not quite- did her blade require less breaths than Nightblood since it doesn't seem to hurt as much when she draws it? also she never drew Nightblood, but draws this sword a lot.

Okay so I did see a spoiler I think while on the Warbreaker tag that Vivenna reappears at some point in stormlight (because it's a stand alone I thought I could pursue the tag without getting any spoilers) but it was a while ago - and once I realized it was a spoiler I tried to block it from my brain - so I don't quite remember it- but I think I saw that she's Azure? but I am also trying to gather my own evidence to form the idea myself.

I love Vivenna so much I am so excited to be seeing more of her

also if she mentions Siri or any of the other characters I will start yelling

Szeth (I have missed your narration thank you for returning) pointed out that the lady who made Nightblood (again book is not in front of me at the moment working off memory and excitement) and one of the heralds have very similar names and um um um hey that's interesting.

...

On a completely different note- I now understand why y'all ship Renarin and Rlain. I get it now.

#oathbringer #the stormlight archive #oathbringer spoilers

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clover0101 · 1 year

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Weakness - Haruka Sakurai analysis

aka: rewritting my old analysis because I missed so much visual clues and I don't know how to cope with that

(CW: themes of neglect, ableism, animal cruelty and other sensitive topics ahead)

Water is a fairly recurring symbolism in the two videos we have to date. A way of representing that Haruka, in the situation she finds herself in, is drowning. Dying by drowning is for many one of the most agonizing and desperate deaths. By trying to breathe, asking for help, talking or struggling you only make your own situation worse, little by little losing the energy to keep trying until you let yourself go. This time, the water falls on him like a strong wave after seeing himself in the mirror, remembering what life was like for him as a child and knowing that those days will never return.

The blue light in the video literally represents 'being the focus of attention'. Haruka, as a child, was. He received the love of his parents and his basic needs were met. From a certain point in his life (presumably as he entered his teens, around age 12) his family began to leave him behind. Haruka was very close to his mother, so he was especially hurt by her. And why did this happen in the first place? Haruka is a neurodivergent person, his specific condition is up for interpretation, but it's clear that he struggles with learning difficulties. As he entered his adolescence, his condition became much more evident, denoting that he would not be able to do what others can, thus causing rejection and mistreatment by his parents.

We can see in shots like these that Haruka, even when present in the family environment – living in the same home, sharing the same space – always takes the position of a spectator. Someone who, despite having tried everything, is not capable of influencing the world enough for these efforts to bear fruit. It seems that there is something separating him from everyone else, from his family, from those who should love and support him. As if he was looking at them through a glass wall (or from inside a fish tank, as we will see in akaa (?)

Something that is also important is that the video makes a clear separation between Haruka from the present and the one from the past. The child is shown as someone happy and innocent, never acting to harm anybody, however, present Haruka carries all the negative feelings and subsequent bad actions. Haruka seems to be envious of his past self, even pushing him out of focus so that he falls and drowns, just like he is now. My interpretation is that when we see Haruka interacting with himself as a child, we are actually seeing how he interacts with the girl who appears later in the video; her victim. The reason why he is shown as himself in Weakness is because Haruka projects onto her the happiness he felt at her age. His parents' neglect may have started shortly before or with the birth of his sister. Haruka mentions in his interrogation that his name was chosen because his mother wanted a girl. Having a daughter, and also one without any condition that hindered her development, led her to give all her time and attention to her, and to completely leave Haruka aside, because the more he grew, the more it became clear that he could not function as a “normal person” could without any special treatment or attention. His childish or incapable attitudes were normal to see at the age of a child, but when they persist during adolescence they become annoying for his caregivers. Ableism and ignorance leads many people to be negligent when having autistic children or with some type of developmental problem that makes their upbringing difficult, culminating in abuse instead of looking for tools and help to handle the situation correctly.

This sequence is particularly interesting to me because the well she falls into is not something "real" as such, but is made up of scratches and drawings that Haruka himself made. Haruka longs for roles to be reversed, even if it means condemning her to suffer the same as him. But this suffering that he pushes her into is not genuine. They are circumstances made by his mind that will never come true, because Haruka will continue to be ignored; and before that truth Haruka sinks again.

The translation of the original video is a bit inconvenient in my opinion because it's difficult to extend due to grammar errors (?) so I'll be using this fanmade translation to complement some things.

The fireworks event is particularly important because Haruka mentions it as something he remembers well. It's possible that, due to his condition, he was unable to attend such event (or, for example, see the fireworks during a celebration) because he's sensitive to loud noises and cause him anxiety and discomfort. "The future correct, unfairly, chose the wrong me." Haruka sees himself with his sister because he wishes he could be there with her, enjoying this special event. He thinks that if they were both the same age, or if he was a "normal person" everything would be better. If he didn't have this condition, he would like to be able to get along with his sister and be friends, which would be possible if only he was able to "do the things that others can do without trying." Again, his life passes before him without his decisions or thoughts having any real importance. It is repeated through the chorus that Haruka wants to be pitied. He wants to be seen completely, with everything and the weaknesses that have been blamed on him throughout his life. He just wants to be accepted and loved even with those flaws, without having to make an effort to be someone he is not or to fit into what is "normal" for others.

The flowers that surround Haruka are yellow garden roses (although after looking up they seem quite similar to Golden Celebration or Graham Thomas, but I can't tell for sure). The meaning of yellow flowers and roses varies; in a more positive lens (in this context not so much) it could reflect the desire to communicate or take action to achieve a goal. Yellow is also popularly associated with envy, jealousy, and betrayal. According to color theory, being exposed to large amounts of yellow in a room or space can be irritating – so it could also reflect how Haruka is perceived by the people around him as someone that's better to treat in "small doses", because living with him daily is suffocating. Taking action, along with jealousy, fit well with the next sequence, where Haruka reaches up to reach for the girl and kills her, and is then seen laughing on top of her body. That's when for the first time in the video Haruka is the focus of attention. However, it was all a nightmare. This would reflect how little by little Haruka is thinking that the only way to get back what was taken from him is by hurting others, but in the end he sees himself scared with his own thoughts. For now, he wouldn't act to make them a reality.

Another symbology reflected in Haruka's drawings becomes much more evident; eyes watching him after doing something he knows is wrong and his different perceptions of his mother, during his childhood (first image) and in the present (possibly second image, though I'm not sure if that's his mom). Haruka has this tendency to draw people or things he sees as villains like that, like he also does with the family dog.

The following sequence has been the cause of my nightmares and my suffering both when watching it and when writing this essay. We are presented with what would be Haruka's first murder, the victim being precisely the family dog. What stands out above all is the fact that not only does Haruka's home seem to have an unconventional structure to say the least (?), but even though it's implied that the dog ran off into the forest, there are details that go against this, the most notorious being the pieces of wood on the floor that remain as a constant. Another interesting detail is that the outside world looks more like a collage or something artificial created by the mind of someone who doesn't know how it really looks. This may suggest that Haruka and the animal did not leave the house, which I also find credible given the symbology seen later in AKAA, where Haruka spends most of the video locked inside a small room unable to see what is outside or even go out.

While little Haruka looks for his dog following the tracks he left behind, at one point he looks at his hands and sees them covered in the animal's blood. He then switches to revealing that the perpetrator of the crime is the current Haruka, who even looks horrified after realizing what he has done.

This part of the lyrics especially expresses a lot; “You complimented me on being crazy”, aka, the only thing Haruka's mother acknowledges that he does well is being crazy, to which he replies “thank you, I'll do my best.” He wants to be the best at the one thing he's told he does well, which is kind of sad in my opinion (?) “How many times do I have to do this to be seen as a human?” The hostile environment in which he grew up has led Haruka to believe that he's much less than a person, and that this is the only way for him to put himself on the same level as others, to be recognized. Only if he becomes despicable would he be able to be seen again. "I have become a victim, my loneliness was wanted (by you)" his mother kept him isolated from the world, knowing the damage it did to him, because Haruka is seen as a disappointment. He's a victim of abuse, and tries to convince himself that his motivation for doing what he does is acceptable as a victim.

Now, when Haruka is face to face with the corpse, the flash of blue light over him is present for the first time in the video. However, it doesn't cover him completely, only illuminating a part of him. It's here when he realizes that of everything he has tried the only thing that manages to capture the attention of his environment is this. It's the only thing that worked out, and quickly his options narrow down to just that. Because, as he mentions in his second voice drama, what else could he have done?

During the bridge Haruka is standing, crying. His tears come out of his right eye, the one that his hair covers, so it may represent how his suffering has been ignored or conveniently obscured/covered so as not to be recognized. The fireworks are back in the background. This time, the blue light is drawn on him with crayons, along with the silhouettes of various people and eyes watching him. It's what Haruka longs to achieve.

Haruka tries to reach his mother again, but he fails and she disappears along with the light. "Even if I keep trying (to hide it), it's already broken." Her relationship with her was broken from the beginning, wanting to have her back are and will always be wishes in vain, because he won't be able to make her turn and look at him again. Using just the fanmade translation as a base, this line could also refer to himself. How trying to hide or change his flaws is never going to repair the kind of person he's become, or on a more fundamental level, how his condition is the part of himself he considers broken, and for obvious reasons he can't get rid of it. “The things that are not here (or that I do not see/see), the ones that you don't need, do they still exist somewhere else? (Or are they just a dream?)” I interpret this line as Haruka trying to make sense of his own existence. Unloved, unneeded and ignored, he tries to see other possibilities – to see if he might still be able to exist in the same world as everyone else, perhaps finding a normal life that meets his wishes. It's as if he's asking permission to continue breathing the same air than others. (who else does that in their video- oh no mu kusunoki from the hit series MILGRAM please get out of my house) In the end, Haruka gets tired of watching, longing, and wishing. He decides to act, attacking his sister and suffocating her. Now, being over her corpse, the focus of attention is entirely on him. Even if he's reproached, hated, or disapproved of, he is fine with it. Because in the end he achieved what he wanted.

#haruka sakurai #milgram #haruka #sakurai haruka #analysis #weakness #all knowing and all agony #weakness analysis #milgram analysis #help me #i didnt sleep last night writing this #hope people like it...#i hate harukas mom

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svankmajerbaby · 2 years

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not to keep sinking into a monster high shaped hole or to bring that wednesday series topic again but yknow since i had to see dull memes about the avatar sequel stuff guess this is my revenge

anyway. millar and gough who are the actual showrunners of the netflix wednesday show, not tim burton, and who wrote and produced the series, also produced and wrote the monster high movie so many people were pissed off by at first and slowly, i think? they came around to. and i find this interesting bc these are two franchises/properties which i see a lot of similarities between but that in the end i feel like should be treated as different things bc of their respective tone and general audience.

monster high in general is meant for younger kids especially now that it has softened its image to relatable instead of aspirational, which to me is fascinating from a marketing toy line perspective. the addams family was alwys meant as skewing older. i really assumed that the series would be about riverdale/teen wolf/supernatural level horror/suspense/adult content, and having a meaner edge and really much darker humor. in the end bc of the need to have stakes in the netflix series a lot of the humor was softened in a way that it doesnt really appeal to me/becomes a character quirk of wednesday instead of something that its normal inside this universe, the sort of casual cruelty and cartoon logic of the 90s comedy movies cant apply when you also have to be worried about characters dying tragic deaths and there are harry potter-esque mysteries and drama going on. that change in tone to me was what really killed it, it took away what made the addams interesting and left it at a level in which it was purely aesthetic surface. im not saying its completely unenjoyable, after all it has millions of fans who seem to vibe with it. im just saying that it doesnt really carry the spirit or the tone of the 90s movies, or even the 60s tv series, which was more focused on comedy overall and was much better at it.

with monster high the movie though, i think the gothic magical high school mystery works much better since it already has a few animated movies that have that sort of tone. the franchise itself works with issues of adolescence and therefore identity, self-acceptance and friendship (issues that the wednesday series wants to give to the protagonist, to varying degrees of success). and i find it really interesting that ive seen so many posts that say something like "oh the outfits are so bad, the fashions all wrong, why didnt they get actual cosplayers", etc. i dont expect everyone to know this but tv movie budgets, especially channels like nickelodeon or disney channel or the like, are pretty small even compared to streaming movie budgets. they usually recycle sets and costumes from other series by the same production company/costume company in the area, and between preproduction and shooting there is barely any time or budget for customized pieces. this isnt an excuse as much as reasoning. and apart from that there is also the nature of the new generation which is more focused on relatability and being appealing to a wider demographic than the first generation, which was more aimed at shocking and calling attention to itself. in that sense im kinda happy with what they went with, the clothes looks kinda cheap but it also looks like what kids in the 14-15 year range would believably wear to look cool and that remains accessible while also being fashionably easy to identify and distinguish themselves and their tastes. the actors are all Very Much covered in makeup and wigs but there is a difference in the styling of the generation 1 dolls/fanart/restylings that make them look much much older, and that would probably spark more controversy that mattel might not be super keen on rn. so unless they literally went the riverdale route of hiring actors in their mid to late twenties to portray fourteen year olds, dress them in miniskirts and risk losing that 8 to 11 year old audience to upset parents, what we ended up with is next to the best we could have hoped for.

apart from that, what im most curious about is how they will touch upon the issue of the two worlds in conflict, monsters and humans. the wednesday series didnt quite work it out in a way im satisfied with, partly bc of burtons and burton properties' own difficulty applying crítical thought to the very concept of "outcast" and marginalization, and partly bc of a tendency of wanting to apply allegories and analogies to these matters. you want to create meaningful comparisons to real feelings of alienation to emotionally appeal to the audience. but also you as a writer have no real experience reading about real actual marginalized identities and just have a general idea that things were bad and people are angry and people protest about it and also that the Teens™ are complaining in social media using new terms you can stick in the mouths of your characters. in that sense monster high's aim at the younger audience saves them from embarrassing themselves too much, which i cant say the same for wednesday (or the winx netflix series, and a bunch of other teen-aimed media, for that matter). so what remains for the monster high franchise is to figure out how to properly handle something like the idea of the two worlds of humans and monsters needing to find some common ground (something i think its really cool in the way it could be sparked by clawdeens new status as a werewolf being half human half wolf), though its the sort of thing that the writers of future iterations should be careful about and really just not be afraid to shake things up a bit and defy their own narrative status quo. like not be scared to have characters like claire the goth girl from that one animated movie, or the jekyll/hyde kid that was also technically half "normie", to explore further aspects to the idea of identity and marginalization that have a much more appropriate home in something like monster high.

#. 🦴#full disclosure i havent finished the wednesday series i dont have the energy in me to invest that much attention in boring subplots #i saw a recap and know what happens and im sad that bianca doesnt appear so much later on #netflix wednesday #monster high the movie

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frevandrest · 4 years

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Everything Wrong with Saint-Just's Introductory Scene in La Révolution française (1989)

As promised, here is an analysis of Saint-Just’s first scene from La Révolution française (1989). You can watch the scene (with English subtitles) here. It sadly misses the dramatic entrance part, but everything else is there. SPOILER: This analysis will not, in fact, cover everything wrong because there’s so much trash you can’t adequately address it in only 1000 words.

In the scene, we see a young man with that hair rushing down the steps of the Convention (in what will be his signature dramatic! style). He pushes people way without even looking at them. There is someone at the rostrum, and many people wait to address the Convention. Saint-Just doesn’t give a fuck. “I demand to speak.” Some deputies murmur a weak protest, but they are shit out of luck because it’s time to introduce a new character, and we need to know what a jerk he is. So of course he’s granted the word.

At first, nobody pays attention, but “just like you, I would die for this Republic”, seems to work. He delivers the speech (which contains maybe two lines from the actual one), and by the end, Marat claps, the Convention claps, Danton and Girondins are suspicious; Robespierre is in love. Camille, oh Camille, does he know he’s just been replaced? Saint-Just pouts slightly (my interpretation) but doesn’t show much emotion. Next scene: Louis receives news that he’s being put on trial. Good job, new boy.

As first scenes go, this is a good introduction to Saint-Just as depicted in the film. But it’s also very wrong for SJ as a historical personality (what we know of him). Which sucks, because it’s not like it’s impossible to make an unsympathetic yet historically accurate SJ, if one wants to go that route. See, Saint-Just in La Révolution française is a prop; he’s not a character with his own complexities, goals or motivations. He is just there to be pretty and evil, and to take Robespierre away from Camille.

So, why is this introduction wrong?

Let us remember that this was Saint-Just’s very first speech at the Convention. He got elected days after his 25th birthday; he was the youngest out there. Also, even with Robespierre’s support (that some claim he already enjoyed), he was an unknown; a peasant provincial from Picardie barely out of his adolescence. He wanted to prove himself and demonstrate that he was a worthy representative. Being rude and pushing people away is not really a good way to achieve that.

Here’s the thing about Saint-Just: despite all stereotypes of the contrary, he respected authority. However, he only respected authority that he felt deserved to be respected. In 1792, “monarchy” was not it. But National Convention? Revolutionary government? Of course he respected it. He fought so much to get there, and he respected the place he was given.

Throwing his weight around, pushing people away, demanding to speak when someone else is at the rostrum, disobeying order... It was really not Saint-Just. He hated commotion and fights that happened so often at the Jacobin club. Even on 9 Thermidor, when Tallien interrupted him and shit hit the fan, he continued to attempt to deliver the speech. They pushed him, and he kept trying to speak, without, I don’t know, punching someone in the face (La Révolution française Saint-Just totally would, which is, admittedly, one of the many, many many reasons why it sucks that they shortened and condensed Thermidor).

The film uses “blame Saint-Just for Robespierre’s turn to darkness” approach. SJ is there to encourage Robespierre into cruelty and cold violence, and, if Robespierre starts to doubt even for a moment, to reassure him that yes, this is how things should be done, you are right Max, let’s kill them all, but particularly Camille; I can’t stand that guy for having you first ridiculing my poetry (wait... SJ’s poetry wasn’t in the film. Why does he hate Camille, again?) Who knows. The only explanation the film provides is that Camille is Good and Saint-Just is Evil, so of course he’d want to get rid of him.

Now, let us see about the speech itself.

The Speech

The speech Saint-Just delivers in the film contains maybe a few lines from the actual speech (notably: “this man should reign, or die”). I don’t have a problem with them not replicating the speech word for word because it followed on what other deputies talked about (which we didn’t hear)*, and because nobody has time for Antoine’s ramblings about antiquity. (And it would take around 10 minutes to act, which would probably provide us with more glorious shots of Robespierre falling in love being impressed, but it would take too much of the running time. I get that.)

So, in theory, I am fine with shortening the speech and paraphrasing, as long as the meaning and content is there. Which... it did on a surface level while also missing the point substantially.

*Not showing SJ addressing what others said before him was understandable (condensing runtime), but it’s another thing that made it seem like he didn’t listen nor paid attention what others were doing. Also, it’s a missed opportunity to characterize him as a jerk full of himself, since his real speech basically opened with: “all that the previous guy said is bullshit, and here’s why”.

Speech in the film: I would die for the Republic and I would fight the enemies of the Republic. We all know the name of the enemy, and I, like none here, am ready to fight against this enemy. Louis is a symbol of traitors among us. We should not hesitate; the king is an usurper.

In short, speech in the film is, kind of, less about Louis and more about what SJ will be important later: his own sense of revolutionary righteousness and for weeding out “traitors” from the Convention.

Another issue with the speech is that it wasn’t just about the speech - it was part of Saint-Just’s introductory scene, so we had to learn about his character through the speech. In the film, SJ is rude, cruel and cares only about... well, we are not sure, because there are no motivations whatsoever, but he is there to push Max when something bad needs to be done. I feel that his rudeness during the introductory scene and the way the speech was delivered fulfil this purpose nicely. However, I am not sure that we actually understand what Saint-Just’s speech was about, except vague “we must kill the king” vibe.

The Aftermath

The scene following Saint-Just’s speech is that of Louis, a doting father, reading a book to his son. Men come and rudely tell him to send the child away. He is to be put on trial. The implication? Saint-Just’s speech won the crowd over and they decided to kill Louis, or at least put him on trial.

In reality, while Saint-Just’s speech was highly noticed (his real-life dramatic entrance into Convention), the deputies did NOT listen to him. The whole point of the speech was that Louis should not be put on trial - trials are for the citizens, which he is not. Louis’ crime is not treason - the monarchy is a crime in itself. Saint-Just argued against the trial. Yes, his speech was highly influential but presenting it in this way puts way too much weight on this newcomer’s words and implies he was the key factor behind the trial.

Other Observations

- There is a long debate among historians whether Robespierre was present for Saint-Just’s first speech on 13 November 1792. (I think the conclusion is “probably not”.) But I don’t mind this change, if nothing else, for those glorious shots of Robespierre’s heart eyes and Camille’s “wtf did this guy come from and why is Max looking at him like that?”

- Marat. It is true that he generally praised Saint-Just as an orator, but he disagreed with this speech (Marat was for trial).

- The reason why this post is dedicated to SJ’s first scene is because I was asked/challenged to write about it. It doesn’t mean that his other scenes were any better (I’d say they were worse). In fact, the entire SJ’s character was a Thermidorized mess.

- That being said, I don’t hate this SJ. I cannot; LRF was my introduction to the whole Frev thing and will always have a special place. Christopher Thompson was ok, particularly in some aspects of SJ. However, the whole thing was a mess and it should be criticized.

- Hair. I promised to dedicate one full paragraph to SJ’s hair, but I... can’t. I simply cannot. I am sorry. I tried, but the words failed me.

- This was more fun that it should have been and there are so many things I didn’t get to say (the entire performance and what this scene means for SJ as a character in the film, a more detailed analysis of the speech and comparison with the real one, etc.) But it did show that I can still vomit write 1000+ words about anything that I have any interest in, which is... good to know, I guess? (Let’s just say that I won’t be winning any SJ contest prizes for laconicism).

#la revolution francaise #saint-just #french revolution #frev #saint just #movies

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sapphire-dreamsky · 4 years

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Past, Present, Future

Starring: Yuuji Itadori, Nobara Kugisaki, Megumi Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Reader, Sukuna

Pairing: Satoru Gojo/Reader

Warnings: Cheating is mentioned, Satoru might be ooc

A/N: I don’t condone cheating. I wanted this fic to be light and fun but it turned out a bit differently. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Also, in this fanfic, Satoru was an a** when he was younger.

It was not their fault they thought their sensei was single. While beautiful, Gojo was so immature that it was hard to imagine him with someone. This person deserves a trophy for being able to put up with the ball of energy and immaturity that was Gojo Satoru. Besides,...after the Kyoto Goodwill event, they heard some...ahem...interesting rumours concerning the white head. Apparently, their beloved idiotic sensei cannot settle down. There were so many rumours surrounding the strongest; some were hard to believe because of their level of ridiculousness, others were not so hard to believe because...well...it is Gojo Satoru. He could make anything possible. One of them, while ridiculous, seems highly probable. It was Utahime-sensei who told them about it when they pestered her about Gojo-sensei in his adolescent years. They wanted to be able to relate to him a little bit more. What they heard though, left their mind reeling with questions.

"Gojo-sensei dated more than twenty girls in a month?!"

That sounded so ridiculous, cruel, and impossible. However, Utahime was not one to lie or slander one's reputation like that. Even if it was someone as annoying as Gojo. After that, they were unable to picture their sensei as the type to settle down. It was just impossible. Even if that little anecdote was years ago, as Megumi specified to his friends. It was possible that Gojo changed and was not the same man anymore. But the other two’s minds were set on the fact that their sensei is a player. Or a serial-dater. Although, they have yet to catch him in the act. As of right now, they haven’t seen Gojo with anyone. Maybe Utahime did exaggerate his reputation a little after all. But their curiosity was already set. They wanted to catch their sensei in the act. So, they decided to trail their sensei when the latter was seen heading out in casual clothing and his horrible out-of-style glasses. Kugisaki sighed in despair when seeing the infamous pair of glasses on his face. She was persuaded that he couldn’t be heading out on a date with this offending accessory.

Low and behold, they were able to trail Satoru without getting busted yet. Their training with the second-year students must have paid off! Or so the three ‘spies’ thought. Truthfully, Satoru noticed them a while ago. Actually, it was as soon as they left the school. But he thought their little game was amusing so he let it go on. After all, it wasn’t like he was trying to hide where he was going. If he was, he would have teleported to the alley near the cafe he loves to go to. Just thinking about the cafe and the sweets which they sell makes him salivate. He couldn’t wait to go and try out the new Friday special. So, with a new spring in his step, completely forgetting about his poor students who didn’t have long legs like his, he practically jogs to his favourite cafe, the new sweets calling for him. The three students curse as they are forced to practically run to catch up with their excited sensei. In their mind, Gojo was late as usual, and to not make his date angry, he was hurrying to their meeting place. An angry woman is scary. The proof of that statement lies in Kugisaki and Maki-senpai. Both were scary when angered.

The little cafe was quiet. There were not many people dining in. In fact, it was a perfect place to have a date in, Yuuji noted. Particularly if you don’t want to get caught dating multiple girls at the same time. Luckily for the three of them, the windows were see-through. They could easily see inside as their sensei plops down on one of the comfortable seats. Immediately, a waitress comes and takes his order. Yuuji and Nobara squint as they try to somehow decipher the exchange between the waitress and Gojo.

‘‘Do you know what they are saying?’’

‘‘Of course not you idiot! They are too far.’’

The only proof of Gojo being on a date will have to be to see someone sit across Gojo then. The three of them desolate over that fact. Knowing their sensei, it could take forever before they realise he is, in the end, not on a date.

‘‘I don’t think he is on a date.’’

Nobara and Yuuji look at Fushiguro with question marks on their head. The latter sigh, before pointing at their sensei.

‘‘If he was on a date, I think the date would have been waiting for a while now. No matter the circumstances, Gojo-sensei is always late.’’

‘‘Don’t you think he would try to make an exception for a date?’’, Yuuji ponders.

‘‘If he is dating around, I don’t think so. He could care less if he is on time.’’ After that, Nobara and Yuuji fell silent. They were losing their time after all. Sad and looking like kicked puppies at their failed mission, they were ready to head back to the campus when they noticed a young woman watching them with inquisitive eyes.

‘‘Ah, uh, we were...uh’’

Yuuiji was not making any real sense as he tried to explain why they were hiding behind the bushes in the park. He quickly relaxes as she lets out a little laugh. ‘‘I see. So you are these guys then.’’ Before they could question her on what they mean, she continued. ‘‘Do you want to come to the little cafe? It’s on me.’’

That offer sounded suspicious but they were jujutsu sorcerers in training. They were sure they could handle a civilian. She doesn’t seem to have any curse energy. And if she was indeed linked to the group of curses after Yuuji, they could always count on their sensei who was currently typing on his phone. The woman’s phone went off at the same moment. Multiple arrays of texts follow each other. They felt sympathy for her phone as it seems to be getting bombarded by numerous texts. All of which she ignores as they follow her to the cafe.

The inside of the cafe was as nice as they expected, if not much better. The smell of coffee and sweets was overwhelming but in a good way. Their sensei was seated at the far back of the cafe, meaning if they were noticed, they were screwed. They couldn’t really find any explanation on why a stranger would invite them in a cafe. One that is coincidentally the same as their sensei. Before they could steer away from the back though, the woman grabbed their shoulders and gently pushed them towards where their teacher was sitting. The latter was frowning at his phone, typing some more before the woman made her presence known.

‘‘I’m here. There’s no need to send me multiple messages again.’’

Rolling her eyes, she pushed the three frozen students in front of him. ‘What is happening,’ is the only thought ringing in their minds as their teacher waved at them, grinning widely.

‘‘Oh? You found my beloved students?’’

‘‘They were hanging around in the bushes. You could have invited them in, instead of just sitting and dreaming about all the cavities you will get.’’

The woman sits in front of their teacher as the three young adolescents sit near her. They didn’t really understand the peculiar situation anymore. ‘Was this woman dating sensei?’ ‘She is far too nice to be dating him.’ ‘Oh no! She must not know about sensei’s reputation!’ These were the thoughts that simultaneously rang in their heads. One thing for sure, they had to warn her. She was nice enough to invite them on their date, they felt that she didn’t deserve the heartbreak. In fact, no woman deserved to be heartbroken by the cruelty of their sensei.

The couple were discussing their respective days while waiting for the sweets Satoru ordered earlier. Both seemed to be on good terms, laughing at each other’s jokes. They were in all, having a good time. Yuuji felt guilty. What if in the end, Gojo-sensei was serious about her? But knowing their sensei, he had so many secrets that they felt they must at least tell her about Gojo’s habits.

‘‘So...Uhm...Miss?’’

‘‘Ah. How rude of me! I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m (Y/N). You can just call me that. I don’t mind.’’

Her smile was so sweet that Kugisaki felt it was her duty to kick Gojo if he was indeed playing around.

‘‘How did you two meet? Are you a sorc- oof’’

The kick in the angle was by Megumi. The gloomy boy glared at Yuuji while drinking his drink silently.

‘‘Funny thing is, we actually met when we were in high school. I didn’t go to that fancy school of yours though. I went to an all-girl school. I was in dire need of some sweets when we ran into each other and I spilled his drink. All over myself.’’

She glared at Gojo who only smiled innocently. He was not innocent, however. The students knew why the drink was only spilled on her while he remained spotless.

‘‘And then did you start dating since then?’’

‘‘No. I hated him.’’

That statement did not surprise any of them. Gojo feigned hurt while he clutched onto his shirt.

‘‘How could you hate me?! I am as sweet as a strawberry cake!’’

‘‘Maybe if someone poisoned it. Then yes. You would be the strawberry cake.’’

The students watched them banter back and forth.

‘‘Then...when did you start dating?’’

‘‘Hmm...When did we start dating Satoru?’’

‘‘After I declared my love for you during our third meeting anniversary of course!’’

The students sweat-dropped. That sounds like something Satoru would do.

‘‘But then...what about all the girls Utahime-sensei said you were dating? The twenty girls in a month?’’

Both Megumi and Nobara froze. As soon as the shock from Yuuji’s bluntness faded, they stomped on his feet. He winces at that. Even Sukuna, who didn’t mean to spy on them, but was curious about the annoying sorcerer let out a sigh at the lack of tack of his vessel.

Satoru’s smile seemed frozen on his face. Nobody moved as they waited for the young woman’s reaction. The waitress brought in the sweets at that exact moment but no one dared to dig in the delicious food. Finally,

‘‘Oh, that. Yeah. I knew about it. Although it wasn't really twenty. It was five girls. He thought he was so slick with it too. He dated one of my ex-friends. I’m pretty sure you forgot about her though.’’

‘‘Ah...uh...I can’t remember…’’

Satoru seemed sheepish and awkward. Such a strange and alien sight of their always composed sensei.

‘‘Of course, you wouldn’t. You dated so many people I’m surprised they never found out. I would have slapped you if I was one of them. You got off easy.’’

(Y/N) drinks her coffee as if what she just said was a mere comment on the weather. Satoru glances at his girlfriend every now and then while Yuuji was feeling awful.

‘‘I am so sorry Gojo-sensei, (Y/n)-san! I shouldn’t have brought it up!’’

The female cocked her head to the side, throwing a slight smile in his way.

‘‘It’s fine Itadori-kun. It’s not like I wanted to date him back then. I told you, didn’t I? I hated him.’’

This time, it was Kugisaki who was curious.

‘‘Then, how did you and sensei date? He dated your friend right?’’

(Y/n) shrugged carelessly, digging into her cake with her fork before thrusting it in Satoru’s face. The man was far too silent for his own good.

‘‘It was into our second years of being frenemies. He was awful as you must have heard. He was a true player back then. But then, mysteriously, he cleaned up his act. He broke up with my friend and seemingly with the other girls too. I didn’t see him hanging around the city with any girls for a good year, nor did he get any calls from any one of them when we hanged out. After all of this, my friend, the one who dated him, came to meet me after class and started shouting at me. Apparently, Satoru was in love with someone for real and after some digging, she came to the conclusion that it was my fault since I knew him as well. For her, I was jealous and tried to seduce him. It was a ridiculous and frivolous idea. Or so I thought. Because a year later that dork comes and tells me he loves me.’’

Yuuji and Megumi were in awe. So, their sensei really did go and date multiple girls at once?

‘‘How were you certain he would never cheat?’’ This time it was Megumi asking the question. Surely, you must have had some reservations about dating such a character.

‘‘I was unsure of it too at first. I rejected him and stopped talking to him. He was persistent and wouldn’t stop. So I agreed to one date, which turned into multiple ones. As of now, I haven’t caught him cheating. But if he does, then I will get sad and leave him. I can’t stand cheaters. What he did is disgusting, but people do change I guess. That is, only if they really want to. A lesson for you kids. Don’t go and date someone who is horrible to you and think you can change them. In the end, only they can change themselves. They are not worth your time if they are stubborn and refuse to see the wrong in their actions.’’

She reaches over to squeeze Satoru’s hand. The latter was still quiet about it all. The silence continued even after the kids’ excused themselves, having been called back to the school by Nanami.

‘‘Aren’t you going to finish your cake? It’s your favourite, you know?’’

‘‘You know I would never cheat on you right? I was young and dumb and an asshole. And while I can’t take it back or apologise enough, I would never cheat on you.’’

(Y/n) only smiled at that. ‘‘I know. You have changed. You are not that guy anymore. You can’t change your past, but you can change your present self. I’m glad I met your students. They are a joyful bunch. When we have children one day, I hope they will be like them.’’

Satoru grinned, slowly reverting back to his old self. ‘‘I don’t know. I was thinking another me would be perfect.’’

‘‘If our child turns out like you, I’ll fear all my hair will turn as white as yours, dear. Now finish your cake. I want to go and check out that pet store you mentioned.’’

‘‘Right away, vanilla bean!’’

‘‘What did I tell you about nicknames Satoru?!’’

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk gojo

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yandere-society · 4 years

Text

Moonlight

Pairing: Taehyung x Female Reader

Synopsis: Taehyung was a man of many things: handsome, young, rich, the reigning lord of the Kim manor. He was a man adored, a man respected. But beneath the studly exterior, he held a dark, demonic secret that floated towards the surface once every full moon. It was this secret that would unknowingly entangle you in his claws until there was no way out.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Yandere themes, Possessive Tae, Werewolves, Kidnapping mention, Sexual assault, Murder, Death, also it’s unedited cause I hate myself

Headline: Beast Of The Night Strikes Again! 2 Dead, Several Injured

Admin: @roses-ruby

The town suffers through another full moon of terror as the one described as the ‘dog beast’ struck again late last night. Lawmen are baffled at the carnage, describing the victims torn limbs and missing hearts as an act- “most definitely inhumane.” Townsfolk have stated that they heard the creature growl and moan for hours on end until it seemingly disappeared near the Kim manor. As for the owner of the manor, Kim Taehyung - an attractive bachelor who inherited his great grandfather’s land - refused to comment and dismissed the claims of such a being as “ludicrous and delusional.” Whatsoever it may be, the fact of the matter is that there is someone or something raging with bloodlust every time the moon shines its brightest and it might just be out for your heart next.

“It is truly incredible how some of the most credible news sources have begun to sound so half-witted these days… ‘attractive bachelor?’ Seems like you’re up for auction in the middle of this tragic incident…”

“It is a small town with unusually large tales…they’ll do anything to sell their trashy story…” He runs his fingers through his long black locks, a small huff of irritation leaving his lips.

“A story that will keep children up past midnight I’m sure…” The older gentleman places today’s paper back on the table and walks up to where the younger stood, matching his distant stare out the window. “The flowers were exceptionally beautiful in this year’s bloom. Such a shame they’ll be dead soon.”

It was a passive observation, one he didn’t have to respond to; however, it was his nature to always hold a firm stance on even the slightest of interactions. He hums in agreement, gazing out towards the colorfully green garden that his study overlooked. But rather than admiring the beauty of the large field, his eyes were instead hooked on a small figure bustling about the grounds in a long black dress.

“Master,” A calm voice interrupted him from his trance, “Shall I adjust your schedule in case you were to head into town today?”

His long-time butler, Seung, bowed quietly in his direction.

“No need.” He replies mindlessly.

“Now, now,” His uncle next him chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, “It would do you good to show your handsome bust among the public. Your presence as Lord might provide some comfort…”

As if he should be the one comforting weeping mothers and terrified children.

He was about to decline the smiling face of this man who bore him nothing but animosity, but he was interrupted by his uncle’s careless gaze suddenly modifying into something additionally sinister.

“Or is it that you’re too tired for such a simple task? You look as if you have not slept in ages. Are you doing alright, perhaps?”

Other than the shiver that ran down Taehyung’s spine at his foxiness, he was unfazed by the weighty question. Usually, his feigned concern would make him chuckle, if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted from last night’s events.

“I’m fine.” He turns to Seung without missing a beat, “Uncle is right. Get the carriage ready, I will be heading into town today.”

“Yes, Master.” Seung bows, but before he could quietly leave the room, Taehyung calls for him again. “And get my Uncle’s carriage ready for departure as well. I am sure at his age he would love nothing more than to be resting at home this very moment.”

There was a small confrontational silence between the senior and him after his loaded remark. But it vanished the very next second when his Uncle began to chuckle loudly, as if there was nothing but mirth between the two of them.

“You are right on the mark, young lad. As sharp as ever I see.” He spins around, walking back to the table he once sat at “I shall be out of your hair soon.”

Taehyung watches him as he picks up the paper he had been scrutinizing before he commences his departure from the chamber.

“Are you perhaps interested in the dog beast?”

“Why, not at all,” He responds calmly, turning to the younger with the same somber expression as before, “I just need some entertainment for the road. Surely, you don’t mind?”

He did not. For now, he desired his uncle’s departure the most. It was not as if he could see his own forthcoming demise stained in the ink of that paper.

Autumn’s cool breeze surrounds your body as you tend to the large grounds of the Kim manor, trimming off uneven stems from a massive rose bush.

“___,” A frantic voice suddenly calls your name, capturing your attention as your gaze falls down onto a petite figure dressed in a similar maid’s uniform running towards you, “___! Did you hear?”

“About?”

“Today’s paper!” Seulgi spoke out of breath, like it was the most obvious thing, “Those men…aren’t they the same lads who-”

“SSHHH!” You hiss, blocking her loudmouth with your palm. Her whines against your hand were similar to that of an adolescent as you whirled your head around the garden, making sure no one was near your vicinity. “I told you not to speak a word of that!”

Seulgi successfully tugs you off of her, “I know! But is it not bizarre? That beast attacked those men!”

“There is no beast!” You growled, “Everyone in town was aware that Wan and his men were good-for-nothing hooligans! They probably wandered into the forest late at night, drunk and belligerent, and attracted a bear!”

“Hmm, perhaps…” Seulgi pouts, “But what about the articles? All those farmers who lost their cattle the same exact way… with their hearts missin-”

“I’m sure those are nothing but carnivorous rodents.” You huff in irritation, picking up the sheers to return to your work. The girl besides you threw a tantrum using her feet, and you wonder when exactly it was that you befriended such a child. “Are you even done with your station or will I have to do that for you again after the Housekeeper is done scolding you?”

This manages to scare her off, and you watch her retreating figure in slight humor before turning back to the rosebush. As you snap another set of leaves, you manage to take a glance at the window of the lord’s study, apprehensively watching his back disappear further into his room.

All you’ve wanted from this manor and its lords was a chance to toil quietly – in peace. Your simple servant status does not offend you, rather it provides you security in relations with the world. You were not interested in meddling with anyone’s affair, especially with those who lived in powerful and dangerous realities. So, it does not matter.

What you saw last night, near the clearing behind the manor does not matter. It had nothing to do with you, and you were planning on keeping it that way.

Lord Kim was annoyed.

Really though, when was he not? As the carriage decelerates into the gates of his estate, his exhaustion only multiplies. Faking a straight face and an empty gaze took its toll on him, even if he had been playing theater his whole life. It was hard enough to keep up with this perfect charade as the lord of the manor, but it had just gotten worse with time…and with the incidents.

He was reluctant to head into town, leer over dismembered bodies and chat with the commissioner, but did so anyway thanks to his uncle’s instigation. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice - any sign of weakness would invite his extended family to sink their teeth and claws into him, wringing him dry within a matter of minutes. His father died too early and Taehyung did not bear a successor yet, so whoever would be the first to either exhaust, kill or seduce him would eventually take his place as lord. After being unfortunate enough to witness countless amounts of cruelty from them since age eight, he knew he had to keep his farce strong.

Common folk would think he was protecting his blessed birthright. But in a deep, hidden corner of his mind, the reality loomed that neither this life nor this manor was blessed in the slightest.

“We’re home, my lord.” His thoughts are interrupted as the carriage stops, the door opening to reveal a flawlessly still Seung waiting for him to disembark.

As he exited his carriage, his shoulders drooping and head spinning, his eyes managed to fall on you in the distance. You stood far away, underneath the stone canopy of the servant’s quarters, next to that bumbling friend of yours with your head bowed as the housekeeper shouted herself silly at the both you. It seems that you have once again found trouble thanks to the petite nitwit by your side.

Yet still, even with your gaze downcast, he could sense the poise in your stance. An aura of composure and self-confidence that has never left your being no matter where you stood, or who stood over you. At first, he just happened to relate to you and the notion of keeping together a tough act. But over time, he came to realize that you weren’t acting at all – that you, a mere servant, were as perfectly assured as you seemed.

It made him envious.

“Master?” Seung pulled him back to reality.

He turned away, scuffing his expensive shoes amongst the gravel to head into the direction of his manor. Yet still, after the small sight of you, he couldn’t help but smile to himself for the first time that night.

��Dinner is served.”

A tray was lifted to reveal a large pot of thick, saucy white soup. He had wanted something light ever since the previous night, and the chef had delivered quite nicely. Taehyung sits patiently, waiting to be served as the maidservants walk into the room with the housekeeper. His eyes immediately land on you out if habit, and he wonders if you were to tend to him tonight. But to his surprise, it’s your friend who comes up to the table to oblige him his dinner instead. She takes a ladle and dips it into the soup – just a minute, she forgot to pick up his soup bowl?

Realizing she forgot the bowl; she looks startled for a bit before she hovers a hand underneath the ladle and walks closer to his direction. He has to try really hard not to burst out into a fit of laughter as he witnesses you shake in fear at her antics. Seems like he was not the only one distracted because the very next second your friend trips over her own foot on the way to his bowl and loses her grip on the soup-filled ladle, which flies towards him.

And in an instant, his whole head was wet and runny with his dinner. It was quiet for the first minute – which appeared to have stretched out into hours for the servants – until many different voices began shouting at once.

“Y-young Master! T-Towel- I shall fetch a towel!”

“MY LORD!”

“My lord! I-I-I apologize I-!”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Your face was stiff in horror as you watched the creamy soup drip off his hair. Seung ran back into the room with a towel in his arm as the housekeeper bellowed at your friend.

Before Seung could wipe his hair, Taehyung held his wrist and took the towel into his own hands. Then he stood up, surprising the whole room, even the shrieking housekeeper, shut. He lightly wiped the edges of his bangs for a minute in silence, feeling the wet soup drool into his shirt before he turned towards your friend.

“Well, what a mess…” He stated absentmindedly, watching the girl shrink under his gaze until she became as small as a pebble. She seemed to be trying her utter best not to cry.

“Lord…” A soft, but confident voice interrupted the dead silence of the room. You stepped up next to your friend, your head down as you cleared your throat, “It…It is my fault actually…”

Your friend turns to you in shock. Everyone in the room was now glancing at you; the servants with petrified eyes and Taehyung with amused ones.

“Explain yourself.”

“Th-that…I spoke about the dog beast who was in today’s paper to miss Kang and…and I seem to have frightened her which is why she’s been a bit distracted…b-but it is my fault, so I deserve the punishment.”

“N-no!” You friend suddenly cries in a strained voice and you elbow her to keep shut. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, before complying to your implication with her eyes squeezed shut tight. The servants all held their breath, waiting for the lord’s next move. They all seem to flinch when he sighs,

“…I see…” Taehyung holds in a chuckle, “You’re right miss ___, this indeed seems to be your fault…”

Seulgi quietly whines in her throat and you wish she could for once read your mind and jam her loud trap.

“…Well then,” Taehyung’s deep voice captures your full attention, “Meet me in my room an hour before midnight. I shall decide on your punishment by then.”

No one said anything further, but they all seemed to be thinking of the exact same thing. Even Seung appeared disturbed. But…it just couldn’t be… The lord has never even taken an interest in women much less bed with one. You, too astonished to remember your place, straightened your posture and stared at him straight in the eye for the very first time. There wasn’t any hint of jest or error, which left you further baffled at the Lord’s request.

No, perhaps it was just you who misunderstood.

“Y-yes Lord.” You manage to spit out.

At your approval the lord smiles, which startles you out of your insolence. You return to your humble position as the Lord begins to walk away from the room.

“Seung, prepare my bath.” Taehyung calls out in glee.

“…Yes, master…”

You sigh, standing in front of the thick wooden door of your Lord’s master chamber.

“Well, there goes the goal of keeping from trouble…” You whisper to yourself in defeat. And thanks to that gigantic fool Seulgi, you were late to your own punishment trial. She would not stop crying and apologizing, even though you told her it was now your problem, so she has nothing to be sorry about.

Still, the main dilemma for you in this moment was not her, but your current circumstances. Why were you called out to the Lord’s chamber an hour before midnight? The sensitive time frame would provide anyone the wrong impression, not just you. If he really were to ask you to…bed with him…what then?

You quickly shake your head no. It was not healthy for you to have such thoughts about your Lord. Since adolescence, you had been a reasonable girl who was guided by logic. There was no rationality in this idea and you’re sure Lord Kim had a good excuse for calling you out so late – an excuse that has nothing to do with...whatever you were just thinking. After pulling yourself together with a deep breath, you knock on the wood three times.

“Come in.” You immediately hear, which allows you to nervously turn the handle and push open the door.

There stood Lord Kim, by the end of the bed, in his sleepwear. His hair was a mess of slight, drooping curls, possibly the aftermath of his bath, and his stare was a lot more lax than normal. You gulped quietly under his gaze, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind you.

“You’re late, miss ___.” His voice was deep, but soft. It felt as if he was trying to jester you.

“I-I apologize, my Lord. I was held up by the housekeeper…”

It was a lie and you did feel guilty, but it would also be immensely satisfying to witness that old witch being chided.

“My, my, it seems like she is always after you and that friend of yours,” You could hear what sounded like mischief in his tone, “Which reminds me, she came to speak to me.”

“The housekeeper?”

“No, your friend. She told me you lied for her.”

That was the last straw. You were going to kill that idiot.

“I…I…S…” What were you to say now? Should you apologize for your dishonesty?

“I think it’s commendable.” You were interrupted from your thoughts by your Lord’s words. When you meet his eyes, you see him smiling gently in your direction. “You tried to protect your friend. It takes a good heart for that.”

“Thank you, sire…” You weren’t sure how to adequately respond - if he really was complimenting you. Your uncertainty stemmed from your upbringing; rather than a trait to compensate, behaving and caring for your younger siblings was regarded as your duty. It was also why maid work came so easily to you. And Seulgi, with her childish nature yet endearing personality, reminded you of those you tended to back home, so you considered looking after her a mere responsibility.

“I do like that nature of yours.” He proceeds casually, making you blush. “But I still have to punish you for your dishonesty.”

You nod your head, eyes falling to the floor. Even without gaping at him, you were aware of how strong his gaze was. It was only natural to get disciplined as a servant, but for it to come from Lord Kim himself made you fearful.

“Miss ___, sleep with me.”

Your head whirls up to meet his stare, shock painting your face.

“W-”

“Please don’t misunderstand me.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Although you’re quite beautiful, I only desire your lap.”

…

What?

“I-” Your Lord stutters, facing away from you and crossing arms in embarrassment, “I just…these days I have been having some trouble sleeping. Many peers have remarked on my dark circles and laxing attitude. This won’t do! As the Lord of the Kim manor, I have to appear fully rested and in the best condition at all times or else.”

He turns back to your direction,

“W…when I was a young lad…I would sleep on my mother’s lap. It was the most comforting of places to me and sleep was never a cause for concern back then. Which is why…I wanted to seek that same comfort once more…so that I may be able to rest heartedly and prepare myself to face the world of politics tomorrow. I just…I was wondering if I could borrow your lap for a few nights?”

It was quiet after his explanation. Your mind gradually processing all the information in his tale. He appeared to be immensely nervous, as if waiting for you to decline. You had to hide your amusement.

“I am ready for my punishment, my Lord.”

The young Lord smiles, which has your heart racing. Surely, he was a beautiful man.

“Thank you. Please sit on the bed, near my headboard.” He orders bashfully.

You swung another sheet over the clothing line.

Days had passed since your initial ‘punishment,’ and today would mark the first whole month of you lending your lap to your Lord. Your nightly time with the Lord had become an occurrence you cherished. There was so much you managed to learn about the man who rested on you – like how he scrunches his nose when he encounters a nightmare or how he moans only when he is in his deepest of slumbers. He was different than how you originally imagined; his cold exterior was nothing but a farce. In reality, he was so childlike and so innocent.

So different from other men.

Yes, that’s right, he was nothing like Wan. Remembering that scoundrel had you shivering in your legs from disgust. You usually didn’t have the most pleasant encounters with the men in town, but Wan had been a special case. Although you did not wish to think ill of the dead, there was nothing ever good about that man, and frankly you’re not very upset that he’s gone.

You remember the day much too clearly; it was a week before he would meet his demise. The housekeeper had sent you and Seulgi into town on a shopping errand – she wanted you to pick up meat and vegetables for dinner. It wouldn’t be the first time you went into town for a chore, but it would certainly be the most unpleasant.

As you and Seulgi stepped out of the farmer’s store carrying a load of groceries in a paper bag you held with both arms, you spotted Wan and his friends walking towards you from the opposite direction. They were cackling loudly, drunk in the middle of the day and out of their minds. You paid them no attention, ready to head back to the manor but your unwitty friend stared straight at them until Wan eventually made eye contact with her.

“Well, well, well,” He slurred in your direction, catching your gaze, “If it isn’t the whores of Kim manor!”

Because of his brash nature, everyone’s regard fell on the two of you. You tried to look unfazed by his disgusting behavior, taking Seulgi by the hand and leading her around the men. But Wan interjected your path as his friends laughed on.

“We need to get back. Leave us alone.” You stated calmly

“Why, we won’t keep you for long,” He grinned, and you recoiled from the alcohol in his breath, “Besides, they won’t miss you- them rich folk. Isn’t that right, fellas?”

His friends began to shout and woo, enclosing in on you almost completely, and you could feel Seulgi shaking behind you.

“We need…to get back.” You say once again, cursing at yourself when your voice cracks. Wan throws his head back and laughs as hard as he could while the townsfolk just observe the show. Anger begins to well up alongside the fear and you purse your lips, picking up your feet and tugging Seulgi along.

It didn’t matter if you had to bulldoze through him, you were going to get back to Kim manor no matter what. So you step close, ready to collide into him before he suddenly sidesteps. Thinking he was distracted; you weren’t prepared for his swift movement and you certainly weren’t prepared to feel a hard thwack on your backside. A breath of surprise leaves your throat and the feeling in your arms disappear, which lets the paper bag fall out of your grasp, spilling its contents along the street. You stare at the ground, paralyzed by shock as Seulgi meekly cries out your name.

“Wan, you mad lad!” Someone from his group yells, clasping their hand into his in jest while they all express their amusement at your humiliation. The group aggressively howls, making perverse remarks before eventually continuing down the road, fully disregarding your presence. They left, without any consequences. As if they didn’t just horribly disgrace you.

“___...” Seulgi steps up to your side, crying her eyes out in worry. If this was another time you would console her – scold her for being a crybaby – but at the moment you could think of nothing. You had been a maidservant for almost a decade now and even then, you had never been treated so awfully. What’s worse is that they all saw…they all saw and said nothing.

Not wanting to waste a minute further, you fall to your knees and start gathering the vegetables that fell about. Seulgi calls your name again but you focus on your task. You have to stay composed, you have to stay composed – you repeat it to yourself like mantra. But that sensation of emptiness returns, and you freeze. Before you knew it, you were trembling on the floor with tears streaming down your face and everyone still watched on.

“___.” Seulgi wrapped herself around you tightly. For a moment your fortitude was shattered as you cried in her arms on that dirty street.

Wan was most definitely scum, you conclude with a huff as you finish straightening the laundered bedsheet. But still, you halt, dying the way he did…it’s something you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Your mind wanders back to that paper, torn limbs and missing hearts. Could it possibly be related to what you saw that night on the previous full moon? With a frown, you stare up at the sky, watching the whiffs of white clouds swirl through the blue fabric.

“___!” You hear the familiar shouts of your name and turn to see Seulgi running towards you. “___, there you are!”

“What is it this time?” You sigh as she encloses in on you

“___, is it true that you are consummating with the Lord?”

Dropping the sheet out of your hands, you spin towards the loudmouthed idiot, “W-w-w-where did you hear that?”

“The other maidservants were whispering on it,” She replies with an innocent grin, “Is he as good as the rumors say?”

“A-a-a-as the w-what? What rumors- what- consummate- a-are you out of your mind?” You were blushing from head to toe.

Seulgi looks dejected at your response, “So it isn’t true?”

“Of course not!”

“Ohh,” She groans sullenly, “But I guess it would be impossible for a lord to take interest in maidservants like us.”

Your bashfulness vanishes in an instant. She was correct, there is absolutely no reason for you to find yourself special. Lord Kim had made it clear that he has no interest in you, he just requires a lap and is too proud to ask someone close. This was originally a punishment for you and nothing more – you shouldn’t become too attached.

“___?” Seulgi’s voice was low, “Are you alright? You seem down…”

“…I’m fine.” You mutter, composing yourself, “But more importantly…why are you here to ask me about baseless gossip? Are you done with your station? Remember you have to use the right tools- just scrubbing vigorously doesn’t work-”

“Oh my god- yes, yes, yes!” She responds by childishly covering her ears, “I have to use the coil sponge not the foam one, I get it!”

You begin to scold her as she laughs, prancing around the grass without a care. But soon the humor dies down and it was time to return to work. Before she leaves for her station, she makes a passive comment.

“Tonight’s another full moon. In the night of Samhain.” There was something dim about her tone as she gazes up towards the sky. You join her, wondering if she somehow had the same bad premonition as you did.

While you were chatting with your friend, Taehyung was having tea with a man he’d rather throw into a river.

“What brings you here?”

“My, do you sound cold.” His uncle chuckles, taking another sip of his tea, “Am I not allowed to visit my nephew out of fondness?”

“Well, after twenty-so years, consider me surprised.” Taehyung deadpans, which only further humors the elder.

“Perhaps I do have a motive.” He grins for a moment before all signs of amusement vanish from his expression. “I could not help but toil my mind over that paper from before. The townsfolk swore they heard the dog beast growl late into the night before fading behind Kim manor.”

“I thought we agreed the paper was nothing more than gossip fodder.”

“And perhaps that’s all it is.” His uncle’s smile was innocent but held such contempt. “However, as a gentleman who resides in the city, I find myself quite inclined by the mysteries of small towns such as this.”

“What nonsense,” Taehyung scoffs, “Are you saying you wish to investigate this supernatural rubbish the townsfolks gripe about?

“Indeed! The dog beast is nothing but rubbish!” The elder’s laughter was hearty, “But then, there is the question of who killed those men?”

The room was silent, drowning in the animosity the two men felt for one another. Neither one spoke – his Uncle because he had nothing more to say and Taehyung because he felt his throat clogging. He wanted to decline, desperate to splurge words of refusal, but then the fact that he had something to hide becomes too apparent.

“Surely, you won’t mind me staying? Just for one night?”

“Stay as you wish, uncle.”

You were already situated on his bed when your Lord swung the door open.

The sound made you jump, and you immediately rose to your feet to show respect. He began walking towards you in a fast, heavy pace with his feet striking the wood. His face had you unnerved – anger in his frown as well as what you could only describe as dismay in his eyes. Before you could open your mouth to react, you were taken into his arms in a sudden and swift motion.

It left your mind blank.

He squeezed himself onto you, his chest colliding with yours as his scent surrounded your senses. Your arms were hovering his back while your fingers curled into themselves, unsure of your position at the moment. Lord Kim hugged you tight, as if he was afraid.

“M-my Lo-”

“Tonight.” He interjected, muffling into neck as he laid his head on your shoulder, “Do not let me go tonight, whatever you do. Hold onto me as tight as you possibly can, do you hear me? Do not let me wander, I beg you.”

His tone broke your heart. He sounded so frightened – so desperate and you had no clue on how to help him. The Lord has always been the strength of this household. No one had ever witnessed him so distressed, not even at the previous Lord’s funeral. Hesitantly, you placed your fingers against his vertebrate and sat back on the mattress, guiding him gently down with you.

“I won’t let you go, my Lord.” You didn’t know what else to say.

He placed his head on your lap, arms still clinging onto you like a child. His mind seemed to be in the middle of a warzone against himself. The memory of a young man sitting in front of his father’s casket, immobile and silent as a rock, was still so vivid to you. You had only been at Kim Manor for a few months back then, and you remember being disturbed by his attitude – wondering if he had any feelings at all. But after learning about how often his extended family plotted against him, to the point of kidnapping him as an eight-year-old, you began to view that tearless boy with pity.

Watching him tremble in your lap has you reaching out to him. Your digits tread into his soft hair and you slowly move them about to calm his tremors. He seems to respond; his quivers coming to a slight halt at your touch.

You don’t know for how long you rubbed his head, listening to him breath.

You don’t know when you fell asleep.

His whole body was aching as he walked towards the grass, trying to ease the sharp pain in his head.

He had been taught that the best place to alter was out in an open, murky environment. Somewhere you could feel the air on your skin as the patches of hair slit through your pores like needles through fabric. Yet still, somewhere impenetrable through the naked eye. There was an area like so behind Kim manor – a clearing that was connected to a large acre of uninhabited woods. And among those acres laid several swamps and bogs, which formed a thick layer of fog around the grounds of the manor – most prominent on the night of the full moon.

It was the perfect place for him, who had been poisoned with this modification.

With his mind as cloudy as the fog, he thinks back to the first time he witnessed his father alter. He was far too young, a month away from ten, when he was brought out to this clearing and visually counseled on his dreadful future. More than anything he wanted to look away, he did not wish to see his beloved father become this monster, but Seung held his hand tight and told him to hold witness for his very own sake. And he witnessed – witnessed his father thrash about as if he wanted to claw his own brains out and he cried.

He cried along with his father. But there was never any other option for him than to tolerate the dread from his place as heir to Kim manor.

It was always painful, every moment his heart pumped blood into his body, he moaned in agony. While the night raged on, he noticed his panting grew deeper by the second – tone sinking to a gruff growl which rips through his chest. His eyes and sense of smell grew keener, large nails grotesquely rip through his skin and his teeth began to enlarge. The image of the moonlight basking on his skin was the only thing offering him refuge.

If he had a choice, he would have chosen to stay inside with the warm you, stare enchantedly at your resting face like the many instants he’s done before. But his changes weren’t just physical. In this state he was bigger, louder, hairier, teethier – more aggressive. His desire for blood was intense but ever since he met you, so was this raw lust. As a rational man with a sense of morals, this perverse craving ashamed him, yet the beast inside did not care for his customs. It wanted to possess you, every ounce of you, thoroughly. To mate with you in a way that wasn’t meant for humans. Being around you in this condition would break the mental leash he chains this deviant with.

Although every time he alters, he feels it loosening. There was something wrong with him – his father and grandfather were able to restrain the beast from rampaging throughout town. But he, on the other hand, had been consuming the town as his sole hunting grounds for some months now. Which is why the “dog beast,” once a mere legend mentioned every decade, was printed in previous months paper.

It is as if the creature wishes to mock him and the slipping control.

Drenched in sweat and agony, he knew the transformation was almost complete when he suddenly heard a small noise. He immediately spun around and met the petrified eyes of his uncle.

Neither of the men spoke – both gaping at each other with pure, unfiltered fear. The chill of the night establishes its presence in the worst moment possible. Taehyung was afraid for reasons too many, none he could not lucidly list. He recalls what occurred the last time the beast was enraged by someone and he desperately wishes not to hurt anyone ever again in this form.

Opposite from him stood his uncle, wondering just one thought out of an infinite. How does a normal man, one untouched by the knowledge of this being, react in this situation?

A normal man would run. A normal man would cower in fear. A normal man would beg for his life. But he, the rightful heir to the manor, declined to let this young bastard trample him in such a way. It wasn’t that his uncle was a man without fear. And it wasn’t that he held great courage either, but rather, the very oxygen that burned through him was fueled purely by his stubbornness. He has spent the majority of his life trying to crush first his brother and now his nephew, so when this chance has presented itself so deliciously, he refuses to let it slip through his fingers.

“Y…” His voice was hoarse, throat achingly dry, “What are you?”

Taehyung stands there quietly, unresponsive to the question. Although he was the larger one, he felt so scared and so small. No one had ever spoken to him in this form which is why he was unsure of what to do. He had been a fool, he thought if he could sleep in your arms and you held him tight, he would be able to stop himself from altering tonight.

But now he understood, there was nothing that could.

“You killed those men.” His uncle continues, all on his own. As if he’s suddenly reached enlightenment.

“You do not…understand…” Taehyung shakes his head like a child about to be punished. He didn’t mean to kill anyone. He’s never hurt someone in his whole life. That night, on the previous full moon, it all occurred without any of his own authority.

Taehyung was a despicable man. Wan had hurt you, and he saw it. But rather than step in and intervene – rather than protect you from that scum – he instead just stood by and watched it transpire. No matter how many times he thinks back to it, no matter how often he racks his brain for an answer, he still does not understand why he did nothing. Perhaps he was paralyzed from his own traumas and forced himself to retain his composure – however the beast did not care for his pathetic reasons. It taunted him the whole week leading up to the full moon. Hurt him with insults he knew he merited.

“You’re weak.” It growled, “Weak and puny. I shall protect her myself.”

And then, for the very first time, Taehyung took the life of another human being without any cognizance. What’s worse is that he enjoyed it. That thought alone petrifies him.

“No, I do not understand you. And I do not wish to.”

“Please…” Taehyung begged as he held out his deformed hand to plead with the elder. Did this man think Taehyung desired this life? Did he think he desired this hundred year old curse - originating from a place long before his time - that was forced upon him and on any man who dared to reign over Kim manor. Perhaps despicable, but Taehyung was still softhearted. The reason why he tried so hard to keep his title as Lord was so that no one else would further suffer this abomination, even if it concerned his bastard uncle.

And it’s also the reason he made peace with dying alone, without a bride and without children. He was meant to stand alone. That is...until he met you.

“How dare you. How dare you grovel to me, you servant of the devil.” The disgust and venom in his uncle’s tone made him recoil.

“No-” It was only a matter of time before the beast consumed him whole and he was certain, like before, it would not spare any mercy. The adversity is something Taehyung direly yearns not to repeat.

“I shall bring the priest and the commissioner. I shall tell them what you did. You shall be brought to justice for what you did to those men. You shall suffer in hell when they burn you at the stake!”

“Please- uncle- please listen TO ME-” He clasped his claws against his mouth when his voice became utterly inhumane. The beast was crawling out of his throat and his sanity was slipping. No longer was he able to see what was in front of him and once again he began to fade, like he did all those times before.

“Run!”

Taehyung with the last of his conscious tried his hardest to warn the man and take a dash for the woods but it was far too late.

The last thing he heard was his uncle’s shrill scream, and then all silence for him.

You woke up to a thump.

Or at least you were certain that was what you heard as you sit up on the bed. Your vision was groggy, mind still half asleep as you look in the direction of the sound’s origin. For a minute it was soundless, and then there was another thump. You weren’t sure what it was, but you stood up nonetheless, slowly walking towards the door. Still unaware of your surroundings, you stop in front of the wood, distracted by your own dizziness.

In the tranquility of the room, you caught a noise so faint, you thought perhaps you were still in your nightmare from before. It was immensely faint, but you heard it. The rapid breathing behind the door. Unhurdled by emotions such as caution and reasoning for once, you swung the door open in confusion. And as soon as you did, your own awareness came back to you at full force.

A clothless man stood before you, covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Your breath was stuck in your throat, eyes widening into saucers once you saw the length of his fangs. It took you a full minute realize that it was Lord Kim.

“W…what…” You step back in horror. Perhaps you were still dreaming.

The fear had snuck up around your waist and grabbed you by the throat, leaving you without the ability to move. He gazed at you with eyes that were a bright yellow, yet darker than any man’s you have ever looked into. Your orbs travel down his body as you absorb in his abnormal height, his ripping muscles, his long fingernails and…and his hand.

There was a heart. In his hand, he gripped a fleshy and large organ and you knew it was a heart.

Missing hearts.

“Nooo…please.” You quiver, crying without him ever speaking a word. All signs of alarm were raised in your mind and you don’t even remember what it was for that you came here. Only Seulgi’s words about the dog beast reigned in your ear. The world was spinning as your Lord…as he began to walk towards you. Your life started to flash by your eyes, and you closed them shut tight, so you would no longer have to witness this terror.

“Shhh.” You heard a deep growl before you felt cold and abnormally large fingers on your face. A gasp escapes your throat as he caresses your cheek.

The next thing you knew, you were floating. Your eyes flew open and you saw yourself being carried by him. There was no moment for you to react, as you were subsequently placed upright onto the bed. No longer restrained by his arms, you shifted about in a frenzy.

“Ah…uh…”

“You are mine.” He states as if it was a fact.

Then he comes over you – wrapping his enormous, dirtied limbs around you as you squeak. He lays his head in your lap and you feel the tears leave your eyes as he yet again resembles your Lord. What you had thought of as just a hallucination from the fog was actually reality. That night, on the previous full moon, you woke up and strolled the grounds to clear your head of Wan. It was then that you saw the most horrid of things – you saw a giant dog shrink into a small human who resembled the Lord.

And you had told yourself lies. Told yourself it wasn’t true and told yourself to forget. But all logic was failing you now as a creature from hell winds down on your very own body. You muffle your cries and fear – too afraid to awaken the beast.

Taehyung laid peacefully in your arms; his mind detached from every other thing that did not concern you. The heart he held in his hand had stopped beating a long time ago, but he could still feel it slipping through his fingers. He is not sure, even as a beast, as to why he takes the hearts of victims. Perhaps it has something to do with how it’s his heart that hurts more than anything else each time he alters.

Well, it did not matter now, he thinks as his perception starts to drift. Nothing mattered at the moment – not the heart, nor his uncle’s body, not even your reaction. For this moment, more than anything, he just wants to rest.

To sleep, in your lap, under this cold, beautiful moonlight.

________

A/N: Okay so I really hate this I apologize. I had intended for it to be longer but well :) October has officially been 2020′s busiest month for me...but I hope you enjoy this garbage lmk what you thought!

#bts #kim taehyung #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #taehyung x reader

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westywrites · 3 years

Text

THE SPHAERA

We'll start with a bit of a TL;DR of the following little expositional prose about the Gods in the world of Cypress Ascending

Basically:

There used to be many gods, but they were eradicated for the sake of "progress" by the Sphaera and their God-touched worshippers

The Sphaera are the 6 gods who are currently worshipped - Life, Death, and the Stages (the Stages being Infancy, Adolescence, Adulthood, and Old Age)

The God-touched are mortals they give powers and missions

Mortals who still know of the old gods call them the Forgotten, and they believe the Forgotten Gods are not truly gone

The Sphaera are so-called because they are usually represented as a sphere, or more metaphorically, the globe. Life below, Death above, and the Stages on the middle plane. Something like this (a simplistic armillary sphere with stars of different colours labelling the 6 gods):

The easiest way I can think of to explain the Sphaera is with a bit of prose, so the other day on the bus to work, I wrote this. It continues under the cut (about 450 words total)

The Story of the Sphaera

Long ago, the world was ruled by many gods. There was a god for each thing, no matter how insignificant. And the people worshipped whichever god they pleased.

But a god of songbirds does not help humanity. And a god of rainbows should not be more beloved than a god of youth.

So, the Sphaera was formed - six gods united under a common goal, worshipped by those who sought the progress of humankind.

At the foundation, in shadow and soil, is Life - a goddess named Haia. The mortal plane consists of the Stages: Infancy, Adolescence, Adulthood, and Old Age - or Taphla, Hedaph, Raishadin, and Eadim, respectively. Above it all, watching with light and clarity, is Death - Yarham - a benevolent god rarely seen by mortals.

It was not hard to make the mortals believe that the Sphaera were the only true gods. After all, what is there that cannot be associated with Life, Death, or one of the Stages? Their sphere is enough to encompass the whole world.

And so the Sphaera chose their heroes; they granted them powers, gave them missions. Select few mortals were deemed worthy of meeting the gods, of becoming God-touched. And these God-touched worshippers would do anything for their gods.

Thus began the Eradication. The God-touched faithfully followed their missions and systematically destroyed all who would not submit to the true power of the Sphaera, all who would not renounce their feeble "gods" of unimportant affairs. Humankind could only progress in a world with organized rule, dictated by the chosen and most powerful few. Worship of other gods would only hold humanity back. The Sphaera said so, and the God-touched believed.

Centers of worship were destroyed, replaced by temples to the Sphaera. And soon enough, the many gods became few. The Sphaera were proud of the blood on their hands and the weapons of their God-touched warriors.

Within a few generations, the old gods were unknown to mortals - living or dead, it did not matter. All that remained was the Sphaera.

But at the edges of society, there are those who protest the cruelty of the God-touched. There are those who believe knowledge should not be caged, should not only be seen by the few the gods deem worthy. There are those who believe that the progress of humanity should not leave behind songbirds, rainbows, or any "insignificant" thing that shares the natural world. These resilient, dangerous few whisper of the Forgotten. They dare suggest that perhaps, it is time for old gods to be remembered.

Maybe, they whisper, the Forgotten Gods never disappeared entirely. And maybe, just maybe, they did not die without a plan.

Taglist: If you’d like to be tagged in (likely infrequent) updates about this WIP - including mood boards, excerpts, and worldbuilding - please let me know and I’ll add you to the list!

(@lady-redshield-writes I know you didn't ask to be tagged, but you seemed so interested in that other Cypress Ascending post, I thought I'd tag you here - this is the only time I'll do this without your express permission, so if you'd like to be tagged in the future, let me know! But if you don't like being tagged, don't worry! It won't happen again unless you say~~)

#that thing that's sort of like an astrolabe? the twist rings sphere thing?#west's words #writeblr #amwriting #writers on tumblr #world building #fantasy #cypress ascending #the sphaera #I didn't even know what an armillary sphere was called officially before this #I was just like #because I knew that's how the Sphaera are shown #with armillary spheres irl they use the zodiac/constellations as marking points #in this world it would be the different gods as like the main constellations and then some of the most legendary God-touched #who have constellations named after them #oh btw #Yarham (god of death) is pronounced like YAR-em #Haia (goddess of life) is pronounced HIGH-uh #Taphla (god of infancy) is TAFF-luh #Hedaph (adolescence) is HEAD-aff #Raishadin (adulthood) is RAY-shah-din #and Eadim (old age) is AID-im #all have emphasis on the first syllable #making the language more so resemble a germanic language than a latin one huh?#interesting... I did not consider that yet..#I actually ended up using an Arabic to English dictionary to help create the names though #since I've decided the story takes place somewhere decidedly Mediterranean #but a specific vibe of mediterranean that's not really greek or italian #so maybe i should've been looking at turkish for inspo? or.. what language do they speak in Montenegro???#oh well

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donttouchmeimwriting · 3 years

Text

Argo ch. 1

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2897 words, 3rd person POV

This is not following canon closely at all and I'm kinda blending bits of Jason's personality between original movies, the remake, and fan versions so this is pretty solidly AU. I hope you enjoy!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

There was no pleasure in killing. It was a task, like any other, but one that had to be done adequately. Even if it took several tries and the body was mangled by the end of it, the life had to be gone from their eyes.

"We can't have them coming back to hurt us, can we?"

Mother was right. Mother was always right. She was the only one who cared. She was the only one who knew kindness. It was her idea and her decision to take revenge against the wicked counselors of Camp Crystal Lake, and what she wanted, she would get.

She had nearly died herself trying to punish the ones responsible for her son's drowning, and so the pair needed to live in hiding, deep in the woods surrounding the camp. It took over ten years of teaching and training, but it was finally time. Mother knew best, and Jason Voorhees was willing to serve her every command.

Four years ago, Jason began his killing spree. He picked off the counselors one by one, catching each in a deadly infraction. He worked carefully at first, making the disappearances look like believable shirking of duties or horrible accidents. That year, authorities ruled the camp could reopen for the next season with some extra safety precautions. Jason was praised so lovingly that year.

The second year, Jason continued his streak, but allowed himself to get a little sloppy. The murders were attributed to one of the staff members, and no one was the wiser to his presence (or, more importantly, his mother's). The camp was forcibly closed for the following season, and Jason's mother prayed it would stay closed and they could be free of the evil of the counselors who knew no compassion.

But, as an investigation cleared the camp of outside interference, further cementing the falsely accused staff member as the murderer, Crystal Lake reopened for another season, forcing Jason out of hiding once more. He did not want to go back, having enjoyed the peaceful summer with his mother last year, but he knew he had a job to do. He dusted off his mask, sharpened his machete, and set out for Camp Crystal Lake once more.

This year already felt different for Jason. Perhaps it was the time off, or perhaps he was growing tired of killing, but this year he decided to approach things in a different way. He spent the first two weeks of camp watching from the shadows, identifying the counselors and their habits. There were eight of them: four men, four women. Their ages were uncertain, but it seemed the youngest was about seventeen and the oldest was about twenty-five, the majority being roughly twenty-one. College age, Mother had said, was the worst age for most folks. Leftover rebellion from their adolescence and newfound freedom created a sinful breeding ground for debauchery and cruelty that needed to be punished. Jason was of this age now as well, and he had promised to not let himself lose sight of his task.

During the weeks Jason watched the camp, he noticed a few important details. First, he noticed that ghost stories about the murders he and his mother had committed were being told at nightly bonfires, embellished to near supernatural lengths. This excited Jason to some degree, seeing that his hard work had noticeable impact years later. Second, he noticed there were no hikes on the outer trails and strict curfews were imposed on both the campers and the counselors, keeping the grounds barren between the hours of 9PM and 7AM. This rule would make Jason's work difficult if he planned on making any of these deaths appear accidental, but he could improvise if needed.

The third detail, and the most curious of all, Jason noticed that out of all eight counselors, one stood out as unique. The first distinctive feature was that he was shorter than the rest of his coworkers, somewhere close to five feet tall. Jason almost mistook him for a camper at first, but the back of his shirt clearly read 'COUNSELOR'. What truly set him apart from the rest, however, was how attentive he was to the campers. He made sure every voice was heard and no one felt left out. He kept a bright and supportive demeanor no matter the circumstances, and helped the campers with every activity. Furthermore, he did not seem interested in sneaking off to sacrifice his job duties in favor of more lecherous behavior. Jason found himself growing fascinated with this counselor, and opted to watch him a little more closely to see if he had any damning secrets that would confirm his impending death with the rest.

Another week dragged on, and Jason regrettably had lost track of time. He followed this seemingly kind counselor as he engaged the children in their activities and lent a listening ear to those who had problems or concerns. What could he be hiding? Mother was certain that anyone who took a job at this camp was a bad person, and Mother was always right...right?

"Alright, everyone!" the strange counselor called one morning, catching the attention of his group, "It's Friday tomorrow, and that means s'mores night!"

He allowed for a brief cheer from the kids before quieting them down again to continue,

"S'mores are really nice, aren't they?" Whoops and words of agreement rose from the group. "Do we agree that nice kids deserve to have nice treats?" More affirmations rang out. "That's right! But it's come to my attention, as well as the other counselors, that there's been some of you who haven't been as nice as they should be."

Jason leaned forward from his seated vantage point on a log, listening curiously to the counselor's teaching moment. Would he punish the whole group of kids for a minority's bad behavior? Would he revoke s'mores privileges? Would he try to drown some of the children in the lake? That last one was unlikely, but the thought still crossed Jason's mind. The counselor continued,

"Here at Camp Crystal Lake, we value honesty, teamwork, and what else?"

"Accountability," the children chorused.

"Exactly right," he praised, "And if one of us is being picked on, it's up to the rest of us to help them feel included, right?"

"Right!"

The counselor clapped his hands together, smiling kindly at the group.

"I don't want anyone to feel like they're in trouble, so we're gonna make this into a game, okay?" he proposed, "We're all detectives looking for clues on whodunnit. We have to solve the mystery of who's being a bully and have them apologize by tomorrow night, or all the s'mores will have to go away until next week. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes," the kids answered, somewhat anxious now that the promised snacks might be withheld.

"Awesome! Here are the rules of the game: you can't force someone to give you a clue if they don't want to. That would defeat the purpose of the game! You also can't point any fingers until the bonfire is lit tomorrow night. If the person who was mean wants to come forward on their own, they have to come to me or one of the other counselors so it doesn't spoil the end of the game. Once the person is revealed, they have to apologize to the person they hurt and will spend the weekend making it up to them because, here at Camp Crystal Lake, we want everyone to have a great time. If one of us isn't having a good time, we all have to work together to help them so we can leave here at the end of the summer with the best memories and the best friends. So let me hear it from you guys: are we ready to go out and have a great day?"

The kids burst into another round of cheers and the counselor shepherded them off to their first activity of the day. Jason propped his elbow on his thigh and rested his chin in his hand. He frowned in contemplation. This counselor was so dedicated to the kids...could he be an exception? Could Jason's mother have been wrong? He would have to catch this counselor alone to find out more. He still had plenty of time to dispatch the whole staff, he figured, so he had the time to learn what he could about this one counselor.

Jason stalked the counselor over the next few hours, watching him be the perfect role model for the kids as usual. Finally, sometime near midday, the counselor took a break after passing his group to another and announced he was going to check the nearest hiking trail for debris before he took the kids on it later. One of the female counselors offered to walk with him, and Jason detected signs of flirtation in her body language, but he refused, claiming it would be a short trip. Jason felt his heart beat faster with anticipation, following him just out of sight as he walked the trail, moving any large sticks or rocks from the path. Jason flexed his fingers on the hilt of his machete, wondering if he should kill him now despite having no evidence yet that he was a bad person. He resolved he would wait until they were far enough away from the camp where screams would not carry, then he would decide.

The counselor moved at a brisk and energetic pace, enjoying his time alone. He seemed so full of life and vigor...Jason almost felt bad that he was planning on murdering him. The counselor stopped at a fallen branch blocking the path and looked it over, his hands on his hips.

"That's a big one," he commented to himself, "I hope I can get it out of the way on my own."

With that he bent down to lift one end of the branch, stepping backwards to drag it off the trail. From Jason's position, he could see another, smaller branch on the ground behind the counselor, twisted and gnarled, but big enough to pose a hazard. Jason watched as the counselor caught his foot on the hidden branch and tumbled backwards, rolling through the leaves and sticks as he fell down the slope. He went over a slanted rock near the bottom and crumpled on the other side of a rotting log, his ankle caught in a hole in the log. Jason slowly approached, minding his steps down the slope so he would not fall as well.

The counselor grunted in pain as he pushed himself up on his elbows and attempted to free his leg from the log. He had dirt on his face and debris in his hair and, as Jason drew closer and could see more clearly, cuts and scrapes all over his arms and legs. Unsuccessful in his attempts, the counselor fell back on his elbows, breathing hard. He craned his neck to look over the log, having heard the approaching footsteps, and his eyes met Jason's, mere feet away.

"Oh my gosh, you startled me!" he greeted, "Thank goodness someone else was on the trail! I'm okay, by the way, I'm just a little stuck. Can you help me out?"

Jason froze as the counselor addressed him. Oddly enough, he didn't seem afraid, despite Jason's hulking stature, out of place hockey mask, and freshly sharpened blade in hand. He tilted his head to one side, puzzled. He hadn't been this close to another person (aside from his mother) in almost two years, but he distinctly remembered every person he had been this close to fearing him on sight. He looked down at his machete, wondering what was holding him back from stabbing this man and walking away. It was all so easy before...

"Ooh, yes, you came prepared!" the counselor said, noticing the machete as well, "If you're careful, you can probably hack around the opening so I can get my foot loose. If you want, I can get you some free food back at camp for helping me out. It's not much, but Miriam makes a mean chicken salad."

He smiled up at Jason, and Jason felt his heart stop for a moment. There was not a single flicker of fear in the counselor's eyes. All he could see was the same gentle expression shown to the kids back at camp. An unfamiliar feeling came over Jason and, for the first time in years, he felt compelled to help. He raised the machete, his eyes focused on the counselor's trapped leg. His breathing hitched, one part of his mind urging him to kill as Mother instructed, the other begging him to show mercy, just this once. He glanced back at the counselor's face, at that warm smile, and made his choice.

The machete swung down and struck the wood of the log, sending a spray of splinters into the air. The counselor winced, shielding his eyes from the shower, and tried to wiggle his leg loose.

"Still a little stuck," he announced, "I think one more whack on the other side oughta do it."

Jason wrenched the blade out of the wood and swung again on the other side of the counselor's leg. As predicted, the counselor was able to maneuver himself out of the weakened structure. He brushed the splinters and dirt off of his skin and shakily stood up, clearly in some pain from the fall.

"Thank you," he said to Jason, his smile returning, "Really, I would have been in some trouble if you weren't here, so thanks a lot. My name's Lijah."

He extended a hand to Jason to shake, but Jason was too caught off guard by his own response to the situation as well as Lijah's genuine friendliness to return the gesture. Lijah lowered his hand, unfazed by the lack of reaction.

"Not a talker, huh? That's okay," he noted, then became visibly nervous, "Oh, cripes, I'm sorry, are you deaf?"

He made some strange hand movements with that last sentence, gesturing to Jason and to his own ear. Jason shook his head, slowly coming out of his confusion.

"Ah, gotcha," Lijah said, relaxing, "That works for me. I'm not very good at signing."

He laughed at this, and Jason felt a pang of....something. Lijah's laugh was light and pleasant sounding...it reminded Jason of dappled sunlight through trees. He couldn't explain it, but he wanted to stay near Lijah for a while longer.

"In all seriousness, what is your name?" Lijah asked, "I'd like to know who my hero is."

Hero. That wasn't a word Jason thought would ever be associated with him, but it felt surprisingly good to hear Lijah call him that. He looked around himself for a moment, then up the slope at the trail. He motioned for Lijah to follow him and made his way up to the flatter part of the forest floor. Lijah had some slight difficulty following him, being so much smaller and having mild injuries, but he made it up the slope all the same. Jason waited until Lijah had caught his breath and stood next to him. He held his machete out to the ground and drew the letters of his name into the dirt. Lijah read the name aloud once he had finished and looked up at Jason brightly.

"Jason!" he chirped with delight, "Like the Argonaut in Greek mythology!"

Jason tilted his head, frowning. His mother had told him many stories as he grew up, but they were all from the Bible. He wasn't familiar with the character Lijah was referencing, and Lijah could see his bewilderment.

"He's a hero in his story," he explained, "well, for the most part. He goes on adventures with his crew and they see and do all kinds of amazing things together."

Jason nodded, liking the sound of this hero with the same name as himself. And the fact that he was not entirely virtuous...that struck a chord with him. He gestured to Lijah, who seemed to understand that he was asking about his name.

"I was originally supposed to be Elijah," he said, emphasizing the 'e' at the beginning, "but my little sister had trouble saying the whole name, so I changed it to just Lijah. By itself, I don't think it means anything special, but it's pretty special to me."

Jason stared at Lijah. How was he so good-natured? Even with an intimidating stranger like Jason, he managed to keep his upbeat attitude and unselfish way of speaking. Was he stupid or genuinely that benevolent?

"Hey, walk with me back to camp," Lijah encouraged, setting off in that direction, "I owe you lunch."

Jason felt a small stab of panic and shook his head. He looked over his shoulder and back at Lijah, who nodded.

"You've got somewhere to be - that's fine! Don't worry about it, big guy! But, if you find yourself back this way, come find me at counselor cabin 5 and I'll get you a meal to pay you back for helping me. Thanks again!"

He waved goodbye before turning and walking back towards the camp, the pep in his step dampened only slightly by the soreness in his legs. Jason watched him go and wondered wildly what had just happened. Had he somehow accidentally made a friend?

#argo fic #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #canon/oc #slashers #slasher fanfiction #friday the 13th fanfiction

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rosecolouredmind · 4 years

Text

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Two:

The Morningstar

For a moment, you panicked.

You were in an unfamiliar place and everything was the color of blood. As if the chilling red wasn’t enough, there was an uncomfortable cold seeping into your skin, like bugs needling their way into your pores. Everything felt...wrong. You felt your body getting smaller and the space around you getting larger, daunting. A persistent, grating ringing in your ears was making your head throb; the crown of your head to the bottom of your toes, a...feeling. A wrong feeling. Your head, your chest, your bellybutton; discomfort clenched tight and refused to let you go, but it was deeper than that. This atmosphere, this place. The screaming red, the screaming silence, the screaming sounds. Hopelessness. Despair. Doom. You can’t do this.

You can’t do this.

Your senses were going haywire as you tried to find your bearing, crashing to your knees in a dry heave. Your chest felt as if it was caving in, your tears twinkling like raindrops on their way down. You can’t do this, why did they send you here? Why did it feel like this? A gasp, a clutch of the chest, and a desperate look up --

And there he was.

Your eyes landed on a figure a few feet in front of you, studying you in surprise and interest. His appearance was handsome, but his bearing—

He stood as if he stood before the world, lying beneath his feet. He emitted a dark dominance, a dark arrogance, all-encompassing. It was encompassing you as it encompassed the world, it seemed; and deeper, an inherent cruelty you’d never want to experience beckoning beneath the darkened irises staring at you. He began rotating around you, his figure seeming to blend into the lengthened shadows, towering over you. You felt like a prey animal surrounded by not just one, but a pack of violent predators stalking you just behind the darkness. Eyes glued to your trembling figure, searching for the best way to devour it.

You were terrified.

“And who might you be?” he drawled, circling you.

Your heart would have just about fallen out of your chest if it were possible, a startled gasp ripping from your throat. Your breath began to quicken, sharp inhalations through your nose causing you to go lightheaded. You were completely lost, you lost your thoughts, you lost your senses, you lost your damn mind coming here --

“Answer me girl,” a sharp demand pierced the air. Your body began to tremble as you started to mutter.

Fate is with me.

You nearly cracked under the pressure, the rising pressure;

Yes, for a moment, you panicked.

But then you started to focus on your core, the small area of your body where your fate lies within you. Stelas carried their fate, their star, with them at all times. It was inherently a part of them, and like destined, it began to help you now.

“GIRL.”

You slowly began to circulate your energies, every rotation lessening the burden placed on your body by another fold.

You felt as if you could breathe again.

“I am Fate coming to warn you,” you breathed. You took your time rising to your feet, and by the time you came to your full height you were back to yourself again. Your powerful, fates-blessed self.

And you were here to fulfill your destiny.

“I, Stela (Y/n), consular of the fates, have come to take control of my domain, Lucifer Morningstar. And that begins with you.”

For a moment, the man just gaped at you. Then, a booming laugh rumbled through his body as he threw his head back, the shadows dancing around flaring up with the rise of his voice, reminiscent of hellfire.

How fitting, your eyes could have rolled right out of your head.

“Fate? What does fate have to do with me? And of all things, it comes to me in the form of some weak little girl?” he sneered.

Any intimidating effect Lucifer had had gone out the window the moment you clocked the irritatingly childish lilt in the man’s voice.

“Not even God himself could control me, let alone you dastardly little “fate” slaves.”

The man is a child.

Biting back the urge to comment on his little jab at your occupation, you continued along your explanation.

“I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but you have a fated star now, Morningstar. You have a soul. That means Fate has officially locked onto you, whether you like it or not. This is causing problems, you are causing problems. And it is my job to fix it,” you replied firmly.

“You are clearly mistaken, there’s no possible way for the fates to contain me or my existence. I am simply above all! I am Lucifer Morningstar!”

“Is that what you’d like to name your very real star of fate, then? The Morningstar? It would only be proper,” you mocked. The aghast look on his face had you sniggering, the now chaotic strands of shadows that were twirling about wildly behind Lucifer amusing you greatly.

“You dare mock me, you filthy little girl?”

The rage in his voice was clear, but that only made you even more certain that Earth’s resident dark lord had even less maturity than you did, and that was saying something.

He continued to bellow and whoop at you for a good minute, unable to get closer due to your conflicting energies.

Earth had now become your domain, after all, so even after just arriving you were able to exert a small amount of influence.

But at some point, his rage had melted into stone cold fury, and you were reminded of why the man in front of you had earned the title of the Devil himself. He threw a mean tantrum when he wanted to, and you felt a small bit of that fear from earlier seeping into you again.

“No.” he hissed, his form warping above you, the beautiful face he displayed earlier having been replaced with the head of a goat. The Baphomet, you realized. The conceptualization of his status here on Earth, and your reminder that this man is still a celestial, and this situation is not normal.

This man, this being represented everything it meant to not have a soul.

“I am the Dark Lord! Satan, the DEVIL; your kind shall have NO control over me!” he spat viciously, the rank saliva sputtering from his mouth and spattering onto your face. The goat head was grotesque, his figure was grotesque, the surroundings grotesque. Lucifer was truly angry, and you felt it was about time to calm down the situation.

You close your eyes for a moment, reminding yourself of who you are and why you are here. The very existence of Lucifer’s should be nonexistent soul was why you were sent here, meant to commune with Satan himself. A figure you’d only heard nightmares about, stuff of fiction as far as you’d been concerned. Earth was a fairytale to you and should have stayed as one, and yet now you were here.

As a celestial, it should have normally been impossible for the fates to grasp his tangible sould, yet here he was. And as somewhere chock full of them, Earth should have been impossible for the Constellation Map to grasp and assign, yet here you were.

Fate was truly cruel at times indeed.

“How about we figure out how this happened then? This situation is clearly not working out for either of us,” you finally suggested. “You are the Devil. But where has the Devil found himself a soul?”

As curses were rained down upon you, it took you a few moments to realized that they weren’t directed at you, but at someone else. The current bane of Lucifer’s existence, and according to him, the real cause of all of this, the —

“Fucking witches! Traitors, all of them! They dared to defy their god and trap me here; those bitches! I’ll kill them all!” the ungodly screeching continued as you stared dumbly for a moment, your brows furrowing.

“Trap? This isn’t hell?”

The deeply offended look on the man’s face said all you needed to know, the interruption clearly not welcome and apparently very off mark.

“Of course it isn’t, you bloody idiot! This is merely the mindscape of the poor fool they stuck me in here with; I’ve only merely tampered with it. My underworld is much more impressive and intimidating.”

Despite the childish delivery, you couldn’t help but shiver at the notion that this place was merely an illusion Lucifer put on. You could only imagine what the poor souls actually stuck in hell must be going through.

It took quite a while for you to calm Lucifer down enough to extract the full story out of him, and if you were to be honest you were quite impressed with the sheer balls on the Greendale coven along with their sense of self-preservation.

“That explains the appearance of your star. Your soul must be entangled with the person you’re trapped here with. His star…” you trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. In the star chart, alongside the Dark Lord’s fated star was a dim, dying one. The Morningstar was obviously feeding off of the energy of the lesser one, weakening it’s owner’s connection to their fate.

What this meant for that person, you don’t know.

After coming upon this thought, you finally register the faint sound you realize had faded into the background this entire time. It sounded like light sobbing, the kind a person lets out once they’ve exhausted themselves past emotional intensity and fallen into a pure hopelessly pitiful state of despair.

Your eyes wander around the space, trying to find the source of the noise. Finally, they land upon a small figure hunched in a far corner. Watching carefully, you observe an adolescent boy rocking back and forth, hands over his head and mumbling to himself. He did not seem well, and it wasn’t until a closer look into his core did you notice the same odd split in his soul you clocked in Lucifer when you first confirmed with your own eyes it’s existence. It was the most miserable soul you’d ever seen.

The horror is quick to spread through you, the dizzying effect ignored as you twirl yourself around to face Lucifer again.

“Is that him? The boy you’re trapped with? Why is he like that? Have you been torturing him this entire time?”

Your anger was prominent, and Lucifer’s attention snapped over to the boy. His eyes narrowed and he let out a long, drawn out hiss. The boy’s body shuddered violently, and his already small frame seemed to shrink into itself even more. Rage crept through your veins as you watched the scene, intense pity and disgust shocking your core.

“Ah, yes, him. The bloody idiot volunteered to be the acheron, for my insolent daughter no less,” he claimed indignantly. “It is only right that he be punished for his offense.”

Lucifer continued to insult the boy who hailed from the same coven of witches that betrayed him, and you’d finally had enough.

“Shut up.” You inflected, voice thick with irritation. Ignoring the same offended and murderous look Lucifer has given her several times through their exchange so far, you raise your palm, cutting off any attempt at retribution.

‘If you want things to go back to normal, we need to work together. Whatever you are, you’re under my domain now. That means you help me, I help you. If you don’t,” you shrugged. “You and this entire world will more than likely be destroyed. Doesn’t mean much more than a demotion for me, but for you…”

Honestly, you were definitely underexaggerating the ramifications for yourself should you fail at your assignment. But you were also 100% telling the truth that the Dark Lord didn’t really have a choice in complying with you if he wanted things to go back to how they were. The man seemed aware of that, because he immediately began pacing, his voice once again an insanely thunderous growl.

“I WILL KILL THEM FOR THIS. THEY SHALL SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY. THEIR SOULS ARE MINE, YOUR SOUL,” he suddenly snaps his head in the direction of the boy, “IS MINE.”

Lucifer’s attempt at launching himself at the boy, shadows surging and flames of hellfire dancing in his eyes, frightened you beyond belief, and you found yourself forming a sigil from your studies before you could really even properly register what you were doing.

And then suddenly, quiet.

Author’s Note: Please request if you’d like to be added to the tag list. Thank you!

#nick scratch x reader #Nicholas scratch x reader #the chilling adventures of sabrina #Sabrina #Sabrina Spellman #Netflix #Ambrose x reader #prudence x reader #x reader #CAOS

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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years

Text

The Alienist. By Caleb Carr. New York: Random House, 1994.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, mystery, suspense

Part of a Series? Yes, The Kreizler Series #1

Summary: The year is 1896. The city is New York. Newspaper reporter John Schuyler Moore is summoned by his friend Dr. Laszlo Kreizler—a psychologist, or “alienist”—to view the horribly mutilated body of an adolescent boy abandoned on the unfinished Williamsburg Bridge. From there the two embark on a revolutionary effort in criminology: creating a psychological profile of the perpetrator based on the details of his crimes. Their dangerous quest takes them into the tortured past and twisted mind of a murderer who will kill again before their hunt is over.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: ableism, homophobia/transphobia, racism (including slurs), sexism, rape, abuse, child abuse and sexual assault, child prostitution, animal cruelty, blood, gore, violence

Overview: This book has been on my TBR list for a while, so I figured I’d finally get around to reading it. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed the reading experience. Carr writes in a way that pretty closely imitates 19th century detective fiction, and while such a style might not be for everyone, I thought it went a long way in creating atmosphere. My criticisms have mostly to do with pace and the creative decisions that probably didn’t have to be made (such as depictions of child sexual assault, use of slurs, etc), but even with those faults, I have to give Carr’s craft and research a lot of credit, so this book gets 4 stars from me.

Writing: As I mentioned above, this book mimics detective fiction of the 19th century. If you’ve read any of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, you might get the idea: first person, characters displaying almost whimsical behavior, stuffed with contextual details that may or may not be relevant. At first, I thought the reading experience was going to be a slog, but once I realized what Carr was trying to do, I readjusted my expectations and found the prose to be quite engaging. If you like 19th century literature, you might appreciate what Carr does, but if you find older lit to be a challenge, this book might not be the thriller you’re hoping for.

That being said, I do think there were some areas where Carr could have picked up the pace or even cut some of the contextual details. It’s obvious that Carr did a lot of research before writing this book, and it’s understandable that he would want to show off some of that research, but there were times where I felt like it was a little much.

I also think there are a lot of things in this book that will offend modern sensibilities. I recall at least one use of the N-word (which is spoken by a racist minor character) as well as remarks that make it clear that characters think same-sex intimacy is “deviant” or abhorrent. I can understand why Carr put them in his book; if we’re trying to evoke an atmosphere and make the story feel like it’s set in the 19th century, it’s not realistic to expect everyone to be accepting of gay sex or treat POC with respect. But also, I think it’s on Carr to bear the responsibility of creating plot points and characters that have those attitudes in the first place. The character who uses the N-word could have easily not done so, and characters could have been more clear that their revulsion was at child prostitution rather than same-sex relationships.

Still, I was able to follow the plot with no problem and the sentences flowed in a way that made the reading experience feel quick (no 10-line sentences, thank god). So while there may be some things I would have liked to see adjusted to fit my own tastes, I think Carr did a wonderful job of making me feel like I was reading an older work.

Plot: The plot of this book follows a group of investigators as they try to use psychology to catch a serial killer. As far as being an “original” or unique thriller, this book doesn’t necessarily deliver a plot we haven’t seen before; but what made it so interesting (at least to me) was that it was less interested in the thrill of catching the killer and more interested in thinking through the “whys.” Why did the killer do X? Why did he do Y and Z when he could have done A or B? In this sense, the suspense doesn’t come from the action or the “chase,” but from the building of ideas and a foggy picture becoming more and more clear.

If I can fault Carr for anything, it’s that I think he crafted his mystery around some subjects that are... touchy (for lack of a better word). Most of the murder victims are children - specifically child prostitutes - and a lot of the killer’s motivations are rooted in some combination of racism and exposure to abuse. If you’re looking for a book which handles these issues with sensitivity, I think you’ll be disappointed. But I have to give Carr some credit for not overly sensationalizing these things; for example, while he did include characters who were racist towards Native Americans, he also included characters who were sympathetic and who insisted on not judging tribes for their defensive violence. Not everything is perfect, and there were some moments that made me uncomfortable, but I felt like Carr painted a complex picture of 19th century America, so I was able to keep going.

Characters: The plot of this book is told from the perspective of John Schuyler Moore - a newspaper reporter who teams up with his friend, eminent psychologist Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, to catch a serial killer. As a protagonist, Moore isn’t overly compelling - he’s more like a neutral, blank slate that the reader can project themselves onto. He serves much of the same function as Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories: to be a witness to other characters’ brilliance while occasionally making some helpful insights. Still, I didn’t outright hate Moore - he was kind and loyal, and I admired how he went out of his way to try to help people.

Kreizler, the psychologist (or “alienist” as they were called in those days), is somewhat of a Sherlockian character in that he’s eccentric, confident, and had abilities that stun the people around him. For the most part, Kreizler was fun to follow. I think the only times I got truly frustrated with him were when he would allude to some knowledge and then leave Moore in the dark - like “aha! This thing is obvious!” “What thing?” “No time to explain! I’ll tell you at dinner!” Those moments were a little irritating.

Sarah, the most prominent female character, was more complex than I expected her to be. She has clear career aspirations and doesn’t let anyone hold her back, and I liked that she was presented as this kick-ass woman who still felt human. She struggles when faced with the horrors of the murder, but she doesn’t let the horror put her off of her task. She’s confident and never seems to have a moment of self-doubt (which is refreshing). She notices interpersonal things without being boxed in as “the woman who notices emotions.” Granted, Sarah does serve some token function - she’s brought on in order to provide a “female perspective,” which was a little frustrating, but she held her own so well that my annoyance melted away.

Marcus and Lucius, the two brothers who work for the police department, are also quite charming characters. I loved how they brought technical expertise to the group by being knowledgeable about anatomy, fingerprints, photography, and the like, and I especially enjoyed the way they bickered with one another. Their presence immediately made scenes feel lighter, and they brought something of a family aspect to the whole band.

Supporting characters were well-crafted in that no two felt quite the same. Teddy Roosevelt (yes, that one) was cheerful and warm while still demanding absolute cooperation and loyalty from his men. Cyrus and Stevie - two of Kreizler’s employees - were charming, though I wish Cyrus had gotten to do more than just kind of silently stand by awaiting orders. Mary - Kreizler’s maid - was a lovely character, and I appreciated the positive disability representation we got with her, though I do not like how her character arc ended and how it related to the main plot. The crime bosses were intimidating without feeling too much like stock characters, the thugs did their job. I don’t think there was a character that was poorly written, just characters who served purposes that may or may not have been needed.

As for the murderer... we don’t get to see him very much, but I felt like I got to know him because so much of the book was focused on mapping out his life and psychology. It worked much better than books where the antagonist is looming off to the side, acting as a vaguely threatening force but not really a character, and one that doesn’t even show up until the last quarter of the book. When the killer finally does appear on page, I felt like he had been involved in the story, even without being physically present, so I was able to accept him as an active force on the narrative, not just a surprise twist at the end.

TL;DR: The Alienist is a well-crafted mystery that uses atmosphere and psychology to create an engaging mystery. While some readers may struggle with the period-like prose or the more disturbing aspects of the story, Carr creates a compelling narrative by focusing on understanding and knowledge over spectacle and action, and by using well-developed characters.

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fandom-pardes · 4 years

Text

According to halacha, which actions are Azula liable for?

Reposted from my Tumblr.

One of my favorite ways to study Jewish texts is to take a fictional character or situation and examine it through the lens of Jewish text and tradition.

I’ve done this before with ABC’s Once Upon A Time. Now I’m going to take up this exercise again with Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Before I begin, a few things to keep in mind.

I’m not a Talmud scholar.

There is no definitive Jewish Opinion™ about any issue pertaining to halacha. Unanimous opinions on halacha are so rare that when we find one, we assume something went wrong in the process..

Azula is a morally polarizing character in AtLA fandom. Regardless of who you ask, you’re bound to get some strong opinions about exactly what she’s done, the extent to which she’s responsible for it, and what this says about her morality or lack thereof. I’m not going to rehash those arguments. I think I’ve made it clear that I care less about whether people approve of her behavior than I do about how their statements about her reinforce harmful messages about women, people of color, LGBT people and mentally ill people.

Nevertheless, she’s incredibly interesting, and studying Jewish text is fun, so here we are.

Why examine Azula’s actions through the lens of halacha?

Halacha gets a lot of flack because it comes off as excessively legalistic. But, in my opinion, that’s based on a misunderstanding of what halacha is. Usually translated as “Jewish law,” the word halacha actually comes from the root word that means “to go/walk.”

Halacha is not a collection of rules for the sake of having rules. It’s meant to take us somewhere. You can write a library of books about exactly what that is and what it means. But for the sake of simplicity, halacha is how we show that we recognize the holiness of everything in creation. So we aim to do right by one another, by the land we live in and by the creatures we share this world with.

Before we can launch into examining the halachic ramifications of the things Azula does, we need to establish some boundaries.

Only the show counts. It’s the common frame of reference universally accepted by the vast majority of fandom. Fandom’s stances on the comics, novelizations and other tie-in materials are too variable to base an analysis on.

Word of God is immaterial. While some would use the phrase Death of the Author, Jewish tradition has a more entertaining take on it. In the Talmud, there’s a dispute between Rabbi Eliezer and some of his peers. In that story, Rabbi Eliezer says that if he’s right, this or that miraculous thing would happen, and those miraculous things do happen. But the other rabbis still reject it because we don’t determine halacha by miraculous signs. Eventually, God parts the heavens and says, “Rabbi Eliezer is right.” But another rabbi responds, “The Torah is not in heaven,” meaning that the Torah was meant for human beings on earth to interpret for themselves. And God’s response? To smile and say, “My children have defeated Me.”

Now, let’s begin.

Is Azula bound by halacha?

She’s not Jewish, so no. However, all human beings are bound by the Noahide laws. For the sake of argument, let’s say that the Noahide covenant applies to all humans on all worlds. According to the Talmud (Sanhedrin 56a.24):

Since the halakhot of the descendants of Noah have been mentioned, a full discussion of the Noahide mitzvot is presented. The Sages taught in a baraita: The descendants of Noah, i.e., all of humanity, were commanded to observe seven mitzvot: The mitzva of establishing courts of judgment; and the prohibition against blessing, i.e., cursing, the name of God; and the prohibition of idol worship; and the prohibition against forbidden sexual relations; and the prohibition of bloodshed; and the prohibition of robbery; and the prohibition against eating a limb from a living animal.

What is Azula’s legal status?

In any case, we know the rules, and now we have to decide whether Azula broke them or not, right?

Not so fast.

First, we have to determine if Azula is of the appropriate legal status to be held accountable for upholding the Noahide laws. In other words: when she committed certain acts, was Azula an adult capable of making rational decisions?

Clear your mind of the idea that being an adult is the same as being a grownup. Instead, think of it as a term that defines when people can make legally binding decisions.

As far as I can tell, the Talmud doesn’t say when a gentile becomes an adult. However, we can use halacha as a guide.

Now for a warning.

If frank talk about the physical development of adolescents makes you uncomfortable, you might want to skip this next part. There’s nothing graphic or titillating about what I’m going to discuss, but if breasts and pubic hair squick you out, skip this part until I say it’s safe in bold like this.

According to halacha, a girl reaches adulthood when she’s twelve years and one day old and has two pubic hairs. Yeah, you read that right. Twelve and two pubes are the requirement. Before this point, nothing she does is legally binding, even if she’s really smart and claims to be fully aware of what she’s doing. After this point, her actions are legally binding, even if she says she had no idea what she was doing.

On the show, we see Azula in a range of ages. In “Zuko Alone,” we see her at roughly eight years old. In “The Storm,” she’s about eleven. In all the other episodes she’s in, she’s fourteen. So, from a legal standpoint, flashback!Azula is too young for her actions to be legally binding. At that point in time, the responsibility would fall to her parents.

Um, I’m not willing to speculate about the genitals of an underage cartoon character, so for the sake of argument, I’m assuming that 14-year-old Azula meets the two pubes requirement. Thus, 14-year-old Azula is responsible for her actions.

If you skipped that last part, it’s safe to continue now.

OK, we’ve established that flashback!Azula is too young for her actions to be legally binding, but in the main story, Azula is legally an adult and responsible for her actions.

We good? Alright.

Which Noahide laws does Azula actually break?

This is both easier and harder than it seems.

The laws about idol worship, cursing God, and forbidden sexual acts don’t apply to her because neither religion nor sex are portrayed as such on the show. Also, the law about establishing courts of justice is a communal obligation, not one that falls on a single individual, so that’s another one we don’t have to concern ourselves with.

That leaves the prohibitions against bloodshed, robbery and eating a limb cut from a living animal.

First up: bloodshed.

The connotation of the prohibition against bloodshed is not for general acts of violence, but actual murder.

Here’s where I think I’m going to throw a lot of people for a loop. Azula doesn’t kill anyone on the show. She tries. She comes close. She wouldn’t lose sleep over it if she did. But nobody’s dead because of her. She doesn’t even take lives as collateral damage.

One could argue that zapping Aang with lightning counts as killing, but when the Sages talk about death and dying, I assume they mean the kind where the dead stay dead, not people who are revived by magic spirit water. Furthermore, if someone’s about to kill you (and I think entering the Avatar State qualifies here), you are halachically obligated to save your own life, even if it means killing that person.

Second: robbery.

We’ll come back to that.

Third: eating a limb from a living animal.

This prohibition is often expanded to incorporate all forms of animal cruelty.

The show does portray animal cruelty. We see a prime example with the circus in “Appa’s Lost Days.”

But what about Azula? We don’t see her interact with many animals on the show, but there are two notable examples: Appa the sky bison in “Appa’s Lost Days” and Bosco the bear in “The Crossroads of Destiny.”

How does her behavior measure up? Despite her earlier behavior of terrorizing turtleducks, Azula does not harm either Appa or Bosco.

On the show, Mai and Ty Lee are seen spending time with Bosco in the throne room while the Earth King is imprisoned. So, at the very least, they treat the bear well.

So, Azula is not liable for animal cruelty.

*hands Azula her Not As Big A Jerk As She Could Have Been award*

Now, let’s revisit that prohibition against robbery.

Given the prescribed punishment (decapitation), the connotation seems to be taking the rightful property of another through violent means. That being said, the prohibition against robbery is often extended to include all sorts of theft.

This one might have some legs. On the show, does Azula take the rightful property of another, and does she use violent means to do so?

Absolutely.

A major example is stealing the clothes of the Kyoshi Warriors after defeating them in combat.

But!

The show takes place during a time of war, and the Kyoshi Warriors, as allies of the Avatar, are enemies of the Fire Nation. So does beating them up and taking their uniforms fall under the prohibition against robbery, or are the Kyoshi Warrior uniforms considered the spoils of war and thus free for the taking?

Halachically speaking, it might actually be the latter. When fighting the Kyoshi Warriors, Azula acts as a military commander during a time of war and achieves a decisive victory against an elite combat unit. Thus, she is entitled to take their stuff.

So, back to the original question: which actions does Azula commit during the show that she’s halachically liable for?

The answer, shockingly, may be: none.

On the show, we’re encouraged to think of Azula as a Very Bad Girl who does Very Bad Things. She’s calculating, ruthless and deceptive. She’s also full of herself. She’s not someone who inspires warm, fuzzy feelings in most people. But when you put her actions under the microscope, she exercises remarkable restraint compared to what she’s capable of.

Don’t worry. No one’s going to nominate her for a Nobel Peace Prize just yet. This is Azula we’re talking about. She’s not acting out of an overwhelming love for humanity. But it is interesting that despite her threats to kill, maim and destroy, she doesn’t participate in wanton destruction or wasteful loss of life.

#azula #atla meta #jewish meta

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