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xiexiecaptain · 2 years

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Shadow & Bone rewatch deep dive commentary that was started on twitter and is being moved/continued here!

This is the post for EP 04: Otkazats’ya

[Episode 01 post] [Rewatch Commentary Links Masterpost]

((There WILL be spoilers mentioned for the books in the Grishaverse including the Crows duology & King of Scars duology! This is basically from the perspective of watching the show as someone who knows the books well.))

(Just a disclaimer that I’m picking up doing these commentary posts from here after season 2 is out! Just fyi, I might mention s2 stuff in these where it wasn’t mentioned in the posts for eps 1-3)

Omg not the captain singing the drinking song Nina sang to Inej in the hold of the ship on the way to Fjerda

I love how they just toss in background book details in new places to color in the world! You can tell everyone working on constructing this show was such a massive fan of the books and it warms my heart

As always, I’m just enamored by the linguistics and writing systems the show has designed and fleshed out for all the languages!! They make the world feel so lived-in!

Poor Mal. He really feels so powerless and helpless; even to people who are super devoted, sheer faith and longing can’t keep people going forever.

Boy is living on crumbs atm

Mean Girls (2004) voice: AND NONE FOR MAL ORETSEV BYE

These two are so pure i can’t get over it.

Thank you for giving Mal close relationships (even if they eat it soon) other than Alina!

NOT GENYA CALLING HER SUNSHINE-!!!

😭 😭 😭

YEAH ITS CUS HE WANTS TO FEEL OWNERSHIP OVER YOU ALINA

Yep yep giving her crumbs of vulnerability to draw her in.

Top tier manipulator shit.

Jesper’s hair and expression here I’m fucking laughing so hard

He looks like he just woke up from a week-long bender omfg.

Jesper, honey, I’m begging you, drink some water along with whatever alcoholic beverage is in that glass

LOVE LOVE LOVE how they find ways to weave the Crows’ plotlines into the S&B book plot.

Using the Winter Fete party as distraction was probably drawn from them using Hringkälla for the Ice Court job. But I suppose in the show it’s gonna be the other way around now which is funny. They’re probably gonna be like “Well, remember how we snuck into the Little Palace in Ravka because of their big celebration? Let’s do that with this job too!”

Very Beethoven/Bootstrap Paradox meta shit here and it makes me laugh

Kaz Brekker has never taken a day off in his entire life and it shows

LOOK HOW EXCITED THEY ARE

Even Inej is trying not to burst out grinning

Same you guys

I always get hyped as fuck for a heist!

You’ve heard of Chekov’s gun, but we’ve finally found Chekov’s bullet

The fucking barmaid’s face

I can’t

“Who is this strange Zemeni dude and why did he dump a goat in my arms and start speaking softly and mournfully to it in Kerch???”

Not him blowing Milo a kiss

I LOVE JESPER FAHEY AND HIS DRAMATIC BISEXUAL ASS

LYING THROUGH HIS GD TEETH AGAIN

Spinning his fake little sob stories

Manipulator 👏 Shit 👏

I do appreciate this way of trying to make exposition about the Black Heretic story more active

And making the scene serve several purposes at once (Kirigan trying to draw Alina in with his ~relatable outcast~ stuff, as well as giving the viewers the backstory)

Again, I’m just glad these three got to be on-screen. It gives Mal other people around him that matter. (Which does then help fuel/motivate his devotion to Alina as we go forward.)

That was really also one of the things that bugged me about book!Mal (Although, to be fair, it might be less of a writing issue than a personal one) but it sticks in my craw when characters are single-person focused. (Unless that’s, like, part of their character shit to figure out, them feeling lonely or co-dependent, etc.)

Like I do understand it’s kind of been “Mal and Alina against the world” since they were young. But they haven’t always been together since they joined the military. Having relationships that span back for a long, long time can be powerful, don’t get me wrong. But length of a relationship isn’t the only measure of its importance.

I think part of it was that we only got Alina’s POV and so Mal in some parts of the series felt very one-note, unmotivated, unbelievable, etc. Because all we got was what he managed to say to Alina when he was actually present and interacting with Alina (which didn’t happen for a large part of books 1 and 3.)

The lesbian skepticism on Nadia’s face-!!!

I will never, in my life, get over Freddy’s acting as Kaz acting as a stuffy fancy ~artíst~

CLEVER CLEVER CLEVER CLEVER

I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM

Ok so remember when this was the first sneak-peek scene they released of the Crows and we got to see them in action together for the first time??

It reminded me of my thoughts about Freddy’s voice as Kaz.

At first I was like “oh, hmm, he’s got kind of a higher, smooth voice as opposed to the way Kaz’s voice is described in the books” which is that rough gravely “rock-salt rasp.”

But as an iteration of Kaz (pluralism is my friend, you guys) Freddy’s voice for him is something I actually super love?

Like it’s a different sort of menacing. It can feel icy, if that makes sense. Like the higher register lends itself to his voice sounding cold, and the smoothness comes across as that kind of menacing sort of calmness. I dunno I just dig it.

I know we talk a lot about Inej’s knives (for good reason)

But dear saints I love Inej being invisible soundless sneaky.

I know she’d dislike me saying it, but honestly, she’s goddess material. This woman deserves to be lauded and honored at every opportunity.

What’s that meme again? “My idea of help from above is a sniper on the roof?”

Also, him waiting for the clock to chime to disguise the gunshot-!!!

Clawing my face off because I love my clever clever little thieves so much

[“Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

The truth was she’d tried to sneak up on Kaz plenty of time since then. She’d never managed it. It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.”]

Ok so we all agree that Kaz 100% did the same thing as with the magician he saw as a kid, right? Where he was obsessed with figuring out how the trick worked and unraveling it so he could learn to see what was actually happening?

Like [“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” [...] And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”]

INEJ WAS A PUZZLE HE THOUGHT ABOUT OVER AND OVER UNTIL HE FIGURED IT OUT

Oh, yknow, just reviewing stolen high-security floorplans in a public bar. As one does.

Lmao so basically my entire family hunts (northern woodlands, man) and I’m relatively sure my grandma has something that looks pretty much exactly like this

every friend group has someone like this in it

(in my experience said friend is usually a transmasc gremlin type)

fucking Mal just Very Seriously doing his Very Serious tracking while these two chucklefucks discuss selling literal shit in the background

knowing our beloved nina, the amount of sheer willpower she’s dredging up to refuse food is seriously impressive

she aint wrong, matty boy

ok so this is actually super interesting?? Because it speaks to Matthias having subtle curiosities/doubts about grisha and not fully understanding why someone would become grisha since he believes (read: was told) they weren’t just born that way.

In the books we never got to see Matthias speak to Nina alone until the shipwreck, there was always either other drüskelle and/or the other grisha captives on the ship (I mean there are other captives tied up here but they aren’t all shoved into a cage together so Nina and Matthias can have their own conversation)

I really like this little peek into Matthias trying to make sense of the indoctrination he was fed

yeah exactly, he’s trying to assuage his doubts about how “human” feeling Nina is because it’s gnawing at the indoctrination of dehumanization he’s been taught

Also, i love the camera work in this scene -- the lights are all hazy with lots of lens-flares and the shots are so so tight and close!

We’re putting two characters whose circumstances of birth and country and beliefs are so diametrically opposed together. But here they’re having a brief moment of connection where they each have a glimpse of each other’s humanity (in between all the vitriol.)

By cutting in close and having the rest of the “world” feel “out of focus” or “out of shot” it’s allowing this moment to feel like they can be two people for a brief moment rather than grisha and drüskelle. I adore it.

Yeah, see and then when they start talking politics about the Darkling, more of the shots have the camera pulling back a bit, because the “world” outside the two of them is shoving distance back between them

(Obv this is not an exact one-to-one this mapping of shots, but the scene in general does that and its really cool)

And then it pushes back in and gets more hazy again when Matthias has a moment of decency and offers Nina the bread without strings attached

mwuah! chef kiss!

ofc then it falls apart because these two are the most stubborn (affectionate, exasperated) people on the entire planet who can’t EXIST without taking petty jibes at each other

Just taking a moment to appreciate Calahan Skogman because he plays Matthias so incredibly well

I’m hoping so damn hard we get to see the Ice Court job adapted so we can see Matthias get let out of detention so he can go run and play with the other kids at recess

These are the faces of two exhausted parents at the end of a frustrating day with their excitable son and I’m living for it

LISTEN YOU TWO

AT LEAST JESPER IS COMING UP WITH IDEAS, STOP GLARING

Ok but this troupe leader, Marko, actually comes off as such a wholesome guy? I lowkey love his face??

Look how tear-stained and puff from crying it is?! This poor guy finally got to perform for royalty and thought his lifelong dreams had just been crushed and was sobbing into a mug of beer!

Inej entrusting Kaz with her knives DOES something to me, you guys

There is a fucking novel of unspoken words in these expressions I’m gonna gnaw my couch cushions in to piecessss-!

He’s so cute you guys I hope he still has a long and fruitful career even after all the fuckery that goes down at the Winter Fete

This whole scene has me gazing in adoration like a doting parent

Me to the person next to me, pointing, with a camcorder in my hand: Those are my kids!!! God, they’re so talented, I’m so proud of them!!

The fact that they made up entirely new playing card suits for this world-!!!

Honestly so much of what makes this world come to life in the show is thanks to how much AMAZING work the props and set people did???

They obviously loved and cared about the grishaverse so much, you can see in the sets and the costumes and the props how much work was put into making this world come to life and feel like a world that really exists with all its little bits and bobs and details!

That kind of worldbuilding minutia stuff just makes my brain go brrrrrr

Also I haven’t mentioned anything about the soundtrack yet but hot damn they’ve done so much to make it atmospheric but also do the A+ soundtrack thing of weaving musical themes for characters/groups

Ok tho Kaz 10000% could have gotten in as a performer too. Man’s got mad slight-of-hand skills he could definitely go in as a stage magician

It’s time for 🎶✨~Alina’s Emotional Mushroom Trip~ 🎶✨

Of course she was!

I feel like its super obvious that two orphan kids who’ve been through trauma and made a close connection would crave the stability of the life they have with a beloved friend, especially over an unknown where they would be alone and in a new place again having to start over???

I mean, she says she was thinking of Mal and not herself, but it’s both. Because him being alone would mean she would also be alone.

Alina was a scared little kid who had lost everything and was doing what she thought would keep everything she knew from being ripped away again.

I feel like in the books the dynamic of Darklina in the first book, it was obvious/deliberate that Alina felt very isolated at the Little Palace and so was kind of always steered back to the Darkling for scraps of affirmations or reassurances, plus the draw of their powers compounding this manipulation net the Darkling pulled her in by.

The dynamic feels different in the show, for a few reasons. I think Alina being aged up contributes to that. Also, we don’t get Alina’s interiority and descriptions of how her/the Darkling’s powers feel and pull her.

(Also Jessie and Ben have Very Good on-screen chemistry. And Ben Barnes is, well, Ben Barnes so the attraction-angle of the pull toward him is very believable.)

I mean, while Alina is aged up, she’s still a young woman. Her whole life she has overwhelmingly felt less than, invisible, and nothing special. And someone powerful is now telling her she’s unique and powerful and he’s the only one who understands her.

While Alina is still obviously manipulated heavily in the show, it feels less extreme? I don’t know how to word it?

Other contributing factors I think are her actually making closer friends at the Little Palace and that in the show we don’t see that extended period of time of her struggling and struggling and feeling like shit and powerless and “Other”-ed again. Also because we are shown that Mal DOES super care about her, rather than only getting her speculating and worrying.

And not only on Alina’s end is it different but I feel like the show we get shown more of Kirigan feeling helpless (something which is both authentic and strategic.)

Like I think its definitely real that he is struggling with these feelings of helplessness and futility in moving towards his goals.

But he is very deliberate in the ways he goes about showing it to Alina to make her feel like he’s letting his guard down with her and to garner sympathy with. As Baghra says towards the end of the season, giving Alina “a glimpse of the wounded boy.”

And it’s a huge credit to Ben Barnes that I feel that simultaneous nature.

Like in the moment, you do believe him in his pain and his loneliness. Because that is real.

But then you step back and realize he’s only showing it and showing it in such a way to weaponize it to cultivate those feelings of sympathy in Alina and keep her from seeing him as dangerous to her.

Ben Barnes’s performance really sells the Darkling so well. Because these things are all true: he has seen people die and is lonely and feels like he has to claw his way toward any change he can achieve.

But he is also playing bits of that up in very strategic ways in Alina’s presence to manipulate her.

(I always feel like I’m not gonna have more to say about the Darkling and then I end up writing a novel about it??)

”B-b-but-

Wait, was I the only one who believed we were actually giving them a fair trial?!?”

My parents’ walks to school, according to them.

Listen, I just love them

I LOVE THEM PUTTING TIME AND THOUGHT INTO SPRINKLING IN WORLDBUILDING

END ME

Listen all I can think about when I watch this scene is how this actor probably spent 9 hours in hair and makeup and wardrobe just to stand there, grab a stack of letters, shake his head, and walk away because he was a non-speaking extra and if he said “No” out loud they would have had to pay him the under-5-lines rate

Get that shit outta here, Baghra, we celebrate interdependence in this household!!

Also, the entirety of season 2’s themes would also like a word with you 👀👀

Ok not to sound like my northern midwestern mother but

CHILD DO NOT GO OUT IN THE COLD! AND SNOW! AT NIGHT! WITHOUT A FUCKING HAT ON?

You’re gonna get frostbite, Mal!!

It is AT LEAST below 10°F with how crunchy that snow sounds!!

Honestly, good for Alina. proud of her

This is funny to me because I know Jessie had a habit of just napping constantly in random places on set

Just BFF things: having matching palm scars

ARCHIEEEEE

Sometimes I feel for Archie because it can’t be easy playing Mal who, as characters in the grishaverse go, isn’t exactly the biggest fan favorite

And yet he’s out here giving us performances of this caliber

I see you and I love you Mr. Renaux

And that’s the end of episode 4!

[Episode 01 post] [Rewatch Commentary Links Masterpost]

#shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone #alina starkov #malyen oretsev #grishaverse #the darkling #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #yes im back on my bullshit #i have so many thoughts and want to talk about s2 but wanted to finish these s1 eps first

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linkedkeysau-official · 2 years

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Linked Keys Febuwhump

Days 19/20 - "You deserve this"/knife wound

As much as he generally tried to avoid violence, Hyrule was not the type to go down without a fight. He’d offered himself up to the enemy to save Future, sure, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make it hard for them to use him as the sacrifice they needed to revive Ganon. Unfortunately, his usual tactics would prove to only get him hurt worse in this case.

He tried to fight back, taking out a few Moblins and a Daira with lightning before igniting his sword and attempting to finish off the rest of the monsters in a swirling blaze of fury. He’d managed to cut their numbers down until only the leader— Hylian in appearance like him, though obviously some kind of wizard— remained. Then he was sent sprawling across the ground while his sword went flying in the opposite direction. He couldn’t retrieve it without having to run past the wizard, and Hyrule’s life wasn’t the only one at stake here, he reminded himself. He still had to get Future, who was sopping wet, seemed to be having some kind of reaction to whatever tainted the water of Hyrule’s world, and barely breathing as it was.

He could come back for the sword later. His best chance was to grab Future and run. But no sooner had Hyrule scrambled to his feet and took off running when he suddenly felt pain rip across the back of his left thigh, causing him to stumble and fall once more. Thankfully the wound didn’t seem to have hit an artery or anything, but the sight of his own blood as it spilled down his leg made Hyrule feel dizzy and nauseous. It didn’t help that whatever magic was used to inflict this wound felt like it came with an extra dose of pain, because despite being a relatively minor cut (at least compared to others Hyrule had received over the years) it was agonizingly painful, too much so for Hyrule to even think about trying to stand again.

“You don’t get to run away again, Hero. Your time is up. And if you try to resist again,” The wizard gestured to Future, “Then your friend will be the one who pays for your misdeeds. Do you understand? You will come with me, and you will meet your fate as the one whose blood shall awaken the Demon King once more. And then maybe, depending on how well he behaves, I may consider letting your friend go.” Without even waiting for a response from Hyrule, the wizard waved his hand, forming a magical chain that bound Hyrule’s wrists together. He was then pulled along roughly behind the wizard while Future remained suspended in the air by magic beside him. Surely Hyrule could think of an escape plan… He always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hyrule did not come up with an escape plan. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but nearly everything he came up with that normally should have worked if he’d been alone, he found would be far too risky to attempt with Future’s life on the line. And by the time the wizard reached his destination, it was too late. Dozens of cultists gathered around a massive urn which Hyrule could only guess held the ashes of his enemy. Monsters of every kind guarded the ritual location. If Hyrule were the type to curse like Legend or Wind, this would most certainly be a situation where he would have dropped an “F bomb”.

Future was quickly taken away and by a small portion of the crowd, tied tightly to a nearby tree where he could be easily watched and, if he were to wake up, he would be forced to witness his friend’s death. Without a sword, and low on magic (He probably could only manage a shield spell at this point), Hyrule was too small and powerless to even try to get away as he was then dragged towards the center, pinned down, and tied to to a large wooden frame that could be placed over the urn so that any wound he received would bleed directly into it. He didn’t see a way out of this one. He let out a helpless sob as he realized this was it; he’d failed.

He failed and there was nothing he could do about it now. He could have prevented it… But doing so would have required him to selfishly endanger his friends— no, his family— to save himself. As if he hadn't sacrificed enough innocent lives, led an entire kingdom to further ruin and decline by not being better. If he had done a better job at defeating Ganon in the first place...He wouldn't be cursed. He wouldn't be hunted. Those precious few who tried to protect him… wouldn't be getting hurt.

You deserve this. It's your fault. You didn't do good enough the first time. You brought yourself and your friends into this mess. And in the end, you got yourself caught, he thought to himself. He deserved this. He was hopeless. All he ever did was mess up. He could only hope the other heroes would be able to fix his mistake once he was gone.

The other heroes… Hyrule turned his head to the side and saw a few familiar faces hiding in the bushes. He tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He couldn’t risk the cultists turning against what could possibly be Future’s last hope. The blood from his leg was already dripping into the urn, lightly sizzling as it hit the ashes below. The wizard stepped up onto a raised platform beside it, holding a very impressive dagger in his hands. A dagger that was about to end Hyrule’s life, he reminded himself.

Whatever happens to me, don’t let my failure doom this world. Whatever happens to me, please let my brothers be able to fix it. Hyrule prayed silently, Hylia… Or whoever is up there… I know I’ve never prayed to you before…But please protect them. Protect my family.

Hyrule’s vision became a white-out of pain as the knife was driven straight into his stomach. He quickly realized they didn’t just want him dead, they wanted him to suffer; otherwise they would have gone for the heart. They wanted him to suffer. They wanted him to watch the results of his failures come to reality. They wanted to make him spend the last minutes of his life in agony, and regret, and utter despair. And as much as he hated it, as much as he hated this situation he was in… He still felt wholeheartedly that it was what he deserved.

His mind was reduced to a fog as the cultists erupted into cheering and chanting. Chanting for their master. Cheering for the death of the hero. Warm wetness was quickly soaking Hyrule’s tunic, turning it from green to a horrible, ugly shade of dark brown, then dripping down into the urn below along with the blood from his leg. The sizzling became more of a violent bubbling as the ashes slowly came together to begin taking a new form. Hyrule would have vomited, but all that was in his stomach now was his own blood.

“YOU BASTARDS!!!” Legend shrieked. There was the sound of people attempting to run away, only to be swiftly knocked out by the pink ball of sheer rage that was the veteran. Someone was messing with the ropes at Hyrule’s feet. He looked down through the haze of pain to see Paint working on freeing him. When he couldn’t figure out how to untie them, he drew his sword and just cut them off the frame, holding Hyrule’s legs up so he wouldn’t fall into the Ganon goop. A second person cut his hands free before wrapping their arms around his body underneath his armpits to lift him up and out of the danger zone. Wild, seemingly the one to have picked up the dropped Master Sword from Future’s capture, stepped up to the edge of it and thrust the blade downwards at the same time Hyrule was dragged away to safety. There was an explosion of dark magic, so sickening to even a half-fairy that it actually did make Hyrule vomit blood all over himself and the ground.

“Shit… Rulie!” Legend cried as he gently lowered his wounded brother to the ground. He quickly removed his green cape, rolled it up into a ball and pressed it painfully hard against the stab wound.

“Ow…” Hyrule muttered, voice slurred a little bit as blood loss began to catch up with him.

“I’m sorry, but I need to keep pressure on it so you don’t bleed out!” Legend snapped back, but with no real meanness to his voice, only the protective frustration that Hyrule knew was just a front for fear and concern.

“Hhha ha hha yu’re w’rried ‘bout me.” Hyrule chuckled weakly.

“You fucking idiot, of course I’m fucking worried about you!!! I just watched you almost get used as a human sacrifice and not be able to interfere until the knife already went into your godsdamned stomach!” Legend huffed, shouting to the others, “I need a potion or a fairy or something over here right now! He’s lost too much blood already!” Legend tried to keep pressure on the wound until someone arrived with more supplies, mostly taken from Hyrule’s own bag. When Paint sat down beside the two, Legend noticed Hyrule wasn’t making jokes anymore, but instead just staring blankly into the sky above.

“Check his pulse, I think he might be going into shock.” Legend told his descendant frantically, noticing the lack of awareness and shallow breathing that had suddenly crept in. The rapid, weak pulse in Hyrule’s neck against Paint’s fingers confirmed it. This was bad. What if they couldn’t get him to drink the potion?

Well, they had to try. While Paint uncorked the bottle, Legend moved Hyrule to where his head was propped up on Legend's lap, hopefully making it easier to drink without spilling or choking. Paint tried to bring the potion bottle to Hyrule's lips but he seemed too dazed to realize what it was or what to do with it.

"S'poison… Y' tryna kill me…" He guessed.

"It's not poison I swear. This is going to heal you. Okay? But you need to drink—" Paint was cut off by Hyrule's feeble attempt at blowing a raspberry, laughing before he erupted into a coughing fit, blood spraying from his mouth as pain shot through his body with each wet hack. Legend, realizing there was probably no other way to do this at this point, grabbed Paint's hand with his free one and held it against the wadded up cloak, now stained with Hyrule's blood just like everything else.

"You keep the pressure on it. I'll handle this." He snatched the bottle from Paint's hand as they swapped roles. He pinched Hyrule's nose until he was forced to open his mouth, then slowly poured the potion in, holding his mouth shut with his other hand once it was gone so Hyrule would have to swallow. As soon as he did, the bleeding lessened. His flesh began to knit itself back together. The cut on his leg disappeared entirely. The wound in his gut remained, but was far less severe now; something that would be easily stitched and bandaged.

But what the potion didn't do was replenish the blood lost. That would have to be done over time by Hyrule's body itself. It was a miracle that they managed to stop it before it was too late. But even Legend had a moment of panic when, finally relieved from the majority of the pain, Hyrule fell unconscious in Legend's arms. Yeah, he'd probably feel pretty shitty for a while. And there was no way he was using any magic for at least a few weeks, Legend would make sure of that.

But he was alive. They'd stopped the ritual just in time. And they got Future back in one piece as well, which was about as good an outcome as they could have hoped for, all things considered. They were both so grounded for this, though…

#Linked keys #lk #febuwhump2023 #loz au #not lu #lk legend #lk hyrule #lk future #lk paint #lk downfall trio #tw blood #tw stabbing #tw near death #tw cult

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psychoticwillgraham · 8 months

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musings about my aroace identity under here

TW: discussion of rape

so. the ace part of my identity is really…. Weird to me bc I don’t actually understand it?? I’ll explain. am I sexually attracted to people? nope. not one bit. was I a massive whore for ten years? yeah, but it wasn’t of my own choice, my ex made that decision for me. said if I was gonna be with him then I HAD to be polyamorous and willing to have sex with any man that propositioned me and I was ordered to do so otherwise I’d get punished (which was tying my hands together and I made it explicitly clear to NEVER tie them bc then I’d be truly helpless and couldn’t fight back. he didn’t care.) did that ruin the act of sex for me from then till now? oh absolutely.

did I actually enjoy it? depends. i very rarely ever came, and if i did and was too oversensitive, they’d just keep going, so it was never enjoyable. the vast majority of men didn’t even know how to really give an afab person pleasure, so yknow, i had to fake it to make it. which i was way too good at and eventually convinced myself to get into it and come anyway, so I basically trained myself to ‘enjoy’ it. at this point, i don’t think that I’ll ever be able to have sex again, even if it wasn’t with a cis man, bc it just felt like a job, which it kinda was bc i had to do it to survive the abuse. it was just another way of performing honestly. if someone even tried to touch me with sexual intent now, I’d get triggered and have an emotional breakdown. so no, I don’t enjoy it.

my aromantic identity is fairly straightforward though. I’ve never felt like I could love anyone, even as a friend. there’s only one friend that I ‘love’ and it’s the one irl who hangs out with me sometimes. like I care about her very much, but I wouldn’t even say I ‘love’ her as a friend. bc I just don’t know what love feels like honestly. and I’ve never been ‘in’ love with someone, I just can’t comprehend it honestly. I just… don’t feel connected with humanity or the concept of it as a whole, yknow? I feel like I exist outside of that, like im just a Thing of my own, wholly unique and not connected to human beings. like im completely alone and an ‘other.’

that also feeds into my lack of identity and not knowing my own personality or who I am as a person at all, which DID also complicates. i feel like my entire life is just one big performance. like my personality is just whatever i need in order to exist with the general population. do i rlly know who or what i am? not in the least bit and i feel like im just drowning rn in the whole performance that is life. honestly? I don’t think there even is a person under all this. im just a gathering of ideas in a flesh prison and nothing more.

#oops that turned into an existential post #rape tw

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tf2workbench · 11 months

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Phlogellation

"This is makin' me feel... really dirty." -my friend !!, on his seventh Phlogistinator kill this life

Regardless of how you feel about it, there's no denying the damage a Phlogistinator Pyro can do. A crit-boosted flamethrower, after all, does a lot of damage.

Phlogistinator (+) Build Mmmph by dealing fire damage [about 300 to fully build]. At full Mmmph, taunt to get an 8-second crit boost for this weapon. (+) Invulnerable and immune to knockback while Mmmph taunting (-) No random critical hits (-) No airblast

Speaking of how you feel about it, I happen to notice that the Phlog gets some flak. Hey, even from me sometimes. It can really sting to get rolled over by a critical flamethrower, and it hurts even more when the rest of my team gets caught in the same. What's to do?

Going on a Phlog rampage is a very high moment for the user, letting them make a massive, violent impact on the course of the game.

The necessary taunt animation gives several classes an easy way to counter the Phlog, such as by lining up a headshot or placing stickybombs near the taunting Pyro. This means you can't abuse the taunt as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

On the other hand, it can be hard for many classes to stop a Pyro from charging them once the taunt is complete, causing a feeling of helplessness.

This is compounded because even a little bit of critical fire does serious damage, meaning it's often impossible to get away from a Phlogistinator without getting hurt - if you survive at all.

If a Pyro activates their Mmmph behind a corner, it makes the taunt much easier to execute safely. Opponents may feel like they had no warning or ability to stop the Pyro from charging them.

This isn't an intentional design choice, but way the invulnerability works can also be a little buggy (link is a video about an exploit/dirty trick known as Phlog-cancelling), which can further frustrate those on the receiving end.

As an effect of having no airblast, the Phlog loses the complexity and nuance that come with that feature - although it has a good amount to offer in its own right.

What's to do? Well, I considered either of these two attributes:

(-) -20% movement speed while using Mmmph (-) -10 health per second while firing using Mmmph

I ultimately think that both of those don't really address the root problem and instead just punish the user. A more interesting solution would be changing it so that instead of crits, the Phlog grants mini-crits to the user and teammates in a radius, much like the Buff Banner.

This is less instantly fatal to the enemies, giving them a chance to fight back.

It encourages team play and can ultimately be more fulfilling than just killing.

On the other hand, it might be even more powerful than the current Phlog in terms of how it impacts the game. This might necessitate changes in other areas (such as effect duration or damage to charge).

It also kind of steps on the Buff Banner's toes a little.

One other thing that might be a helpful change would be changing the charge so that it only builds with flamethrower damage, or have it build with all damage done. Currently, it only builds with fire damage, meaning there's a strong incentive to choose flare guns over shotguns. Depending on how this works, it might also be worthwhile to reevaluate how much damage is required to charge it (noting that the Buff Banner requires 600 to charge).

So how do you feel? Would changing crits to radial mini-crits help the Phlog overall, or would the problem remain? Should I pursue a more aggressive change?

#tf2workbench #tf2 #team fortress 2 #primary #pyro #phlogistinator

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queerprayers · 3 years

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how are we supposed to deal with how antisemitism is kind of… everywhere in Christianity?

Thank you for being patient as I figure out where to even start with answering this! I'm a Lutheran. This is a really hard question, and something that I have to deal with. What our ancestors did is not our fault, but it is our responsibility.

My first answer is that I don't know. I don't know what to do when so many people I call my siblings are full of hate. I often feel helpless. But I promise I'm not stopping there.

My second answer is we have three options that I can see: (1) ignore the issue and let antisemitism fester, (2) abandon Christianity as outdated, offensive, or irredeemable, or (3) put in the work to transform ourselves and our institutions. The first two are easier, and the second especially can be tempting. But I hope to devote my life to the third, and that's the perspective I'll be coming from today.

I do want to make clear that I am (clearly) not Jewish and also don't consider myself particularly knowledgeable about Judaism. I read a lot and interact with Jewish people online, but I don't feel this qualifies me to answer this question in any mind-blowing or unique way. I will, however, share my own advice and opinions, and you can decide how much you want to value them.

This is from a Christian perspective, for other Christians (and culturally Christian-ish people). And as always, I'm a white American Gentile. I welcome other perspectives/criticism.

Here are some things that you (my followers) can actually do and learn to acknowledge and combat antisemitism in Christianity. None of this is a solution, but I hope it's something. I'll include some resources at the end. (All of it is easier said than done. But saying it is the first step.)

Acknowledge and learn about the problem. I assume most of you reading this will have realized that our religion, structurally/historically, has condoned massive amounts of sh*t. Any exploration into Christian history has to confront this. Practically every oppressed group in America knows this intimately. In terms of antisemitism, please understand right now that the problem is more of an issue than you thought. However bad you think it is, it's worse. Please immediately burn into your brain that antisemitism is, as the asker said, everywhere in Christianity. Just like white people have internalized racism, even if they're not being purposely racist, Gentiles have internalized antisemitism, even if you don't realize it. Look for it, inside yourself and around you. Call it out. Learn the dogwhistles.

Actually learn about Judaism. If you didn't convert from Judaism/come from a Jewish family, probably just go in assuming you know nothing. Forget what Christian leaders/experts have said, and probably forget what you learned in high school. Build your knowledge of modern Judaism from scratch—this will help you not hold onto myths/prejudices you probably carry. PLEASE remember that first-century Judaism is completely different from modern Judaism. No matter how much you study the Bible, you will not know modern Judaism. Please follow/listen to modern Jewish people.

Your God is Jewish; your religion is not. This is a precarious position. Christianity is an offshoot or appropriation of Judaism, depending who you ask. There is no easy box to put this situation in. Examine that tension; have discussions about it. There is no solution I or anyone else has found so far in history. There are only questions, and trying our best, and approaching with love. PLEASE don't use Jesus being Jewish as "proof" you're not antisemitic.

Stop identifying with Judaism/assuming you know anything about it/assuming Christian interpretation is the same/saying "Judeo-Christian." Obviously if you are interested in converting to, or have converted from Judaism, or are culturally Jewish, that's a different story. But generally, if you are a Christian, you are not Jewish. Research and discussion is welcome. Relating to/agreeing with/valuing interpretation is also welcome. But identification/assumption of authority is not.

Judaism is not "Christianity without Jesus." It never was. It's a completely different philosophy/theology on its own. Stop acting like Jewish people are missing something. Judaism is not outdated or there as a message for Christians, and Jewish people are not waiting around to be converted. They have found God. If you have a problem with that, you apparently haven't.

The Hebrew Bible is a collection of Jewish writings that exists as a text, as one part. And in Jewish interpretation, it is not the complement to the New Testament—stop assuming it is. I personally don't call it the Old Testament anymore—Jewish people did not painstakingly save and translate their holy manuscripts for centuries just for us to rename them. It's the Hebrew Bible or the Tanakh, and the first five books are the Torah. The books of the Hebrew Bible are not ours, but we believe they are the truth. Everyone is free to have their own interpretation of them, but Jewish people have authority, because it is their story to tell. Read Jewish interpretations/translations of their texts. Especially if you grew up Christian/have only interacted with the Bible from a Christian perspective—it will change everything.

Recognize the places in the New Testament and its translations that generalize the Jewish people and put those verses in historical context and/or call them out. No, "the Jews" did not kill Jesus. This is a dangerous way to translate the text and has led to violence. The Gospels tell the story of a Jewish man who made himself a lot of enemies, mostly within his own community. The story is of a specific time period and from a specific perspective. The ways the narrative has been twisted and misunderstood is part of the Christian legacy and must be admitted to, discussed, and repented of.

Stop celebrating Jewish holidays. Yes, Jesus celebrated Passover. No, that doesn't mean you can. Unless you are invited to a Jewish household/community to celebrate with them, you have no business holding seders, etc. if you're not Jewish.

Stop calling yourself a Messianic Jew. You're just a Christian. If you think Jesus is the Messiah, you are a Christian. (Obviously you could still be culturally/ethnically Jewish, because Judaism is not just a religion. I'm not here to tell Jewish people what to do. I'm here to stop Christians from "getting in touch with the Jewish origins of their faith" or whatever and then just appropriating Jewish festivals.)

Hold on to the beautiful, loving parts of our religion. It is so easy to give up, to throw it all away. And I have nothing but respect for those who have done that. I understand completely. It's easier to distance yourself from an institution that has done harm than to try to fix it. It's even better in some cases. But I'm here because I have a deep, kind of unexplainable faith in Jesus, and no matter how many people take God's name in vain, for themselves or their class/privilege, I will not abandon the faith that taught me to love. If you similarly are holding on to Christianity, pay attention to what you're holding on to. What pieces should we let go? What do we crush under our feet and what do we lift up? It's so easy to let this journey lead you to negativity and resignation. Imperfect people in an imperfect religion, oppressed turned oppressors. We betray our creed at the drop of a hat. But that is not the end of the story. That's the point of the gospels! The darkness is not the end, the tomb is not the end, the abandonment and betrayal and hopelessness is not the end. The story ends with love and with reunification. Hold on to that, more than any institution.

Repent. Christians are descendants of an awful evil: the sin of abandoning God's people, persecuting and murdering them, disrespecting their beliefs and texts. Yes, ask God for forgiveness and pray for peace, but also show your repentance in the world, to and for Jewish people. (See next paragraph.)

Actually support Jewish people. Donate. Listen. Protest. No matter how much you theoretically support Jewish people, no one can tell unless you do something about it. Faith without works is dead, my beloveds.

Okay, this is what I have in my brain right now and it's 3 a.m. so, asker: thank you for asking, I absolutely did not do the issue justice (but then, has anyone?), and I hope I have given you at least a part of the answer you were looking for. Here are some resources:

Articles/Posts:

Please at least read the Wikipedia page on this issue.

So You Want to Fight Against Antisemitism (cw: swearing)

"What's the difference between Christianity and Judaism?"

Some perspectives on Messianic Judaism: He's not a rabbi, and it's not Judaism, Jewish groups slam "disappointing" decision to have Messianic Jewish leader at Pence rally, Jewish leaders call Messianic Judaism a fraud

Who are “the Jews” in John?

Holy Week and the hatred of the Jews

Judaism and Christianity Both Rely on the Hebrew Bible. Why Do They Interpret It So Differently?

Christian Persecution of Jews over the Centuries

Websites/Publications

Jewish-Christian Relations.net

Christian-Jewish Relations Library @ Boston College

Dialogika—CCJR Resource Library

Judaism 101

My Jewish Learning

The Torah.com

Sefaria—Jewish text library

Books/Authors

Antisemitism in the New Testament / Lillian C. Freudmann

Jesus Wasn’t Killed by the Jews: Reflections for Christians in Lent / ed. Jon M. Sweeney

Christians & Jews—Faith to Faith: Tragic History, Promising Present, Fragile Future / James Rudin

Essential Judaism: A Complete Guide to Beliefs, Customs and Rituals / George Robinson

The Jewish Study Bible: Jewish Publication Society Tanakh Translation

Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg (her Twitter is a gift!!)

Amy-Jill Levine

Lois Tverberg

Brant Pitre

Robert Alter

Richard Elliott Friedman

With the help of God: may we be forgiven, may we take responsibility, may we not abandon our faith, may we have the energy and capacity to care. Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Let Jesus, a Jewish Palestinian murdered by the state, guide our words and actions.

<3 Johanna

#asks #judaism

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dixbolik-lovers · 3 years

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(Sub au) How would the Mukamis react if one of them (maybe Kou or Ruki?) was completely mindbroken and in love with the reader

Ruki (Kou)

It worries him massively. As someone who's extremely protective of his younger brothers and determined to keep them safe, seeing Kou in such a state is absolutely infuriating. If he didn't think it would break Kou to an even greater degree, Ruki would intervene and remove you from his brother's life immediately. But even so, he can't tolerate standing by and watching you do such disturbing things to his family. Ruki tries to talk you (or threaten you) into changing your behavior, but it's a desperate, last-ditch attempt.

Kou (Ruki)

Seeing Ruki, of all people, in a state of utter, broken dependency on someone terrifies Kou like nothing else ever has. He thought that all of them were finally away from being the helpless ones— that they'd have power over any human now. That's been proven completely wrong, and it messes with Kou's worldview in the worst of ways. If even his forever-in-control big brother can be torn down to such a level, what could happen to him? Kou avoids you as much as possible out of fear and a feeling of guilt.

Yuuma (Kou)

Nope, nope, nope. Unless someone stops him, Yuuma might actually try to kill you. He doesn't think about how it could affect Kou— all that's in his mind is that the person who's hurting his brother needs to be stopped. However, when he's forced to stay calm and see the true depth of the situation, it scares him a lot more than he wants to admit. Yuuma is frustrated and furious that he can't do anything to make Kou go back to normal, but he's also shamefully worried about what you could do to the rest of them.

Azusa (Ruki)

For a while, Azusa is just confused. Even though Ruki is acting weird, he loves you, right? It takes a while for the reality of what's happening to really sink in, but when it does, Azusa is painfully worried. He's going to volunteer himself to you instead. He's always been good for being hurt, so if you'll be cruel to him instead, Ruki might get better. Seeing his capable big brother broken and mindless scares Azusa horribly. All he wants is to make things go back to normal— and make Ruki okay again.

#Diabolik Lovers #Dialovers #Mukami Ruki #Mukami Kou #Mukami Yuuma #Mukami Azusa #Headcanon #Reader #Sub Au

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chasing-classics · 4 years

Text

Our Little Secret Sessions- Nate Jacobs x Reader (2)

Pairing(s): Nate Jacobs x Reader

Warning(s): SMUT, language, toxic relationships, older reader, NON-CON

Summary: After landing a job as the high school’s new counselor you settle into your new home, unaware of what danger lurks just outside your front door. In Part Two, you meet another one of your students, only to be interrupted by the boy next door.

Part 1

A couple of weeks had passed since your encounter with Nate, but the fear of what the teenage was capable of remained fresh in your mind. You could never forget the dominant, controlling look in his eyes when he had threatened you in your office. Since then, you had been unable to sleep properly and you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder. On the bright side, you had not encountered him face-to-face since that day, but his presence could always be felt never too far away. He was like some sort of predator, a beast lurking in a dense jungle. Eyes sharp and ready to go in for the kill at any moment.

‘’Um miss?’’ a voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You quickly snapped your head up, sitting straight up in your office chair as a young girl stood in the doorway. She was average height for her age, dark hair, glamorous makeup, and full lips. You had seen her walking down the hall a few times, an air of confidence always surrounding her. She reminded you of the girls you hated when you were in high school.

‘’I’m so sorry, please come in,’’ you extended your hand, gesturing to one of the empty chairs or the couch in front of your desk. She nodded, shutting the door behind her as she made herself comfortable.

‘’I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to everything here. I’m Miss y/l/n,’’ you held out your hand for her to shake. She looked down at it before slowly returning the gesture. Whether she just wasn’t used to people being polite to her or she just didn’t like you, you weren’t sure.

‘’Maddy,’’ she replied, her expression unreadable.

‘’Well how can I help you Maddy?’’ you offered a kind smile despite her semi-cold attitude.

Her eyes flickered, searching for the right words to express her thoughts. Your brow furrowed as she visibly struggled.

‘’This is a safe place Maddy, whatever you tell me stays between us,’’ you encouraged.

She bit down on her lip, hands twisting and fumbling in her lap as her leg bounced. Finally, she met your concerned gaze with a sigh.

‘’Do you think sexuality is a spectrum?’’ she blurted out.

The question took you back, it taking everything in your for your mouth to stay shut.

‘’Well, in my opinion it certainly can be. There doesn’t necessarily have to be a one-size-fits-all or black and white approach to it. But I really think it depends on you and your preferences-‘’

‘’N-no. Not me,’’ she cut you off, still seemingly nervous. You arched a brow, trying to decipher what she was talking about.

‘’Is everything ok, Maddy?’’

‘’Look there’s this. . .guy who I’m seeing. And I found-‘’

Knocking on your door made the two of you jump. A lump formed in your throat when the handle twisted and the door opened, revealing none other than Nate fucking Jacobs.

You quickly cast a glance at Maddy who, for some reason or another, looked almost as petrified as you felt.

‘’Oh sorry Miss y/l/n, I didn’t know you were busy,’’ Nate practically hissed out the last word as his gaze fell upon Maddy.

‘’Mister Jacobs, I’m with Maddy right now. If you’d like we can schedule a meeting-‘’

‘’No! No, it’s ok, miss. I’ll be late for class anyway,’’ Maddy scrambled to collect her bag and rush out the door.

‘’I can write you a hallpass,’’ your words jumbled, practically pleading with the girl to stay so that you were not left alone with this sociopath. The smirk on Nate’s face made your blood run cold.

Maddy murmured a quick ‘’bye’’ before the door shut closed behind Nate’s lanky figure. He scoffed, steadily turning his attention back to you as you shakily stood.

‘’You can’t just show up like that. I have a job to do and anyone could-‘’

‘’Take your pants off,’’ he abruptly interrupted you.

A pitiful squeak, similar to that of a puny mouse cornered in a snake pit, escaped your lips as the air left your lungs.

‘’What?’’ you felt your heart began to beat faster as Nate took a step towards you after locking your door, sealing your fate.

‘’I said, take your pants off. And bend over your desk,’’ his deep voice shook you to your core.

‘’Nate, please,’’ you whispered, trying to sum up as much courage and dominance as you could as you stood straight and met his terrifying gaze.

He didn’t respond as his hands descended on you. One locked itself onto the back of your neck and played with your hair as the other began to roughly grope your breasts through your flimsy shirt. His mouth pressed rough, hearted kissed onto the column of your neck as his breath fanned hot flames onto your soft skin. You felt paralyzed as his grip tightened, you having to bite your lips from crying out.

You jumped when his large hand made its’ way underneath your shirt and the material of your bra. He easily captured a nipple between his index and middle finger and began to pinch and squeeze and tug on the sensitive bud, expertly rolling it however way he sought fit.

‘’L-leave,’’ you whispered. Half of you was praying and the other was making a rather pathetic attempt to reestablish authority over him.

‘’If I walk out that door, everyone will know how you slept with a student,’’ he threatened, biting at the soft juncture between your neck and shoulder, making you hiss in pain.

‘’I didn’t know!’’ you whimpered, cursing the way your body reacted to both his touch and his voice.

Your nipples were overstimulated at this point, any rubbing against your bra or touch from Nate’s fingers had you mewling like a helpless kitten. Your knees locked together as you felt the heat expand downward from your arousal.

‘’The sooner you give in, the sooner I leave. The less chance you have of someone catching us,’’ he groaned, grinding his thickness into your lower abdomen so you felt what was awaiting you.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as you nervously fumbled with your jeans. Nate all but growled when he saw the delicate lace material that hid your womanhood. His breathing labored and his cock twitched. Since he had last had you he had messed around with Maddy a few times, trying to placate his urges, trying to forget about his attractive new neighbor and school counselor. But something about you, the way you were allured him to you. He found himself craving you, imagining your cries and moans as he thrusted wildly into Maddy. He found himself becoming rougher at the thought of having you once again, all to himself. His little taboo. Today, he found he couldn’t wait any longer and found himself at your office door, ready to continue your secret little sessions.

By the time your jeans had pooled around your ankles and your underwear shortly followed, your boots providing you with a little more height than usual, Nate grew tired of waiting. He shoved your paperwork, cleverly unhooking your phone in case anyone called, and shoved you down by your neck so that your body was painfully bent over the unforgiving surface.

Your cheek pressed against the wood of the desk, your eyes searching for anything to focus on as you tried to block out the jingling of his belt and the sound of his zipper being pulled down. You felt the heat of his cock at your entrance as Nate folded himself onto you, his breath hitting your cheek and neck as his toned abs gently grazed your spine and ass.

‘’Be quiet,’’ he warned, one massive hand wrapping around your face to cover your mouth. You winced as he spit down onto your spread pussy, using his thumb as makeshift lubricate. He hummed in approval at the feel of your arousal and you didn’t need to face him to know he had a chesire cat grin on his pale face. You could feel him retreat his hips before he lunged forward and sheathed his massive dick into your tight canal. You screamed against his hand, although it was practically just muffled mewls given his tight grip as he began rotating his hips, stretching your tightness to welcome whatever he was about to give you.

‘’Shhhh, good girl, look at you taking it like a champ,’’ he mocked as he reluctantly pulled out, only to violently snap forward, your body lunging with his brutal movements.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were ashamed to admit they were in pleasure. The feeling of complete fulness outweighed the pain, but you made a pitiful attempt to reach behind you and shove him back. You yelped as his other hand locked your wrists and pinned them to the small of your back, your body helpless and completely on display as Nate continued his brutal pace. He felt every quiver, every squeeze that your sweet pussy gave him. He nearly came within the first few minutes of being inside of you, but he managed to hold off. The way you squealed under him, your smaller body rocking in tune with his thrusts, and the way your tight pink pussy latched onto him to the point he dragged your body back as he pulled out was nothing that he had ever had before. He pressed more of his weight into you, trying to keep his own grunts and moans quiet as he gripped your face and wrists.

‘’So good,’’ he kept repeating in your neck as he hammered into you. The wet noises and sound of his hips violently meeting your backside filled you with fear that someone would come in and catch you. Your squealing and cries slowly transformed into needy moans and whimpers, you faintly acknowledged your juices beginning to drip down your inner thighs and you felt your insides begin to coil.

‘’N-Nate,’’ you breathlessly cried against his palm, attempting to suck in as much air through your nose as you could. He bite down on your shoulder, tongue lapping at the faint angry marks, groaning as his pace did not let out. He was impossibly thick and girthy, filling you and hitting your cervix with every ram of his hips. Your hands twitched and knees buckled as his cock began throbbing along your velvet walls. You couldn’t help but squeeze him as your own climax began to form, causing him to hiss against your shoulder.

‘’Gonna fill you up, oh fuck,’’ you faintly deciphered him growling out as you were forced to take his thrusts.

Your clit throbbed almost painfully, knuckles turning lighter as your fists clenched against your back. He abruptly released your wrists, opting to clutch the curve of your hip as he forced your body back to meet his awaiting thrusts, making you cry out every time he angrily entered you. As you cried out with each thrust, he groaned, feeling your release incredibly close. He angled his hips slightly higher and dove in, grinning as he heard your moans, your pussy locking onto his dick as your orgasm coated him. He slowed his pace just to watch the way he glistened from your juices, enjoying the sinful squelching noises you both produced as he shoved himself repeatedly into you, before regaining his violent momentum.

His grip on you tightened impossibly as you lay limp underneath him, lost in the waves of your release. All you felt was your body being forced back and forth as Nate impaled you onto his angry member. You swore you saw actual stars bouncing around your vision before you were forced back down into reality as he removed his hand from your mouth (finally) and gripped your throat. Through his animalistic movements he angled your face back to meet his in a bruising, possessive kiss as he ensured every inch of him was buried to the hilt inside of you as he shuddered. You groaned as the warmth of his cum filled your abused pussy. He moved against you one last time before slowly pulling you out and stuffing himself back into his jeans and zipping it back up. You winced when you felt a finger trace your lower lips and shove some of his load back into your sore pussy.

‘’Get dressed,’’ his voice conveyed his relaxation and his gaze was surprising soft as he helped you stand up.

You didn’t speak as you redressed, your face still flushed with a postcoital glow. He tucked some of your hair out of your face as his eyes searched yours, his thoughts unreadable. But just as his expression lingered on borderline affection, that cruel teenage-boy smirk reappeared as his hand thumbed the base of your neck in a warning grip.

‘’I’m going to need that hall pass.’’

#nate jacobs x reader #euphoria #nate jacobs #jacob elordi #Smut #maddy perez #euphoria hbo #nate jacobs smut #angst

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whispersofmercury · 4 years

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🖤Moon - Pluto Aspects🔪

🖤Dives deeply into their feelings

🔪Their emotions are INTENSE and often feel all consuming

🖤fear is usually heightened and they may have strong anxiety or fear of loss, control or death

🔪They might experience emotional addiction (to others emotions or their own)

🖤Often need time to digest what they’re actually feeling and might have a hard time communicating to others what they’re feeling

🔪Might feel the need to control their emotions, wether this means repressing the or keeping a lid on them or controlling how others see them

🖤Might have an extreme fear of loss, change or the unknown (although it might show up in subtle ways)

🔪Usually they have a core need to feel safe, and to feel safe some sort of massive emotional deconstruction or reconstruction usually has to occur (not the easiest cycle)

🖤Often their home life is intense and they need space away from it (sadly a lot of people I know with this aspect have abusive families, but not all moon-Pluto people will)

🔪Those with the hard aspects (conjunction, square, opposition) might feel intruded upon or invaded especially by their family

🖤These people like to get to the root of why they feel the way they do, they want to eradicate the feeling at the source

🔪Are known for ‘killing’ their feelings and might appear cold to others

🖤However feelings aren’t usually killed, but more buried until they reappear later in a burst that can be destructive

🔪Their families might have a skeleton or a secret in their cupboard, some sort of trauma or violation or other messy situation, but again depends on the person

🖤These people are often charged with carrying their family’s secret and to heal them

🔪Can act as a sponge, soaking in any negativity or unexpressed feelings around them (they can easily get drained by being near people)

🖤Whenever there’s a crisis around them, even if it has nothing to do with them, they’ll usually somehow manage to get involved in it (they can smell trauma a mile away)

🔪Usually they are her strong and perceptive people, even if they aren’t vocal on what they observe. Others turn to them for advice especially in hard times

🖤Nothing ever really seems to shock them, they have seen, and more so felt it, all before

🔪Great at providing and safe space for people to express their emotions, can become amazing therapists

🖤Sadly they often attract unhealthy relationships. Relationships that are emotionally intense and dramatic

🔪Also seem to attract who are at polar opposites of the emotional scale, with the conjunction they might find someone who’s very emotionally repressed, who keeps their emotional world hidden or with the other aspects usually someone who feels helpless to their emotions, who’s controlled by their intense emotional swings

🖤They might also choose dramatic partners who can act out the Plutonian emotions that they are not comfortable with expressing yet

🔪On a side note they also tend to just find people who are opposite to them

🖤They often crave intense emotional interaction, and their personal life isn’t usually tranquil for long

🔪They are full of dark, seething undercurrents that can erupt at any minute

🖤They like to keep the details of their personal and domestic life to themselves, and not in public view. They might feel like there’s no need to trust the others with their feelings and secrets

🔪Many come from a background where it wasn’t safe to expose/express ones feelings. They might be used for manipulation, control or blackmail

🖤While they are amazing at detecting things like manipulation, control and blackmail they may use them consciously or unconsciously as well

🔪They might be obsessed with their mother in some way, or wanting to be a mother. Or their mother might be obsessed with them

🖤Mother figure might be controlling and over protective. She might over mother or invade the child’s space, allowing no hiding place, no secrets, no privacy

🔪The conjunction might signal that they won’t be accepted by their family, or that they need to leave their family/community to be authentically themselves

🖤Very in-tune with their subconscious and their primal feelings, and their subcnious is often VERY strong

🔪They might crash into or invade others feelings or be very frightened of doing so

🖤Might have an obsession with motives, what their motives are and what others motives are

🔪 A general philosophy they might have is “if I know the person thourougly, including their weaknesses, then they cannot hurt me, because I hold the power”

🖤They might have power struggles come up again and again in their relationships

🔪Can be very possessive

🖤Might be constantly told they are too sensitive, obsessive, emotional or serious

🔪Very resilient people with willpower of steel and often can uplift others

🖤The most difficult lesson they may need to learn is to let go of their feelings. They may have the urge to purge their destructive emotions like rage, hurt, suspicion and jealousy but their fear of letting go is often stronger

🔪Moon-Pluto people are Intense. Their emotions, home environment and the people that surround them can lead them to be controlling, manipulative and anxious people. However, because of their experience with the darker side of life they tend to be resilient and inspiring, and at their best they can squeeze out depth from every experience. They make powerful,impactful and loyal friends and partners🖤

#astrology #zodiac #Pluto #moon #moon aspect pluto #aspect #moon trine Pluto #moon sextile pluto #moon conjunct Pluto #moon opposite Pluto #moon square pluto #scorpio moon

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 2 years

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Okay, one more thing (probably not just one more thing), since I’m ranting about Duggan’s Pyro again.

Given that Duggan writes Pyro as frequently giving lip service to wanting to kill people, but also obediently following all the rules on the Marauder and arguably maiming fewer people than Bobby does, at least in terms of what we see on panel, it would have been interesting to explore the idea that Pyro is actually more bark than bite.

And no, I’m not looking to retcon Pyro’s backstory and reveal that he’s actually a sweetheart who never wanted to kill anyone. He has been shown killing people on panel. In battle he is callous, vicious, and sometimes even downright gleeful about killing people. He is a nasty dude.

But....exactly how vicious Pyro is depends on the writer. The Brotherhood is written as bumbling idiots half the time, and it’s hard to say how high of a body count any of them really has, especially compared to the big names like Magneto, Apocalypse, SInister, etc. I think I’ve mentioned before in a post, that for the extremely destructive powers that they have, we really don’t see Pyro or Avalanche causing the kind of mass death that they could cause, if they wanted to. The only time we see Pyro causing massive, destructive wildfires is actually when his powers are out of control due to the Legacy Virus, and he’s running around delirious, not actively trying to hurt people.

Given that Pyro is usually written as having a puffed up ego, and putting on a big show for attention (Duggan also writes him this way, and that part is definitely in character), it would make sense to me if some of Pyro’s “Whee, I love killing people!” attitude is just him putting on a tough guy act. Partially because he’s been spending most of his time as a terrorist, and partially just because he doesn’t want to be perceived as weak, he wants to be a “badass,” so he constantly puts on a show of being all big and bad.

It would have been interesting to address this in Marauders. Like, a scene where Kate, or more likely, Emma, calls Pyro’s bluff and tells him to go ahead and kill someone, promising that he won’t be Pitted for it. I could see Emma setting this up as some kind of psychic “test” just to see what he’ll do, actually. And for whatever reason, we see Pyro hesitate or back down. Maybe the person he’s been given “permission” to kill is totally helpless and he feels weird just executing them right in from of everyone. Maybe he suspects that it’s a test and he doesn’t want to do the “wrong” thing. Maybe it’s Yellowjacket, and he starts talking about how he thinks Pyro is really cool, and Pyro is like, “Aww, you’re actually not such a bad guy, we could get along.” Or again, we could have had an encounter between Pyro and Wilhelmina, since Duggan seems to love her, and show Pyro spare or even help her when he realizes that she is trying to change for the better (just like him).

Or hell, even something like Bishop or Bobby pointing out that Pyro seems to be mostly talk when it comes to killing people.

It’s just weird to me that Duggan, while giving Pyro the tiniest little crumbs of a redemptive story, also wrote a more vicious and blood-thirsty Pyro than some of his past depictions. And again, his “violent wild-card” status on the team really does seem to be mostly talk. He doesn’t cross the line, he doesn’t even come close. He doesn’t give more than the most cursory protest of “Awww, please lemme kill this guy,” then quickly drops it when someone tells him “No.” Marauders Pyro is like a cat fluffing itself up real big and hissing. “Look at me, I’m so scary with my skull-face tattoo!” But he really just wants to curl up and take a nap.

#pyro #st john allerdyce #marauders salt

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ashasmonsters · 3 years

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The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

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labarch · 3 years

Text

Attempt at a Witch Hat Atelier timeline

We are still missing a lot of backstory for our main cast, but I thought I’d try and write a timeline based on what we know so far, and explore where their storylines might intersect.

I am pulling these numbers out of my hat for convenience sake, but here are some approximate ages for the characters: at the start of the manga, let’s say Coco, Tetia and Agott are all 12, Riche is 11, and Qifrey and Olruggio are 28.

20-23 years ago: Olruggio leaves his birth town Godley and moves to the Great Hall, maybe as young as 5 years old.

While many witches are born in the Great Hall, Olruggio comes from a town called Godley in the North. Yet he doesn’t remember Utowin, who came from the same place. We know that young witches usually start their training between the age of 7 and 10, but since witch society is awfully elitist, Olruggio would have been sent there as soon as his talent for magic became apparent.

Being ripped from his home at an extremely young age could explain his fear of being unwanted and left behind: he overworks himself as a way to feel useful and validated, is defensive about his own feelings, and he gets agitated and sometimes aggressive whenever Qifrey hides things from him.

20 years ago: arrival of Qifrey at the Great Hall at age 8. Olruggio befriends him soon afterwards. The both of them start sneaking out at night to chase Brimhats.

8 year old Qifrey was one fierce little thing, you have to give him that. His abuse at the hands of the Brimhats was brutal enough to break a grown man, but he picks himself up and goes right after them like “Alright jerks, you’ve got some explaining to do and I want my eyeball back!”.

Also it cracks me up that Olruggio was carrying this massive book in their flashback. Gotta love that his reaction to Qifrey’s “Let’s go chase some terrorists!” was “Sure, let me just pack my homework =>”.

Finally, there might be a slightly more selfish motivation for Olruggio’s fast friendship and devotion to Qifrey. Olruggio’s self-esteem lies in his ability to help people, so he would naturally be drawn to someone helpless. It’s unclear how much of Qifrey’s memory was missing: apparently he didn’t know about birthdays. How many other basic concepts was he missing? Did he know how to read? Between that, his lack of knowledge about magic and his injury, he was probably completely dependent on Olruggio at the beginning. Given Olruggio’s wish that they go back to “the good old times” when they were always together, I am wondering whether some hidden part of him misses being essential to someone. It’s well-intentioned, but not entirely healthy, especially if he is using Qifrey as a coping mechanism for his own insecurities.

14 years ago: Olruggio and Qifrey make a pledge of (betrothal) friendship, exchange tassels and attempt the Librarian test at age 14. It is their last adventure together, but Qifrey will continue his investigations on his own, to Olruggio’s disappointment and betrayal. Qifrey starts wearing his half-tinted glasses.

In the pledge flashback, they are wearing their old tassels, but they have swapped them by the time they undertake the third test. Also, when he remembers that pledge, Olruggio says that Qifrey’s investigation “should have ended at the Tower of Books”. The tower is the last likely place where Qifrey could have found answers about his past and a non-forbidden way of getting his eye back. Olruggio probably made him promise that he would stop his search afterwards.

Beldaruit says that he thought Qifrey had given up on his search after the third test, but Olruggio tells a slightly different story. Apparently he thought Qifrey “finally stopped causing trouble” after taking in apprentices, which means he was still behaving suspiciously right up until he became a teacher. Alaira also comments on Qifrey’s interest in the Brimhats in the first volume, so clearly his investigations were common knowledge among his friends, even as an adult.

Olruggio’s anger whenever the Brimhats are mentioned would then be caused not just by his own fear of forbidden magic, but by the reminder that Qifrey broke his promise to him, and refused to leave his past behind. Naturally, Olruggio doesn’t know about Qifrey’s change in circumstances: he is no longer looking to retrieve what he lost, but trying to stop an impending threat.

Qifrey’s discoveries in the Tower of Books also seem to have renewed his disgust towards his own scar: he starts wearing glasses shortly afterwards, even though his eyesight hasn’t yet started deteriorating.

14-5 years ago: in that interval, Coco’s father dies of illness. Olruggio becomes more and more famous for his magical items, and is given the title “Shining Torch” / “Master of Lights”. His glowstone paths become widely popular, and are installed around the castle near Coco’s mom. Both Qifrey and Olruggio pass the fourth test and complete their training.

At this stage, I really doubt that Qifrey intended to become a teacher. Whatever information he found at the Tower of Books convinced him he had to stop the Brimhats’ plan. He was probably planning to complete his training and then go straight on to his quest, not really expecting to return alive.

There are also hints that this was a strained period for Qifrey and Olruggio: Olruggio mentions that he would like them to confide in each other “just like old times”, which implies that they grew more distant after the Librarian test. I’m suspecting that Qifrey was trying to slowly remove himself from Olruggio’s life, hoping Olruggio would be so famous and beloved by the time they graduated that he would forget about Qifrey and barely notice his disappearance. Qifrey’s self-esteem isn’t the best y’all.

5 years ago: Coco receives the magic picture book from Iguin at age 7 at the Silver Night Festival. The Brimhats stop showing signs of activity. Qifrey takes on his first apprentice (probably Tetia, age 7). He interrupts his investigation of the Brimhats and creates the atelier. Olruggio becomes his Watchful Eye.

We don’t know exactly how old Coco was when she got her book, but her tiny chubby face makes me think she was 6-7. Alaira also tells us in the first volume that the incident with Coco’s mother is the first sign of Brimhat activity in five years. I am thinking that after Iguin gave away the book, he instructed the other Brimhats to keep a low profile until his scheme could hatch.

I also wonder whether Coco getting her book might coincide with Qifrey becoming a teacher and creating his atelier. Given that Qifrey is probably tied to Iguin’s schemes, how coincidental is it that Qifrey wandered into Coco’s village and set her fate in motion? Perhaps Iguin contrived for them to live in the same area so that they would meet eventually. Either he somehow influenced Qifrey’s choice of location for his atelier, or he selected Coco as his “child of hope” because of her relative proximity as well as her love for magic.

7 years old is when we could expect Tetia to have passed the first test. For now we know little about her backstory, but we can guess a few things: she is enthusiastic and ambitious, but gets easily side-tracked by pet projects and struggles to stick to the curriculum. She craves positive feedback and is worried her spells and interests will be condemned as frivolous. It makes me think that she passed her first test early, but was then mistreated by her first teachers for being too childish.

We’ve seen that Qifrey has a compulsive tendency to adopt children in distress. It would fit his character if he became a teacher on impulse. Maybe he had to pass the fifth test in a rush to be allowed to keep Tetia by his side. This also brought Olruggio back into his life, as he was the only one willing to follow him away from the atelier as Watchful Eye.

The complicity between Tetia and Qifrey, and Tetia taking on the role of a big sister for both Riche and Coco, also make me think she was Qifrey’s first apprentice. Tetia is often shown teasing Qifrey, quoting both Qifrey and Olruggio, and imitating Qifrey’s teaching style: I can totally see them as a little family of three at some point in the past.

4 years ago: Riche starts training under her brother’s master, a creepy asshole, at age 7.

We actually have a clear timestamp for that one in chapter 25, woohoo! Riche’s old teacher can eat a brick.

3-2 years ago: Qifrey and Olruggio learn about Riche’s mistreatment in her old atelier and promptly adopt her. Beldaruit takes on Ririfin as an apprentice. Qifrey’s eyesight starts deteriorating. He adds the light protection glyph to his glasses.

Before that time, Qifrey might have intended to put his quest on hold until after Tetia’s graduation, but now his impending blindness puts him on a time limit. He can’t do a lot about it however, since the Brimhats have been keeping a low profile for years and are not leaving him any clue.

It’s unclear how long Riche stayed at her old atelier, and whether she joined Qifrey before or after Agott. I’m hoping she made it out as soon as possible.

2 years ago: Agott passes the first test at age 10. She gets accused of stealing someone else’s spell, is rejected from her prestigious family’s apprenticeship, and joins Qifrey’s atelier.

Agott has been treated harshly by her family for not being enough of a genius. She mentions passing the first test at 10, the upper end of the normal age range. She was probably given a hard time for starting her apprenticeship so “late”, which explains why she is now adamant about passing the other tests as quickly as possible.

I wonder whether she felt ambivalent about joining Qifrey’s atelier at first. On the one hand, Qifrey was taught by the Sage of Education himself and is clearly very powerful. On the other hand, he has only a couple students and lives in a weird little school in the middle of nowhere, a big fall from grace compared to her prestigious upbringing. I wonder whether Qifrey went to find her after he heard she was the object of nasty rumours (he knows a thing or two about those), and Agott didn’t feel like she had other options.

0 year ago: Coco and Qifrey meet. Iguin goes “F***ing finally, I thought I’d have to watch that humdrum one-eyed twink bake potatoes for another five years. It’s dragon-slaying time now baby!!!”

#witch hat atelier #witch hat meta #qifrey #olruggio #tbna #coco #riche #agott #everyone has a horrible time at the Great Hall: a wha timeline #Olruggio the wonder child arriving at the Great Hall at age 5 wrapped in an anxiety blanket and clinging to a plush toy #protect him #no mention of treefrey this time what are the odds

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