#‘why not worship totally made-up father figure instead’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peter-parcoeur · 4 years ago

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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Desire.

CEO ! Jung Hoseok x Married ! OC

Summary : Tall Handsome CEO Hobi meets dainty delicate country girl, Elena and falls head over heels. Too bad she’s already taken.

Genre : Infidelity, Morally ambiguous characters.

Chapter 1

On Fridays, Jung Hoseok liked to unwind.

After a whole entire week of heading Gwihan Inc., going over proposals, signing off on acquisitions and baby sitting his two younger siblings who were just entering the company business, Jung Hoseok liked to relax on Friday evenings, usually with a glass of wine, maybe some good food from the Chinese restaurant down the street and occasionally with some company of the feminine variety.

As the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country, Hoseok was pretty much a household name in Seoul. Not just because of his dashing good looks and his staggering business acumen, but also because of the incredibly humble, down to earth persona that he wore .

Never in the history of Korea, had there been a more approachable and friendly multi billionaire Chaebol prince : the very personification of generosity and kindness.

At the young age of 34, Jung Hoseok charmed reporters and celebrities and his fellow businessmen with alacrity .

Affectionately nicknamed the Sunshine CEO, Hoseok’s dimpled smile was a staple and he was well known for being fair and even tempered, the first to extend his hand in friendship to anyone.

Which was a wonderful reputation to carry of course but it also made people forget that for all his sunny disposition, Jung Hoseok was still very much human.

And he did not build his company ( once on the verge of bankruptcy because of his unscrupulous father ) from scratch, by being a pushover. Which meant that Hoseok had to balance being a good guy and a firm guy and sometimes it was such a fucking pain in his ass.

“Hyung, come on....it’s just for a few hours. It’s fun.... “ Kim Taehyung could whine like no other. Korea’s top model, Taehyung or V as he liked to be called had a deep voice which could also do a full 180, making Hoseok’s ears ring, when the younger wasn’t getting his way.

Like right now.

“Tae, i’m so fucking tired, i need a drink and a shower and I’m crashing into my bed. I am not bar hopping with you morons. I’m too old for that shit. “ Hoseok groaned, watching Taehyung and his photographer husband slur and sway after one drink too many. It was already a little past eleven in the night and he had every intention of sleeping for the next thirteen hours at the least.

“Awww hyung...its not a bar...it’s a strip club ... Come on , hyung live a little. “ Jeon Jungkook was adorable, like a bunny, but also a brat that never took no for an answer. Together , the couple were pretty much indestructible.

Too tired to argue with the two of them, he groaned .

It was going to be a long, long night.

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

The club was called Desire, nothing like the posh high end places Hoseok was used to. It wasn’t a dump or anything but the decor, the furnishings and the clientele all screamed middle class, which wasn’t Hoseok’s usual scene.

At all.

But apparently, Jungkook had stumbled on someone here during one of his photography stints.

A dancer called the ‘ White Dove’.

The White Dove was apparently, one of the most sought after dancers in the club, because she only performed twice a month. She didn’t do it for the money, no one knew why she did it. But according to Jungkook, she was the most sensuously arousing woman he had ever seen in his entire life.

she moves like water, Hyung, fluid and transient. ...like the laws of physics don’t apply to her body, it’s like magic.

Which was high praise, coming from a gay man.

A gay man who had actually majored in dance in college.

And even Taehyung hadn’t even looked all that bothered, watching his husband sing praises about someone else’s body .

“Would love to have both of them in my bed at the same time hyung, how do i make that happen?” He’d asked, glassy eyed.

Hoseok had gagged, elbowed him in the ribs and moved away.

But his dongsaengs could be pretty darn insistent and so here he was, on a friday night, half asleep from exhaustion, stumbling behind Jungkook and Taehyung as they led him to a private room, at the back of the club.

The room was wide, shaped like a semi circle, with an elevated stage up front. Just a couple of feet away from the stage, three sofas lines the curved edges of the wall.

Taehyung and Jungkook lay wrapped around each other in the first one, closest to the door and Hoseok did not want to see them touching each other so he skipped the middle sofa, choosing to recline on the sofa in the farthest corner.

A very dim light hung right over his head , offering very little by way of illumination but he supposed that was the point. The dancer would be distracted by a well lit audience.

And while he had been quite opposed to the idea when the evening began, Hoseok couldn’t help but admit , that seated on the cheap maroon sofa, with tacky vinyl upholstery, in a dimly lit room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Who was this woman?

“Hyung, you’ll love her!! She’s totally your type!” Jungkook called out excitedly .

Hoseok threw an amused look at the pair, shaking his head before turning around to stare at the stage again. The lights in the low lying ceiling dimmed, the one on the stage turning on gradually and to his surprise, he felt his breath catch when the stage curtain moved, gentle ripples on the satin surface.

Music began pouring in, smooth and sensual and intrigued and then a voice followed , feminine and soft.

“Good evening. I’m Elena .... or as they call me, the White Dove. Thank you for letting me entertain you tonight.”

She sounded absolutely delectable and Hoseok felt his eyes widen, lips parting in shock at the voice.

Soft and sweet, dainty and almost elegant.

Low and submissive, like she wanted nothing more than to make him happy.

Like honey in his ears.

It sounded so out of place , in this cheap dingy strip club.

She sounded like a fucking princess.

And then the curtains parted, revealing a petite, svelte figure.

Hoseok sat up straighter, eyes wide as he stared at her.

She wore a mask, covering the upper part of her face and leaving only her lush, plump lips on display. They were an alluring red, bright and radiant in the golden light. She was dressed in a small robe, full sleeved and falling to her knees , showing off her slim, curvy legs and her skin was honey tinted, smooth to his gaze.

Hoseok swallowed and as he watched, she threw a smile, soft and gentle and absolutely serene.

It was the smile that did it for him.

Innocent and altogether lovely, like the kind of smile you would give someone you had loved for a hundred thousand years and he felt himself aching for it, wanting more of that gentle voice, more of that dazzling smile.

As he watched she stepped fully into the center, the light bathing her in gold as she lightly gripped the pole and stepped forwards fully, lips parted in a smile as she bowed.

Hoseok had sat through enough strip shows to know that this was different. Elena took small, hesitant steps into the light, tugging on the belt around her waist, the short velvet robe sliding off her shoulder gently.

Hoseok’s throat went dry when he saw what she was dressed in : A ruby red lingerie set, with satin bows along her neckline, applique orchids all across her torso , the hem of her dress stopping just an inch below her waist, revealing satin bikinis that hugged her ass so tight his finger itched .

He wanted to touch so bad.

She grabbed the fabric of the robe and instead of tossing it away, she folded it, moving to place it on a chair in the corner of the stage, gently before tossing another smile, this time apologetic.

“I’m sorry, i need to wear this again and I don’t want it to get dirty...” She giggled then , her voice like the tinkling of a bell and Hoseok was so gone , he couldn’t think straight anymore.

He gripped the edge of the sofa, the last vestiges of sleep leaving his head.

And then the music began, low and soothing and seductive and she began to move.

Elena was a phenomenal dancer, that much was obvious in just the first minute. She moved easily, and perfectly, her long legs wrapping around the pole with ease, her hands gripping it with ease but it was her gaze that drew him in....

She clearly thought Tae and Jungkook were the only ones in the audience so she kept her gaze on them, hadn’t seen him at all and she looked at them with eyes that begged for approval. She smiled often, threw her hair back and jerked her shoulders in question, asking unsubtly if they liked it, and Jungkook and Taehyung responded with enthusiasm, cheerful shouts of “ so gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart....” filling the room.

Hoseok leaned back against the couch, his breath leaving him in a harsh exhale.

This wasn’t the kind of woman he had been expecting.

He had been prepared, for brash and bold and seductive and sensuous. A woman who knew how to use her body to get what she wanted.... The only kind of woman he had ever met in his entire life.

But Elena....

She looked so desperate to please, so desperate to be good and it was evident in her eyes, the thirst for praise , for approval. She wanted to be good and she wanted someone to tell her that.... to tell her hat she was beautiful, that she was perfect , that she was absolutely scintillating and Hoseok wanted nothing more than to be that someone.

To be the person who rained kissed all over her body, gentle touches all over her as he breathed praise into her ears, told her how perfect she was, how enchanting and how unreal she was.

How she was the kind of woman he would never ever tire of......

The kind of woman who deserved to be worshipped on the satin sheets of his king sized bed. .

And he would. This wasn’t going to end like this, he thought , his heart pounding. It couldn’t.

He felt his heart pound as the performance ended, as she stepped back into the limelight and bowed, all sweet smiles and gentle gratitude.

Taehyung and Jungkook jumped to their feet applauding cheerfully and she laughed.

“Thank you for coming today. I hope you enjoyed my little dance. I would love to see you again. “ She smiled, cheerful and bright.

She finally turned to his side of the room, eyes widening when he finally pushed away from the shadows, moving into the pool of light in the middle of the room.

“You were absolutely gorgeous sweetheart.” He said gently.

Her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise and e watched her eyes travel up and down his torso, catching on the lean width of his waist, tongue peeking out to lick her lips as her eyes stayed glued to the front of his crotch, where his rock hard dick was probably very poorly concealed.

“You’re the one to blame for that, princess.” He said with smirk and her eyes jumped to his, a blush blooming on her cheeks so fast that it made his head swim.

Fuck.

Fuck she was gorgeous.

He glanced at his friends, both of who were looking between him and the dancer with knowing looks.

“Dinners on me tomorrow if you two leave right now.” Hoseok said softly.

Laughing, the pair waved good bye, closing the door behind them.

Elena stood on the stage, still staring at him like he was a full course meal and he moved back to the middle sofa, lowering himself down before spreading his legs and patting his thighs.

“How much for a private....conversation?” He asked quietly.

She hesitated.

“I.. i need to ask the manager.” She said hesitantly.

Hoseok felt a grin creeping up his face.

He pulled his phone out and dialed quickly. Less than a minute later, the manager stumbled in, bowing almost ninety degrees.

“Mr. Jung.. you called?” The man was breathless.

“Elena and I are going to be occupied for the next hour or so.... I don’t want us to be disturbed.”

The manager looked very surprised, glancing at her with wide eyes.

“You want to... ?” He asked quickly and Elena blushed. Hoseok was oddly impressed that he had asked for her consent. Well at least this place wasn't as sleazy as it looked.

“Just a conversation.” She whispered. Hoseok felt his eyebrow raise in surprise.

Wait, did she really think he wanted a conversation? Had he been too subtle? Was the hard dick and the invitation to sit on his lap not forward enough?

The man gave her a confused look but nodded.

“Of course Mr. Jung. Anything you like.” he bowed again and left , locking the door behind him. Hoseok glanced at her, watching as she slowly climbed down the stairs

Elena hesitated, before slowly moving to get her robe.

“Leave that.” He said , a little more sharply than he intended and she startled a little at his tone.

“Okay.” She whispered, scratching the back of her neck nervously and smiling a little.

“I’m sorry...I don’t usually do this... I... I’m married.” She said with a laugh.

Hoseok froze .

It felt a little like someone had dumped a whole entire barrel of ice cold water all over his head.

Of course she was fucking taken.

Of fucking course.....

He was such a fucking fool....

“Oh..” He croaked, voice breaking and even that single syllable dripped with so much disappointment that she noticed.

Her eyes flashed with something and she carefully climbed off the stage, walking up to him. He held his breath as she came closer, standing right between his spread legs. He wanted to touch but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Her hand rose up and he felt his breath catch when she lightly touched his hair, patting the strands carefully.

“you have really thick hair.” She giggled.

“Does you husband know you’re here?” He said softly.

Her gaze flitted to him.

“No. “ She said softly. And then she pressed in closer, enough that her knee brushed his thighs and he gripped her waist with both hands, instinctively.

“No?”

She bit her lips, eyes shifting away from him.

“He doesn’t... understand.” She sighed.

Intrigued, Hoseok tugged her closer and she tumbled into his lap. He pulled her in till she was seated on his thighs, legs thrown over the couch as she nestled into his chest.

He gripped her harder and God, she felt like a delicate bird in his hand. His arms stayed firm but inordinately gentle around her, and he swallowed scared to move because he was afraid he would break her . Scared to let go because he was afraid she would fly way.

“What doesn’t he understand sweetheart?” He prompted.

She turned to look right at him and he wanted to take that mask off so badly. To see her face in all its glory.

“That I need this...” She whispered.

“To dance...?” He prompted and she sniffled a little.

“No.” She whispered. And then her eyes met his again, bright and somehow desperate.

“What then baby? Why are you here?” He asked although he could already suspect it.

“To be desired. “ She smiled that same sweet smile of hers.

And really, not even a saint could resist that breathtaking smile.

And Jung Hoseok was so , so far from a saint.

She was the one who owed loyalty to the unknown husband. Not him. So he was going to just take what he was being offered.

He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to kiss her hard, his tongue forcing its way in before she could get her bearings. She didn’t protest, her body going limp in his arms a he looped her arms around his neck.

He flipped them over , till she was flat on her back on the couch and he was on her, grabbing her thighs and spreading her legs, grinding his clothed erection down into the heated center of her body as he kissed her.

She whimpered, hands scrambling to clutch at his shoulders. as she kissed him back. And he wondered if she lied, telling him that she was married. There was a world of inexperience in her kiss , absolutely no finesse in the way she spread her legs wider, hips jerking up to chase friction.

But what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

“Relax baby... We don’t have to rush...” He kissed her again, drawing back to stare at her and she looked a little out of it.

“Please.. I just... i need...”

Something about the look on her face made him pause. It was a familiar look. He’d seen this look before.

Not in the last decade no, but ....that desperate, confused inexperience took him all the way back to his senior year in high school when the Queen Bee , Kang Sejin had finally agreed to let him fuck her.

For the first time.

Hoseok stilled completely, refusing to believe it.

How old was this girl underneath him? She couldn’t be younger than twenty five.

“How old are you?” He demanded.

She stopped trying to yank him closer and went still, staring at him and licking her lips.

“I’m twenty seven.” She said finally and he frowned.

“You’ve done this before right?” He asked stupidly.

Of course she had...she said she was married for fuck’s sake.

But her eyes widened and she looked away and oh.

Oh.

What the actual fuck....

Hoseok scrambled off her, his head swimming with disbelief. She choked out a sob and sat up, hugging herself and he felt his heart break when he saw the tears swell, spilling over her lashes and God, that pout on her face.

“Elena.... “ He held his hand out, wanting to touch her again but she scrambled to her feet and backed away.

“I’m so sorry... i don’t know what I was thinking...” She bowed, her tears flowing freely now. “ Please...forget this ever happened...”

Hoseok stared at her as she ran up to stage, grabbing her robe and disappearing behind the curtain quickly.

He stood there, still painfully aroused as he tried to process what he’d just learned.

A virgin, he thought in sheer disbelief.

The stripper I nearly fucked right now is a fucking virgin.

His legs stopped working as he collapsed on the sofa.

So much for unwinding on a Friday.

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

“Listen, I know this is dumb but you really need to stop bringing this up so often.” My husband gave me an annoyed glare, his handsome face scrunched in impatience as he stuffed a couple of files into his leather briefcase.

“Why ? We’re married... we’ve been married for four months now!! Why won’t you touch me?! “ i demanded, exhausted and tired and so guilty.

Guilty because I’d come so close to cheating on him.

“Because i don’t get a hard on when i look at you. Because I never wanted to fucking marry you in the first place.!!” He snarled and i bit my lips feeling my heart hurt at the familiar words, the pang still just as painful as the first time he’d said those words to me.

“But you did...” I reminded him, following him to the door. He growled, throwing the shoe closet open and grabbing his work shoes.

“Elena... I’m not in the mood for this.” He said sternly.” I’m running late and Hoseok ssi’s supposed to be inspecting our department today. Do you have any idea what an important man he is? I need this meeting to be perfect if I want to get that promotion.... I can’t let anything distract me.”

“I’m your wife...not a distraction!!” I protested.

He ignored me, tying his laces and giving me one last look of loathing.

“if this doesn’t work for you, call your fucking parents and go back to that no good village of yours. We’ll get a fucking divorce and I’ll stop paying for your parents Hospital bills and then we’ll see how you survive.”

I stared at him, hurt and upset.

“Yesung...”

“I need to go. “ He stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I tried to get my bearings. It was so hard, doing this. Waking up day after day to cater to his every need and i wondered if it had even been worth it, agreeing to marry him just for the chance to pay for my parents.

Surely, there could have been another way?

Why had I agreed?

My mind flashed to the gorgeous man in the club the previous night.

How much for a private conversation.....

For a second i had been tempted.

I had actually considered asking him to pay me in return for sex. Maybe if he wanted to do it more than once.... Maybe he could keep me with him.

And then I could use the money to pay for my parents’ care and i could divorce Yesung.

Surely that was better than being shunned in your own home? Being made to feel ugly and unappealing.

I had been so close to doing it last night. So so close and then that man---he had somehow sensed it. Sensed that I hadn’t ever had sex before.

How embarrassing that had been. He had guessed that I was a virgin and I couldn’t help but wonder how.

What had i done wrong? i had hugged him, kissed him back and yet he had realized that i had no idea what i was doing or what i wanted.

How humiliating that had been.

I bit my lips.

I missed dancing.

Twice a month in some sleazy club hardly made up for fifteen years of training to be a dancer.

I missed the ballet school that I had to quit when my dad lost his job.

I missed Busan.

I missed my old life so bad.

Sighing I went back to the kitchen to fix my breakfast when my eyes fell on the packed lunch and i groaned.

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

Yesung’s company was easily the most luxurious building I’d ever been. Thankfully, I’d dressed well enough, a yellow summer dress with floral prints. I’d left my hair down, even put on makeup. I looked pretty and i wanted nothing more than for my husband to look at me with a little appreciation.

Yesung was a tall, very handsome man and i had really genuinely liked him when his parents had offered to set us up for a seon.

He had seemed genuinely interested and it was the only reason I’d agreed to marry him. But apparently, his parents had forced him into the whole thing and he felt nothing but deep resentment for me.

It was so unfair but i wasn’t ready to give up yet.

I had every intention of winning my husband over.

The lady at the reception gave me a visitor’s Id and told me where I could find my husband and I quickly walked over to elevators, nervous because I was the only one in flashy summer colors, all the employees dressed in muted tones of brown and grey. Flushing, I kept my head low as the elevator climbed all the way to the seventeenth floor. When I stepped out of the elevator, I caught sight of Yesung at once. He was talking to a tall man, who had his back towards me .

“Yesung!! “ i called out brightly. “ You forgot your lunch!!” I held the bag up and my husband’s eyes snapped to me widening in surprise.

I smiled and kept walking until the man talking to my husband turned around.

My smile froze on my face, my brain processing the very familiar features.

I stopped walking , my legs stalling .

No.

Oh, God no.

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

“Yesung! You forgot your lunch!!”

Hoseok felt his entire heart turn over in his ribcage at the sound of that voice.

No.. No way...it couldn’t be.

He turned around, stunned and his eyes caught a flash of lovely yellow, bright and incandescent in the dreary dullness of the office and oh god, it was her.

It was Elena.

She looked like sunshine.... Like one of those yellow tulips you saw in wall papers. Fresh and beautiful and even more breathtaking in the bright light of day and Hoseok felt like his brain had been fried.

She had seen him too and the look on her face said it all.

Guilt and horror flashed in rapid succession and those lips....those cherry red lips he’d tasted three days ago....they parted in shock.

Hoseok felt his mouth go dry as she went completely still.

“I’m so sorry sir... I don’t know why she came here!!” Kang Yesung’s voice drew him to the present and he frowned, watching as the man stalked over to her. His fists clenched as he saw the man grip her arm, hard.

Elena winced, looking hurt and something in Hoseok just snapped.

Completely forgetting where he was , who he was.... he stalked over , hands coming up to shove Yesung hard. The man, completely taken by surprise, stumbled and fell , crashing into the filling cabinets with a loud noise.

Everyone in the office went still, staring at him in sheer disbelief

And he knew exactly what they were thinking?

Did the Sunshine CEO just physically assault an employee? Was the world ending?

Hoseok stared at Elena.

“Are you alright? “ He whispered.

She was gawking at him, but also rubbing the skin where Yesung had grabbed her and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her arm, brushing her own fingers away and stroking the skin with his.

“That looks like its going to bruise.” He whispered.

He whirled to glare at Yesung, who had pulled himself together and was now staring between Hoseok and Elena, shock written all over his features.

“Is this your code of conduct when it comes to women, Mr. Kang?” His voice came out loud and angry , almost a furious snarl.

Yesung turned an ugly shade of red.

“She’s my wife sir. She ...she knows she can’t visit me ...” Yesung was gaping at him.

“So you’re going to assault her?” He demanded.

Yesung closed his mouth quickly.

“Are you alright, El-” He stopped himself , “ Mrs Kang.”

She was looking at the floor.

“Yes , sir.” Her voice shook and he could see her hands trembling. The urge to draw her into his arms was so overwhelming he had to clench his fists to stop himself.

“Jungkook! “ He called for his assistant. “ Please drop Mrs. Kang back home. Make sure she doesn’t need anything else.”

Jungkook bowed and smiled wide at her.

“Please, this way, Mrs. Kang.”

Hoseok stared at her and she glanced at him, one small fleeting glance heavy with guilt and confusion and worry.

He closed his eyes, trying to get his palpitating heart under control.

Oh, God he was in so much trouble.

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

Also please give this fic a lot of love!!!!! My baby never gets the love he deserves!!!

author’s Note :

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

i LOVE jUNG hOSEOK.

THAT’S IT THAT’S THE TEA.

Feedback is how you repay me so don’t be shy <3

#jung hoseok #hoseok smut #hobi smut #hoseof fic #hoseok fanfics #hoseok ceo #bts smut #bts ceo au #bts fics #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

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Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!

Percy's POV

My name is Percy Jackson.

I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.

On this trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.

Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.

He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"

It comes out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"

My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.

"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover mutters.

"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.

"About the Titans?"

'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."

Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"

I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.

"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.

I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan.

I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery is empty.

Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.

I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shakes the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she's talking about.

All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demands.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hisses.

Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.

With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.

She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.

Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.

The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.

I'm alone.

There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.

My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I walk back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I answer, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.

She just rolls her eyes and turns away.

I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."

Thunder booms overhead.

I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I go over to him.

He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stares blankly at me, "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Word Count: 3159 words

So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.

Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.

Love y'all! Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#percy jackson x sister reader #sally jackson x daugther reader #demigod reader #fem reader #reader insert #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the lightning thief reader insert #percy jackson and the battle of the labyrinth #percy jackson and the titans curse #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson and the greek gods #percy jackson and the sea of monsters #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert

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duhragonball · 3 years ago

Text

Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch.109-113

Hard to believe we’re at the end of this crazy ride.

Last time, Joseph had defeated Kars, only for Stroheim to order his men to finish Kars off with UV rays. Stroheim just wanted Kars to hurry up and die faster, and maybe he also wanted credit for the kill, but instead he played right into Kars hands. After Joseph kicked his ass, Kars put on a Stone Mask he had stowed away somewhere, and he installed the Red Stone of Aja into the Mask.

I should probably go over that a bit, since it hasn’t been mentioned for a while. Kars has been perfecting the Stone Mask technology for thousands of years. It turns humans into vampires, but for his species it unlocks even greater powers. But Kars hit a wall in his research. He wanted to design a mask that would make him the ultimate life form, but he lacked the means to power such a mask. He discovered an answer in the Aja Stone, a mineral that focuses light, but he needed a bigger, more flawless sample of it, and that’s the Stone he’s using right now, the one he captured from Lisa Lisa.

So instead of killing Kars, Stroheim accidentally made his lifelong ambition come true. One nice touch I just noticed is that the Mask itself falls apart as soon as it’s finished its task. I suppose, in theory, someone else could have tried it on and get the same power boost as Kars? Would it even work on a normal human? Well, we’ll never find out.

There’s a couple of ways to interpret this. One is that Kars’ “Super” Mask was highly experimental, and it must have been untested, since he’d never had Lisa’s stone until now. So it’s possible that the thing burned itself out after a single use. The other interpretation is that Kars designed this Mask to self-destruct after the first use, because it was never intended for anyone else but himself. The whole point of this was to become the Ultimate Life Form, the very pinnacle of all living creatures on Earth. I think it was implied that Wammu and Esidisi were expecting to share in this power when the time came, but why would Kars have ever allowed for this? What’s the point of being the greatest and best in the world if you have to share that top spot with two other guys?

Stroheim realllly wants to believe this is all a big fluke, and that he didn’t just make the bad guy stronger. The Ripple wound on Kars’ arm is still there, so Stroheim figures he’ll die anyway. Except Kars doesn’t seem too bothered by his injury. And then...

Yeah, so Kars not only repairs his injured arm, he reshapes his hand into a squirrel. Joseph speaks for us all: What the fuck?

For a hot minute, everyone thinks the squirrel he made is kind of cute, until Kars sends it to find another squirrel and kill it. Then the Kars-squirrel tears a hole through Stroheim and carves a trench in a Nazi soldier from chest to eyeball. Then it rejoins Kars’ wrist, and turns into a flower, and then a butterfly. Some Part 5 and 6 pre-references for ya.

Then the sun comes up. Wait, the Joseph/Wammu fight happened around midnight, right? How many hours have these folks been out here? And it’s February, too, so this had to have been a long night. Anyway, the sun comes up, so we’re saved, right? Wrong. Sunlight doesn’t hurt Kars anymore, thanks to the power he got from his special mask. So now what are they supposed to do?

Well, Joseph’s going to use his last resort: running away. Also, he grabs the Aja Stone, for no apparent reason. Kars grows a pair of wings to chase him. He no longer cares about the Hamon users, because they’re no longer a threat to him. But he wants to kill Joseph personally, both to celebrate his new powers and to avenge the deaths of Wammu and Kars.

Smokey joins Joseph, which doesn’t make much sense to Joseph, but Smokey wants to tell Joseph about Lisa Lisa being his mother. Except Joseph’s a little too distracted by the eldritch horror that’s trying to murder him. Read the room, Smokey.

Here’s a helpful diagram of Kars to explain what his deal is now. Basically, he’s immortal and can regenerate and reshape his whole body, but he had that before, just by being a Pillar Man. The big upgrade is that he’s no longer weak to sunlight (and by extension, the Ripple), and he can now replicate the traits of any life form on Earth. He’s faster than cheetahs and has better hearing than bats and so on. He can go for a full year without eating, and he no longer needs to sleep. Sex is meaningless to him, because procreation is only important for lower life forms to maintain their species. Kars has no need for children or bretheren. “There is but only one summit.”

Maybe Wammu and Esidisi had understood that truth all along, and they never seriously expected Kars to share this power with them. They practically worshipped Kars as it was, so maybe they were only doing this for the greater glory of their leader.

So what does Kars plan to do with all of this power he now has? The Aja Stone was his only goal before, and that’s done. He has no enemies to fear, and as Speedwagon observes, there’s no way left to kill him. This page states that his only purpose now is to create a world to match his own desire, but what is that? What’s Kars’ vision for the Earth now that he’s reached this point?

We never really find out, and I suppose that’s why it’s convenient that he decided to start out by killing Joseph. For all we know, he would have just chilled out and left humanity alone after that, but this way there’s still an immediate threat to deal with.

Miraculously, Joseph manages to stay ahead of Kars long enough to find the airplane that brought Stroheim here. You’d think Kars could have caught up to him with all these fancy new powers, but Kars was never in much of a hurry. He took his time to search for the Aja Stone, and he made it a point to trap Jojo and Lisa rather than risk fighting them fairly. So even now, when he has such an overwhelming advantage, he seems to be playing things the same way. He has no weaknesses, so he may as well take his time and stalk Joseph, if only to watch him squirm.

Joseph tries using the plane’s weapons to even the odds, but Kars grows armadillo hide on his wings to protect himself, and he fires the armor at Joseph like shrapnel. So machinery doesn’t seem to make much of a difference.

So Joseph just flies south, using the plane’s engines to give himself a comfortable lead. He’ll run out of fuel in a couple of hours, but Speedwagon calls him on the radio and tells him that they’ll figure out a plan. Except that Joseph already has his own plan. There’s a volcanic island off the coast of Italy. I assume this is Stromboli Island, since Italy has only three active volcanoes, and Mt. Stromboli is the only one on an island. Anyway, Joseph plans to lure Kars into the volcano, and destroy him with molten lava. I mean, Kars is still flammable, right?

Speedwagon hates this idea, because he doesn’t see any way for Joseph to pull this off without getting killed in the process, and that sounds way too much like what happened to Joseph’s father and grandfather. Oh, and his great-grandfather. I didn’t notice George I up there until just now. Speedwagon tries to tell Joseph about Lisa being his mom, but Joseph can’t hear him because of all the piranha noises in the plane. Wait... what?

Yeah, all the feathers that Kars turned into armor and launched into the fuselage? Well, he’s still controlling those things, and now Kars has turned them into piranhas. Well, I guess not literal fish, since they’d never survive up here. The point is that Kars can control every cell in his body and mimic any animal traits he wants, so if he wants to make small bitey creatures to wreck Joseph’s plane, he might as well make them look like piranhas. ALso he makes an octopus that tears up one of the engines.

So Joseph bails out, but he’s a sitting duck in that parachute. Kars calls him a butterfly caught in a web, which is the second time we’ve seen that analogy in Part 2. Araki just out here telling everyone what Jolyne would be wearing in twelve years.

But the parachute contains a dummy. Why did Joseph waste time drawing a face on it? Because he knew he had to fool Kars’ razor-sharp senses, of course. Kars probably saw the dummy, and got suspicious, but then he noticed the eyes and mouth, and though “Oh, okay, I guess that’s a real person then.”

Anyway, this suckers Kars in so that Joseph can crash into him with his plane and they can both go into the volcano together.

But Kars thinks he can tear up the plane before it lands. Except a robot hand grabs him from behind, and he finds Stroheim stowed away. Wait, so Stroheim outran Joseph AND Kars and hid in this plane before Joseph took off?

Anyway, Stroheim manages to get Joseph out of the plane to relative safety, but he crushes his whole lower body in the process. But it seems to be worth it, because Kars landed smack-dab in the volcano! Awesome! Fuck you, Kars, you screwed over Lisa Lisa, and that’s what you get! He tries to protect himself, but he can’t grow a defense against 1000 degree heat...

... is what I would say, except no, Kars totally does that. Just when Joseph thinks Kars has succumed to the lava, Kars pops out and slices off Joseph’s left arm with his goofy blade.

How the fuck did Kars survive? Well, he couldn’t grow a lava-proof shell, but he could create a porous layer beneath the shell, and use the air inside to insulate the rest of his body from the heat. That wouldn’t protect him indefinitely, but it was enough to get the drop on Joseph.

So that’s it then, right? Not even molten lava can kill Kars, unless you could shove him down in there and keep him still for like ten minutes, and who’s going to pull that off? Stroheim begins to lose all hope...

Then we get a flashback to Kars’ origin. Long, long ago, there was a race of subterranean humanoid with long lifespans and an aversion to sunlight. Prehistoric humans thought of them as gods or demons because of their reclusiveness and power. Also, they would eat humans and animals, so that probably made them dangerous, too.

But I don’t think they were nearly as powerful as the Pillar Men we’ve seen in this story. I say this because the flashback establishes that Kars was the one who discovered the latent power in their brains, and he was the one who invented the Stone Mask technology to harness that latent power. So it stands to reason that much of what he and the others could do was the result of Stone Mask enhancements. The problem is that those enhancements increased the amount of blood they needed to consume, and the others in the Clan feared that Kars’ experiments would destroy their whole ecosystem. So when they tried to stop Kars, he killed them all. The only survivors were himself, Esidisi, and two young children who grew up to become Wammu and Santana.

So that story tells you something about what Kars might do with this newfound “ultimate” power. He didn’t achieve this for the good of his own people, because they’re all dead now, and he wiped most of them out personally. If he would do that to his own kind, the rest of the Earth would be expendable to him.

Back to the present, Joseph’s not giving up yet. He tries to use the Ripple one more time, but it doesn’t work. Worse, Kars counters with his own Ripple. Because Kars can do that now, you see. He’s got the powers of all life on Earth, and that includes Ripple users, I suppose. Worse, Kars’ Hamon power is hundreds of times greater, so he ends up getting badly burned on his right knee.

So now Joseph’s completely out of tricks, and he starts to accept the inevitable. Kars decides that the best way to kill Joseph would be to destroy him with his own finisher, Ripple Overdrive. So he charges up the most powerful Hamon attack he can muster, and just as he’s about to strike...

Joseph impulsively grabs the Red Stone of Aja and uses it to block, kind of like how he stymied Kars back on that cliff in Switerland. Only this time, Kars doesn’t hold back, and the Hamon attack is amplified. It bursts through Joseph’s right hand and into the volcano below.

The narration says that not even Joseph really understood any of this. He just sort of acted on instinct. That bothered me once, but now I see that it wasn’t entirely unconscious impulse. Back in Venice, when Lisa first told Joseph about the Aja Stone, Joseph suggested destroying it to deny Kars his prize. But Lisa said there was a legend that foretold that Kars could never be defeated without the Aja Stone. And that would at least explain why Joseph picked the thing up back in Switzerland before he fled to Mt. Stromboli. Maybe it was unconscious action that made him pick up the stone in this fateful moment, but I think it was a more conscious thought that made him take the stone with him in the first place. On some level, he remembered that legend.

Okay, so there’s a mega-ultra-Super-Saiyan-5-Ripple that just went into a live volcano. What good does that do? Well, it makes the volcano erupt, and it launches Joseph and Kars into the air. So what? Kars can fly. Yeah, he could, but...

You know, Joseph’s lost hand really left an impression on me when I first watched the anime of Part 2, but now that I’ve read the manga, I’ve noticed tons of severed and wounded forearms all through this story, almost as if Araki had been building up to this moment. I’d make a Part 4 joke, but nah, that’s too easy. But it wasn’t even that long ago that Wammu lost both of his hands, and then he launched them as Joseph to distract him. Kars lost his hand before he grew it back and turned it into a squirrel. Hell, Stroheim launched his robot hand at Kars to distract him for the volcano crash. And now Joseph’s hand has somehow launched itself into Kars’ throat to distract him again!

I’m assuming that Hamon energy has a lot to do with this. You’d think Joseph’s hand wouldn’t have survived getting fired up this high, and it shouldn’t be powerful enough or alive enough to bother Kars this much, but it does. So I’m chalking it up to all that Ripple energy. It briefly reanimated Joseph’s hand and made it follow Kars up to this altitude, kind of like how Jonathan controlled Wang Chung’s decapitated body at the end of Part 1.

So Joseph taunts Kars about this, and implies that he planned this somehow. And when Kars pauses to ask if he did plan this, more rocks and stuff from the volcano hit him and send him even higher up into the air.

And Joseph claims that he did plan this entire thing! That’s bullshit, but he hopes Kars will believe it, if only to make him more frustrated. Maybe Joseph didn’t plan all this out, but he seems to have deduced what’s happening here.

Kars has been launched so high into the air, and at such an incredible speed, that he’s achieved escape velocity. Does Kars even realize what that means? I mean, he’s super-intelligent, especially now, and he’s been alive for thousands of years, but what could he really know about outer space? Has he ever even considered it before? It seems like all of his ambitions involve the Earth, and only the Earth, and everything living upon it.

As for Joseph, the chunk of rock he’s on does not fly into space. Instead, it starts to fall back down, and Joseph assumes that he’s probably not going to survive the impact. Eight hours later, Stroheim makes it back and informs Speedwagon that Joseph must have died in the eruption.

But Kars isn’t worried at first, because he thinks he has this whole “vacuum of space” thing figured out. He just takes a page from Wammu’s playbook and makes air jets on his back to expel compressed gas from his body, like the maneuvering thrusts on a spacecraft. Except that’s not nearly enough to counteract the force of the volcano that sent him up here.

Yeah, Kars has no idea how space works. Instinctively, he probably counted on friction to slow him down, except there is no friction in space. He probably also expected his air jets to push him a little bit at a time, and maybe he could pull in more air as needed, except there is no more air. Even the air from his body is denied to him, because it just dissipates into the vacuum of space. Kars talks about the air freezing as it comes out, but I don’t think that’s right. What’s happening to him is like when you use one of those compressed gas canisters to clean your keyboard. Release a lot of the gas at once, and the can starts to get cold. That’s because the liquefied gas left inside the can now has more room, and it begins to boil as it expands. This draws in heat from the surroundings, which makes the can feel cold to the touch. That’s what’s happening to Kars here. All he’s doing it losing all his body heat. Maybe some of the air really is freezing around him, but I don’t know. It depends on whether the sunlight is hitting him, I think.

Anyway, the last thing Kars says is “I can’t go back!!!” And that’s what makes this so perfect. In the anime, we see the Earth recede into the distance as he continues to tumble further and further away. By surviving the lava, Kars had “mastered” the Earth, but now he’s been separated from the Earth. He’s got all this incredible power, but without the Earth, he’s got no one to use it on.

And then we come to the pièce de résistance of Battle Tendency: The epilogue page that establishes, in no uncertain terms, that Kars never returned to the Earth. There’s no miracle escape this time, no clever trick or loophole. He simply doesn’t have the necessary acceleration to push himself back the way he came.

Did he die? Nope, because he made himself immortal, remember? Not even sunlight or starvation can destroy him now. But now death is the only thing he craves, because he’s completely alone and has nothing to do. I can’t imagine he’s very comfortable like this either, because it’s incredibly cold in outer space, and Kars must be able to sense that cold, even if it doesn’t actually hurt him.

And this is such a fitting punishment for a villain like Kars. Just as Stroheim wanted to become superior and lost his humanity in the process, Kars ruthlessly sacrificed friend and foe alike to achieve this Ultimate form, and what good does it do him? It’s become his prison, his hell. At long last, he’s become the supreme being, a world unto himself, but with no one around to lord it over, there’s really no point to any of it.

I just really love this ending. I’m not sure how else I can express it. This is what should have happened to Akio Othori in Revolutionary Girl Utena. But Araki was brace enough to do it to Kars.

I suppose I could attempt some exercise in JoJo Part Comparison and connect Kars’ final fate to all the other JoJo villains. But I dunno, this is getting pretty long in the tooth as it is. I’ll just say that I’m suddenly reminded of Reimi’s final words to Kira in Part 4, when Kira asks where he’s being taken. “Who knows? But I’m sure it’s somewhere you won’t be able to rest in peace.”

So all that’s left is the matter of Joseph’s funeral-- Nah, just kidding, he’s not even dead. What’s weird is that Smokey says he met Joseph “six months ago”, which seems a lot longer than the events of this story. Anyway, Joseph returned to New York, only to find everyone at the cemetary. He wonders who they’re mourning, and he’s shocked to discover it’s him.

So yeah, the rock Joseph was on acted as a “shield”, and he managed to survive the fall, and even ended up near Venice, where Suzie Q found him and tended to his injuries. Stroheim even set him up with a robotic hand to replace the one Kars lopped off. I guess Stroheim never sent word of any of this to the U.S., probably because of Nazi Germany gearing up for World War II.

Anyway, Suzie took care of him for like two weeks, and they got married. So in a way, Joseph did follow in the legacy of Jonathan. Not in the “dying young” way, but the “Beat the bad guy and wake up in the care of a gorgeous blonde lady who eventually marries you” kind of way. You love to see it. But Suzie forgot to send a telegram to New York to let everyone know Joseph was okay, which is why everyone is so shocked and why Joseph is so shocked about them being shocked.

Then we get the epilogues for all the surviving characters. I mentioned this when I liveblogged the Part 5 manga a few years ago, but the stark contrast between Battle Tendency and Vento Aureo is that Part 5 is very ambiguous about its ending. We know who wins and who loses and who survives, but that isn’t really enough. We don’t know what will happen to Giorno Giovanna after Part 5. Does he live up to his lofty dream, or does he succumb to corruption like his wicked father? I think that’s intentional, because Giorno is the “golden wind” in the story. He’s an agent of change, but we don’t get to see the effects of his efforts, only the cause that he fights for. But Part 2 operates in the exact opposite way. We know exactly how and when Speedwagon dies. I’m a little confused how Stroheim could have died at Stalingrad when Kars and a volcano couldn’t kill him, but maybe the Russians had Stand powers. I think the only minor mystery is that we don’t know what happened to Lisa Lisa after 1948. It’s likely that she survived into Part 3, and maybe beyond, but we never see her again.

It’s also kind of weird how upbeat this epilogue is about reporting on the deaths of so many characters. Like, Stroheim died in one of the worst battles in human history, but he went out on his own terms, so it’s cool? I guess? Even the characters without deaths, like Smokey, it’s sort of implicit that he’ll die sooner or later. But it’s a good thing because it’s final and proper. It’s something Kars craves now, but can never experience. A life worth living, made more precious by its limitations. Kars tried to use cheat codes in nature, and he ended up clipping through the map and making the game unplayable. But Smokey, he‘ll be mayor someday.

As for Joseph, we see him in an airport in 1987, bullying Japanese people because his daughter married a Japanese guy and moved there. He’s headed to Japan right now to see her and his grandson, who probably doesn’t even recognize him, it’s been so long.

On the other hand, he appreciates his Walkman, which is either Joseph giving the Japanese some credit, or maybe he’s just too dense to notice the irony.

I hate that he’s listening to the Beatles, because the Beatles are overrated trash. My favorite thing about the Part 2 anime is how they changed his music to “Bloody Stream” by Coda, which a) kicks ass and b) wasn’t a song by the shitty Beatles.

And that’s Battle Tendency. Kind of neat how it closes on Joseph’s flight departing to visit his daughter and grandson, in contrast to the final panel of Part 1, which showed Erina floating in a coffin alone in the ocean. Joseph has bucked the curse and he’s graduated to Part 3, for better or worse.

But I feel kind of weird leaving it here, because I do love the way the anime wrapped up, so I’ll close out with this:

Tsugi ni omae wa “Grazie!” to iu!

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #robert e o speedwagon #smokey brown #esidisi #wammu #erina joestar #george joestar #jonathan joestar #george joestar ii #suzie q

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miss-bvnny · 3 years ago

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Yet another fan tweaks up TLK 2 and TLG: The Squeakel.

Im bored and in a lil pain. time to jot down all my personal ideas/headcanons for how I'd polish up TLK 2 and TLG to fit with the first movie a bit better, and create something more cohesive since like only about 3 people on the TLK2 and TLG teams paid attention to the first movie. I've seen a lot of hedcanons and AUS and whatnot in my day so I've kinda got a good idea of what i like and what I think might work better. Veteran TLK creators please interact with me and gib feedeback on my sick tricks

Uhhh TW for abuse and cub death

So...while there's TECHNICALLY nothing I'd change about the first movie, as it's pretty much done and solid, I wanted to play with my ideas for Zira's backstory.

YES in my version it'd be a one-sided love, kinda like how DemiiDee on dA and Silver-Wolf-17/@mask-of-prime see it, Scar knew she was obsessed with him since the day she met him as a cub, and took advantage of that. After he became king, he wanted loyal lionesses just in case Sarabi, Nala, Sarafina and the others got wise and rebelled. Zira and her pride sisters were all starving, and he knew that. He welcomed them in, promising food and comfort in return for their loyalty. Zira didn't hesitate to agree, and Scar loved her blind adoration of him. He WOULD have liked it if someone like Sarafina was so blindly in love with him (Scar had a gross unrequited obsessive crush on Sarafina growing up, and he constantly held it against her after she chose to be with Nala's father Mega instead. This is another reason why he was so hard on the hunting parties. He used his position as king to get petty revenge on childhood bullies and the like). Scar decided Zira would be his queen but like...ONLY because Sarafina had already made her choice. Zira didn't care, and knew she'd make Scar proud and produce a lot of wonderful heirs for him, in order to repay him for ''all he'd done for her'' (A very thin and insincere ''all'' if you ask me). So, Zira gets pregnant with who will eventually be Nuka, but...Rafiki takes a look at her and sees she's very weak and will probably only have one cub. Oh well. Let's just hope this one son is a suitable heir in Scar's eyes.

....Well-

Nuka's born. Weak, unfocused, and not at all what Scar wanted or was hoping for. He TRIES to teach Nuka and raise him as an Heir, but...it just doesn't work. Scar believes he was destined for greatness and for a prosperous, strong lineage. Nuka is none of those things, and it seems Zira will never be able to give him another heir (I KNOW the ''This woman can't have kids'' trope is icky but HOLD ON wait until you see where I'm going with this) Scar disowns Nuka and scolds Zira for disappointing him. Zira begs for his forgiveness, and swears on her life she'll find a way to make things worth Scar's while.

During this time, several of the male cubs who were born around the same time as Simba are being exiled. Scar doesn't want any males around to threaten overtaking him, and nips the problem in the bud before it ever becomes an issue. Many pride sister saw him doing this, and while they disagreed with it...it DID offer one bonus: Trustworthy males were leaving for better lands. They could take the new young cubs with them, since none of the sisters wanted their children to be raised in Scar's Pridelands.

Surprisingly, one of these lionesses trying to save her cubs...was Zira. Within the last few months, she'd...began to realize perhaps she was looking at Scar with rose-colored glasses. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps she was wrong to worship him the way she did. The thoughts were still kinda...new, and she wasn't sure what to do. But, during all her confusion, she DID happen to meet another male lion. Mpendwa, (Swahili for ''Honey'') was an old friend from her teenage years who was a wanderer by nature. Zira was VERY happy to see him again, after all these years. She met with him in secret, when Scar and the Hyenas weren't looking, and began to fall in love with him. REAL love. Mutual good love, where he loved her for who she was, and NOT what she could give him. Even Nuka seemed to like him, too! And...by some miracle, Zira and Mpendwa had a secret litter together! Four beautiful, healthy little cubs! It was perfect. SO perfect. Perhaps the problem had lain not in Zira, but in Scar the entire time. It served as more confirmation to Zira that...perhaps she was in the wrong to love him. Mpendwa asked her if she and their four cubs would come with him. Somewhere far and somewhere safe, where they could be happy together. Zira...was hesitant, afraid of disappointing Scar further, and even more afraid to leave her pride sisters behind. They were in this because of her, and...there were so many of them that it'd be impossible to get all of them out without Scar seeing something was up. Nevertheless, she knew she had to think about the future of her cubs, and NOT about Scar. She agreed, and plans were made for Zira and Nuka to meet Mpendwa at the border with her four cubs. In the dead of night, they'd leave using the rest of the evacuating males as a cover so they could make a clean getaway.

....Well...to make a very heartbreaking and gruesome story short...Scar knew about Mpendwa the entire time. And of course he saw Zira was pregnant. He overheard their plains to escape, and prepared accordingly. Mpendwa and three of Zira's cubs were killed as punishment for her disloyalty and attempt at mutiny. He lets her keep the youngest one alive as a reminder of her shortcomings, but ONLY if she'll swear her loyalty to him once more. With nothing else left to do, she swore her allegiance to him, and returned to the Pridelands with only Vitani and Nuka left of her family. In the coming days and months, Scar turns up the charm to further entice Zira, making sure she and Vitani are given the best of everything and taken care of, to ensure she feels terrible about what she did and she never acts out again. Sadly, it works, and Zira falls back in love with him, realizing SHE was the one in the wrong, and was an utter fool to betray Scar. Things are....steady for a while. Not bad, not good, but...steady for Zira and Scar. He of course ignores both cubs, and Zira has to reach out to him pleadingly if she wants to connect with him. Zira works as a willing mouthpiece to spout propaganda tot he rest of the pride, assuring then Scar is a GREAT king, their ONLY king, and that he will usher in a new golden age for them all. It pleases Scar and he is sure to...ever so slightly reciprocate his gratitude to her. If only to keep her totally convinced to stay with him. Zira can see he's...flaky and not too sure about her, and decides she MUST act fast to show him she is worthy.

She MUST somehow produce him a viable heir. And quickly. But with all the other males gone, there's not a whole lot of cubs being born. And her beloved Mpendwa is long dead. So...she has to figure something else out. One day, while hunting for Vitani and Nuka on her own, she runs across a skinny dark brown lone lioness taking a dead zebra somewhere. She tells Nuke and Vitani to wait, and begins to stalk this female, named Jibu (''Answer'') Jibu takes her kill to a secluded spot, and Zira notices she's having trouble catching her breath. It doesn't take Zira long to see...Jibu is pregnant. VERY pregnant, and close to giving birth. GIVING birth, actually! She's going into labor. Jibu cries out for mercy, knowing she is alone and there is no one around to help her. Zira, in a moment of maternal instinct and compassion, helps her. She, along with Nuka and Vitani, stay by Jubi's side as she gives birth to one little brown cub. Then, Zira gets...a really really REALLY terrible idea, just looking at the little cub. Calmly, she tells Vitani and Nuka that Jibu will need some water, and that they need to bring some back for her in some fresh moss. It's a big job, and the cubs are BOTH very willing to help. Vitani and Nuka leave on their big mission, and then Zira, Jibu, and the new cub are left alone.

Zira is quick about it. Merciful, even. By the time Nuka and Vitani get back, Jibu is dead. Zira sorrowfully tells the cubs that...the birthing process was simply too much for a weak and skinny loner like her, and that there was nothing at all that could have been done. Nuka asks what they're going to do with the cub, and Zira says she SUPPOSES they could take it back to the pride, as well as the zebra Jibu just killed. They return to the pridelands with food, and...Zira presents the cub to Scar. She tells him that his mother gave birth on the edge of the territory, before succumbing to her dehydration and fatigue. Scar looks the cub over, and is overjoyed. He declares THIS cub, this Kovu, WILL be his heir.

So, time passes, and before you know it, Simba returns. The TRUE Pridelanders rise up and reclaim their land. In the wake of his return, Zira's pride sisters see the error of their ways, and oppose the hyenas in battle. Scar is overthrown, and Simba takes his place as King. Zira is of course horrified, outraged, and...filled with a turmoil of emotions about it. Some part of her feels...free that Scar is gone, but the rest of her was so twisted by his words that she doesn't want to admit she's happy he's dead. She chokes those feelings down, trying to sit still and look pretty for Simba as he moves in. Nuka, Vitani, and little Kovu are doing well, and...as a mother that's all she should care about, really. But...deep down inside, there's a growing, growling, burning need for revenge in her soul.

As Kovu grows a little bigger and the pridelands heal more, Simba and Nala announce the birth of their OWN heir.....Kopa. Yep. Yes. That's right, I'm a Kopa theorist. Upsetting, I know. But like....it makes sense. Look at how overprotective and suffocating Simba was to Kiara in TLK 2. Almost like he'd dealt with tragedy in relation to a cub before, and vowed to never let it happen again. Huh. If YOU'RE reading this and you have no idea who Kopa is and the drama behind his very existence, first of all God I wish I was you, secondly, go here to learn what then entire TLK fandom is divided over:

https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Kopa

Anyway, Kopa is begins to grow and learn as the next king of Pride Rock, good friends with Nuka and Vitani, and even their cute little brother Kovu. He's not...VERY old right now, but he'll grow and be able to play with them one day! Their mom, Zira, seems....a little upset about stuff. She always watches them from afar, never engages with the rest of the Pride, and doesn't seem to like Simba. Kopa, as a young kid determined to be a great king, takes a note to keep an eye on this. She might be really old, but she's part of his father's kingdom. Everyone else is happy and healthy, she should be too, right? Simba and Nala seem...worried about her as well. For different reasons, but yeah.

Ever the hunter and woman scorned, Zira has been...studying Kopa. He's young and naive, but...eager to learn and take over for his father. He's studious and intuitive, often finding trouble without meaning to, because he was trying to solve a problem or get involved in pride politics. Of course, all the other lions and creatures love him, and are eager to see him grow into a fine future king. There s NO doubt he's a jewel in his family's crown. But...he is still a cub. Zira remembers how devastated she was to lose Vitani's three siblings, and knows that Simba and Nala will be equally devastated if....something happens to Kopa. She knows exactly how she's going to avenge Scar now.

Simba and Nala were out on a little moonlight hunt together one night, like they enjoyed to do together. They were coming back to Pride Rock afterwards, only to hear a terrible commotion. Zazu rushed to meet them, telling of something terrible that had just happened: Zira tried to assassinate the young prince. Her pride sisters were now in arms against Sarabi and her pride sisters, trying to stop an attempted uprising. Simba and Nala quickly joined in to fight, Simba finding Zira with Kopa in her jaws. He stops her, and Timon and Pumbaa are quick to get Kopa to Rafiki for healing. Simba and Nala face off against Zira while she gives her side of the story. telling about how she's tired of being docile and pretending her heart isn't broken after Simba and Nala both took everything from her. Simba and Nala both see she's still...terribly twisted by Scar's words, trying to be patient but firm with her as they attempt to talk her down. She won't have it, and leaps at Simba, Nala gets involved, and they fight her off. Simba calls for her banishment, and she is thrown out of the Pridelands with the rest of her followers, and her three cubs.

During all of this, Rafiki is attending to Kopa and his injuries. They're...bad, but not fatal. With time, he'll be just fine. Zira left him blind in one eye, gave him a terribly ripped ear, nearly tore his tail off, and he's got a deep throat scar that will alter his voice quite a bit. With time he'll be alright physically, but...I'm not so sure about mentally. Kopa has...a LOT of PTSD over it. blaming himself for how he thought Zira was a friend he could help, wondering if he was stupid for never seeing her anger sooner. He begins to question his abilities as a future king. Yes, he's still young, and accidents happen, but...this event has left him a bit jaded all the same. Simba and Nala see it, and...want to do the best for their son. They can see the enthusiasm in his eyes to one day be king fading. It's devastating. And...while Simba isn't about to give up on him, he doesn't want to force Kopa into something he...clearly doesn't want to do anymore. On top of that...Simba fears Kopa may not be safe in the Pridelands anymore. Zira and her followers ARE in the Outlands, but...Zira is bold and full of hate. There's no telling what she could do next. After a lot of deliberation, meeting with Zazu, Nala, and Kopa...the king comes to a conclusion. He strips Kopa of his title as an heir, and sends him to live in the Oasis with Ma, Uncle Max, and the rest of Timon's family. He'll be safe and well-fed there, far away from Zira. It'll only be for a while, until the trouble with the outlanders settles down, and until Kopa is ready to return home. Kopa agrees to the idea whole-heartledy, and departs for the Oasis as soon as he's fit to travel. It's...painful and hard, but it's the best option for their son's mental health. Simba and Nala do visit often, and are glad to see it DOES seem to be working.

Okay. So Zira tried to kill Kopa in the name of Scar, got herself booted, and the origins of her three cubs have been dealt with. That's all the Zira/Scar and Kopa backstory stuff done and dealt with. I'm gonna cut it right here since this is gettin awful lengthy, and continue with TLK 2 and The Lion Guard in a part 2. Keep an eye out for that one.

#the lion king #the lion king 2 #neato after dark

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athenaquinn · 4 years ago

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Enough for You || Orion & Athena (flashback)

TIMING: January 2012 LOCATION: A forest in White Crest PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: The twins give each other a lot of annoyed glances. CONTENT: Physical abuse, emotional abuse, domestic abuse, sibling abuse (if you want a summary, please let one of us know!)

It was quiet tonight. Or maybe Orion’s hearing wasn’t working. He never really knew, especially considering it had just started. His mom had been so excited by the news, but Rio couldn’t only remember the pain. He had been in class trying to listen to his teacher talking about biology when an ear splitting scream suddenly disrupted any coherent mental notes that Rio had been taking on the subject. It had been so loud, so guttural, that Rio was half convinced it had come from the kid sitting right next to him. His head shot from side to side, a terrible realization coming over him as he realized that nobody else was reacting to the sound. Why wasn’t anybody reacting to the sound? As quickly as it was there, it was gone. And it was another moment or two before it suddenly came back. But this time he could hear the sounds of car horns as well. And then sirens. Rio barely had time to ask for permission before rushing out of the classroom and to the nearest bathroom to lock himself in a stall. He huddled on the seat, covering his ears with the palms of his hands in a desperate and futile attempt to block out the noise. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. His parents had been telling him and his sister about this for years now. These abilities. ‘Gifts’ as they called them. Rio wasn’t convinced they were gifts, even as young as he was, he didn’t like them. He knew what this meant. He hated it.

His family however, wanted to celebrate. It had only been a couple of days since he told his parents and they were ecstatic by the news. His senses had been on a seesaw since then. Sometimes he could hear his neighbors from three doors down and other times he couldn’t hear his own sister calling for him from her bedroom. One morning he could read a bulletin board from the opposite end of the hallway or he could smell food that someone had eaten for breakfast. It was overwhelming. All he wanted was for it to stop. Instead, his parents decided to take them on a field trip.

“These woods are incredibly dangerous at night. I know neither of you are stupid enough to think otherwise.” His mother’s lukewarm warning spoke to her children, following behind the Quinn parents as they walked through the forest in the middle of the night. In response, Rio felt his chest tighten. He clawed at the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling his fingers inside of them and further hiding them by stuffing his arms in the middle pocket. He wanted to shrink away from his parents, from his sister who seemed far too eager to be out in the middle of the night in winter. He wished that he could have played sick. He didn’t want to be here and he definitely didn’t want to find anything.

“I’m cold,” Rio mumbled, but he knew his parents would hear him. That was the last thing he actually wanted to whine about tonight, but this seemed like the safest option. Complaining about anything else risked annoying his parents. They were already deadly serious when out on a hunt. He didn’t want to give them any other reason to be upset.

___

Her brother was maybe actually possibly agreeing to his powers. Athena couldn’t believe it. In fact, she was practically over the moon about it, vibrating in a good way for once (so much so that all the stupid fae that were in the school didn’t even bother her) when he’d mentioned it to her. He used to complain about the noise of the bright neon signs at the mall in Bangor but for the most part he usually tended to totally ignore his super-awesome-brilliant abilities. Maybe she wouldn’t be totally left on her own, if he was really ready to actually admit that their powers were good. He liked superhero movies and comics and even though Athena didn’t understand any of those very well at all, if he liked those sort of things, shouldn’t he like his own powers?

Their parents wanted to take them out, and so Athena had been certain to finish all of her homework early. There was only a paper for geography and some write-up for science class, both of which were way too easy, but it got her straight A’s in school, so she knew that she really shouldn’t complain. Besides, even though she’d helped out her dad in the basement sometimes, it took a lot to get both of their parents to invite them out and even though it was in the middle of winter and really super cold, she didn’t mind. She’d even decided to wear her brand new Abercrombie jeans and her new favorite sweater and one of the best coats she had.

This was all special and she didn’t understand why her brother had to be such a grump about it. “You can play whatever video game you like later, you know.” She knocked against him with her hips as they began to walk into the woods. They didn’t get to stay up this late, basically ever, except when they did so on their own on their birthday, but this was different. Even if she was shivering, she did her best to not show it. That was weak, and she knew how much her parents loathed weakness. At least she’d won the pacer test every year in gym class and was her soccer coach’s favorite player and got all A’s. She just wished that her brother would try a little harder.

“Of course!” She chirped in response to their mother’s words. Of course she knew. She’d read about so much, though at least there were no fae right here and right now. That would have ruined this wonderful-amazing-perfect family outing. She looked over to her brother, pursuing her lips for a moment. “Come on Ri, it’ll be just fine. Also wear more of a coat next time! Do you wanna borrow my scarf?” She took it off and threw it at him. “It’s extra cozy. Maybe it’ll bring you some luck, too!” She didn’t know how much of that she believed, but she did know that when it came to hunting, her brother could use all the help he could get. Especially because he so often liked to miss their trainings, leaving her to do double the work. Not that she minded.

___

“Don’t argue with your mother. Or your sister.” His father’s words were tired and sounded distant. Clearly his mind was on other things, as usual. Orion gritted his teeth and averted his eyes to the ground. There was no point in arguing that he wasn’t arguing. That would only make his parents angry. He jerked when a scarf smacked him in his face. His hands shot up to catch it so that it wouldn’t fall on the ground. He could only imagine how his sister would react to dirt on her scarf. Though he didn’t want to accept his sister’s pathetic attempt at appeasing him, Rio begrudgingly wrapped it around his neck.

The pair couldn’t be more different. His sister was practically glowing, dressed head to toe in an all new outfit and walking with a level of confidence that most adults didn’t have. She was absolutely beaming at the idea of coming along with their parents. She worshipped the ground that they walked on and was already dead set on becoming exactly like them when she was older. She had already made a top ten list for medical schools. Rio on the other hand had kept on the same worn sweatpants and hoodie that he had been wearing when he woke up that morning. He was shrinking in on himself, trying to force his body into its smallest and least noticeable form possible. If he was lucky, he might disappear entirely. Unlike his sister, nothing seemed so absolute. He had no interest in being here. He wasn’t convinced that anything his parents said or did was as noble as they claimed it was and he could barely think about what he wanted to do for the rest of the week let alone the future.

He didn’t want to admit that the scarf had actually helped fight the cold a bit, but he tightened it around his neck a bit and crossed his arms to hold the ends in place. “What are we even out here looking for?” Rio asked, immediately met with shushes from both of his parents. He cringed at the sudden sound and made a mental note to only speak in whispers for the remainder of the night. Maybe time. “I don’t think there’s anything here. Maybe we should just leave.”

___

She couldn’t help the smug smile that covered her lips. Daddy’s always right, she wanted to whisper to her brother, but that might displease their parents, and so she kept her mouth shut - at least on that topic, at least for now. Maybe the scarf would shut her brother up. Not that he was being very talkative, but Athena didn’t like when he got into one of his moods, which seemed to be happening more and more in the past couple of years. At least he’d taken her scarf. At least she could count that on her win. My brother listened to me about something for once. She watched her breath form small cloud-puffs in the cold night air. She liked it, liked that her nose was cold - though it wasn’t as satisfying as how she felt when she went for a long run in the cold, the way that it made her throat ache just enough. That felt powerful.

Her brother always seemed small. Even though he’d started to grow taller than she was, he always seemed to shrink away. She’d noticed it at school - which was part of why she’d taken it upon herself to make - no, ask him persuasively - to sit with her and her friends at lunch. Which he agreed to, when he wasn’t off at the library. She had to admit that she also really liked the library, but hanging out with her friends a lot didn’t always leave time to wander around the stacks. It didn’t matter much anyways, she still got perfect (or near-perfect, when her brother beat her on a history test) grades. She’d still get into all of her med schools. She just hoped her brother would figure out what he was doing with his life sometime. Prayed that he’d come to accept his gift.

“I don’t know, but that’s part of the thrill of it, isn’t it?” She giggled, just quiet enough that only her brother would hear. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, and so we’re going to have to think on our feet.” She grinned at her brother. That got some affirmative murmurs from their parents. “There’s gotta be something, come on! Just give it a little more time. I’ll make you extra-good breakfast in the morning.” The last sentence whispered just between the two of them. Anything to make him see that all this could lead to good things. That was part of her duty, as sister and hunter. He’d see someday, that much she knew.

___

“Yeah. Thrilling.” Orion whispered, so quiet he wasn’t convinced he had said any words at all. Of course Athena would be excited at the idea of this. She had no regard for self preservation. Did she not care at all how dangerous it could be out here? That didn’t even take into consideration what they were out here to do. Rio knew there was more to what they were being taught. His parents had been very forthcoming with their descriptions of fae and werewolves. But Rio knew something was wrong. Something that he wasn’t being told. He couldn’t question them on it though, that much he knew for sure. He would have rolled his eyes at his parents praising Athena if he wasn’t afraid that they’d somehow hear it. As per usual, Athena was completely oblivious to just how terrified Rio was. Either that, or she just didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All he knew was that her legitimately thinking that breakfast was going to motivate him, she was even more dense than he had previously thought. He narrowed his eyes towards her and tightened his arms against his chest before picking up his speed so that he was no longer walking beside her.

That didn’t last as long as he would have liked it to. There was a sound. Farther out in the woods and in a direction that Rio’s erratic senses couldn’t pinpoint. But it had definitely been there, and confirmed that the four were not alone. Rio froze completely, too afraid to say anything. If he was lucky, he had been the only one that heard it. But he knew his mom better than that. Plus, he was never that lucky. When he finally built up the courage to look over at his family, he could tell immediately that his mom was on high alert. And it looked like she even knew which direction the sound had come from. Heart plummeting out of his chest, Rio didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want whatever was out there to find them. Or rather, he wasn’t sure he wanted the Quinn family to find them. It wasn’t safe, for anyone involved. Rio hated that terrified feeling. He hated being in danger.

We’re going to have to think on our feet. Athena’s words stuck in Rio’s brain. Maybe she had a better point than Rio was giving her credit for. He did need to think on his feet. He finally forced himself to move, sliding his foot over and finding a twig to step down on. He started off slow, pressing down on it ever so gently and listening to the send of the twig bend and twist against its will before finally snapping. He winced at the sudden sound, instantly regretting the choice. But his parents did nothing besides shoot a look over towards him and Athena. Bingo. If he could get the attention of whatever was out in the woods, maybe it would go away. Then there wouldn’t be any danger at all. If only he could make sure that it heard the noise. He glanced at the ground, finding another piece of wood and readjusting his step to repeat the same process again. The branch snapped with a crunch, and before Rio could even react his mother had spun around just as quickly. She smacked him across the face quickly and efficiently, the force of it pushing Rio over and causing him to fall into the leaves. He brought his hand to his cheek immediately to survey the damage. It stung to the touch and felt like it had already begun swelling. “Shut up!” She hissed at him, pointing at him and forcing him to cower further. His cheek hurt so badly that all Rio wanted to do was cry, but he knew that would only make it worse. Instead, a silent stream of tears ran down his face as he clamped his mouth shut to avoid any further noise. His mother recovered quickly, turning away from him and speaking to their father, “That might have gotten it’s attention. We will need to move quickly to catch it. Do you sense anything?”

___

“Well, get a thesaurus and pick another term if you don’t like the one I chose.” Athena hissed back. She didn’t like how her brother just wanted to ruin everything. It was one thing when he beat her in chess but this was something entirely different and something she hated even more, especially because it was supposed to be a connection between the two of them. This was a learning opportunity for the both of them, and as much as Athena loved reading everything she could in their parents’ books and journals, but there was certainly something to be said for actually learning in person. It was why she didn’t mind so much when her father asked her to come to observe his operations. It was oddly fascinating, she had to admit. Her brother started walking faster and her face contorted into a grimace, because he wasn’t supposed to do that. It was unfair and stupid and maybe he should have just stayed at home if he was going to ruin this for her. She bit her lip, then. It wasn’t fair of her to think that way. It was her job to help him accept his abilities. To gently push him along.

She didn’t hear the sound until a little after her brother must have noticed. After their mother noticed. Because their mother was one of the best and most expert hunters there ever was. She was standing still, perfect posture, though Athena imagined that her eyes were darting around, zeroing in on wherever the thing was. She only hoped that they’d get to the creature or whatever it was before it got to them, because she very much didn’t want to die tonight, thank you very much. Years ago, if they were in this situation, she knew that she’d grab her brother’s hand and hold it tight. She had, when they were little, and she also knew that even just after they’d been born, back in the hospital, she’d sometimes cried until they put the two of them together in a bassinet.

Now wasn’t the time to focus on the past. That was useless, and made her far too soft and sentimental. Soft and sentimental didn’t get you anywhere. That was what her parents said, and so it had to be true.

Then a twig snapped and their parents looked over at the two of them. You’re gonna get the both of us in trouble, she wanted to tell him. Except she didn’t. Because that would only bring more noise, which was absolutely and entirely not needed right now. Then another branch was snapping and their mother was over near them, hitting her brother across the face. It was over before she could even say much of anything, and Athena watched their parents intently. I don’t feel anything, she wanted to say, just as she saw their father shake his head. Thank goodness. I’m not a screw up. Except that she should have been keeping a better eye on her brother. That was her job, and she was a screw up when it came to that, apparently. It wasn’t a fae or a werewolf and she tapped her fingers against her thigh - hoping that maybe it would be something even more exciting. That would make all of this more of a celebration, after all. There was another sound, closer this time - that much she could tell. If she squinted enough, it looked like there was a figure not too far away from them.

Athena took a couple steps forward, away from her brother. “I think - I saw some leaves rustling over there.” She pointed, noticing the way that her father’s lips almost curved into a smile. “What do you think, Linda?” He inquired. “That’s the right direction, isn’t it?”

___

While the rest of his family ignored him completely and stared off into the woods, Rio silently pulled himself back onto his feet. He kept his hand pressed against his cheek, careful to avoid crying. Instead, he tried to find the source of the noise that his family seemed to intent on discovering for themselves. His head drifted back and forth, staring across the treeline before finally settling on Athena as she pointed and gave away the direction. Rio scowled at her from behind as his parents made that annoyingly stoic proud face. “Good job, Athena. I heard it too. Follow me.” His mom’s voice had calmed from her previous threat hurled his way. No surprise there.

The rest of his family set off immediately, a quiet power walk across the grass as they headed towards their target. His parents didn’t even spare a glance back at him. It was the opportunity he had wanted to get away from this, but he knew he would only be in more trouble if they found out he wasn’t with them.

He kept his distance from the rest of his family, just how it was meant to be. With them miles ahead while he lagged behind. As if he needed any other reminder that he would never measure up. “I found it!” his mother shouted he broke off into a sprint, his father and sister just behind her. Begrudgingly, Rio forced himself to follow along.

The Quinns caught up with it quickly. Someone that looked like a human was running through the forest to try to get away, but his mom had cut them off, swiping out at the person’s leg. They flipped backwards and smacked against the ground. Rio gasped at the violence, but covered his mouth to muffle the sound. In one fell swoop, she reached down to grab the person and left them up by the collar of their shirt and slammed them against a tree. “You can’t run from us” his mother was smiling now, the first he had seen from her since they had left the house. Rio had no idea how she could enjoy something like this. But his eyes wouldn’t leave the horrified face of the person being held against a tree. There was a shift. Something so minimal it would have been easy to miss. Something shifted in the perception of the person. Like a green screen effect failing. Rio stared more intently as he realized what it was. An illusion. They had an illusion. And for a split second it had dropped. And Rio was almost positive of what he saw. He had never seen one in person, but he remembered reading about them. He hated how quickly this knowledge came to him. “It’s a kitsune.”

___

She couldn’t help but stand even a little straighter at her mother’s praise. It always worked that way - and Athena was acutely aware that at least part of her nearly-always-present confidence came from what her parents said. What they had said ever since she was a little girl. She probably should have paid more attention to the fact that her brother seemed hurt, but that didn’t really matter (no matter how much she loved him, there were reasons to be punished, and he’d acted out), and if she did stop to check in on him in clear sight of their parents, it wouldn’t end well for either of them. Besides, he never seemed to want her help anyhow.

She didn’t want to appear too over-eager, because she was twelve now, and that was childish. Even when she was a child, she knew that there was a fine line regarding what was acceptable and what was deemed to be too much. Even if it was about hunting, even if it was about remembering something she’d read or researched.

All of a sudden her mother began running and she took off too, though she was careful not to outpace her mother. No matter how well she was performing, she knew that that would not serve her well, nor win her any favors. She was obedient, she did as she was told and she didn’t speak out of turn - at least not to her parents. School may have been a different story, but even there she kept her mouth shut around adults. It was part of why she could get away with other things, if need be. Not that she always wanted to, but it didn’t hurt to have as an option, just in case.

They arrived at the person - no, the thing - and Athena narrowed her eyebrows, because she knew that no matter how human something looked, when it wasn’t human, it was always a trap. She would have winced at her mother slamming them up against a tree, but she didn’t do that. She didn’t cry and she didn’t throw a fit when something like this happened. It’s a kitsune. She heard her brother say, and she grinned. “Figures. You know there’s all sorts of different ones. Given the location, this one could be a forest one? Though I know it makes sense to not assume, because you never know for sure.” She looked over at her brother. “Look at you, being so helpful!” She pulled out one of her knives and held it out to him. “Do you want to borrow this?”

___

“Please don’t do this!” The kitsune screamed in protest, shut up quickly by Linda Quinn pressing her palm against the woman’s mouth and pressing against it far too tightly. Orion could see the pressure even from here. How the skin on the woman’s face started to redden around his mom’s fingers. Rio broke out in a cold sweat, his mouth going completely dry. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong. His fingers curled into fists before unfurling again. He didn’t want his parents to see that. They would only take it as an act of defiance.

Yet in the middle of this, his sister had the audacity to offer a knife to him. We’re twelve years old! Don’t you see something wrong with this?! He wanted to scream those words so badly. He was almost shaking now, but still he did nothing. He didn’t move towards his parents. He didn’t take the knife. He just stood there, eyes flicking between all four people around him and begging something, anything to change.

“Excellent guess, Athena.” Linda’s voice was too casual for the situation they were in. “Orion.” His mother’s voice again, directed at him purely to egg him on. A shiver ran down Rio’s spine as his back straightened on instinct. His mother didn’t wait to see if he was listening. She knew. “What do we know about forest kitsune?” Rio didn’t say anything. His dad’s eyes locked with Rio’s and finally he shook his head. He hoped that would work as a response. It didn’t. “Answer your mom, Orion,” his dad’s voice this time. Distant as it always was.

“I don’t know.” Rio finally said out loud, his voice shaking from fear and so very quiet. It was a lie, they all must now. The only time Rio ever impressed his parents were during their little pop quizzes. He knew more about shapeshifters than even some adult hunters, they would boast. Usually at the Silver Bullet just loud enough for others to hear. Forest kitsune were in tune with nature. Able to heal plantlife and cast illusions, though this woman seemed too distressed to try to use that to get free. She had almost completely lost the illusion casting her as human.

“You’re lying.” his mother sighed, clearly disappointed in her son but seemingly unsurprised. He shook his head more ferociously this time, but the narrowed glance from his father kept him from saying anything. His mother had already moved on anyways it seemed. “Your illusion is faltering. What would it take to make you drop it completely.” her tone seemed so… playful. As if she was on the playground with friends. Cries and mumbling came from the woman’s clamped mouth, but Rio wasn’t sure anybody but him and his mom could hear them. “Let’s test it, shall we?” Linda motioned towards James who took the queue immediately to pull a knife from the bag and hand it off to his wife. Rio’s eyes grew wide, watching her spin the blade into her hand before pressing it against the woman’s gut. No. No. No! Rio took a step forward, but it was just in time for his mom to plunge the knife into the woman’s stomach.

___

She didn’t let her expression change, even as the woman - no, the kitsune - the creature - screamed. Athena just watched carefully, taking careful mental notes about the way that her mother took control of the situation, almost seamlessly. Her brother was refusing her offer of a knife and were they both alone, she might have stomped her foot, but now wasn’t the time for that. She was twelve, after all, which was practically a grown up. Though she liked to think that she’d always been advanced for her age. You couldn’t read Anna Karenina when you were only just ten and not be advanced for your age. Besides, she was always meant for something more. She and her brother both were, even if he had a harder time on the whole realizing it part of the deal.

She let the smallest of smiles cross her face as her mother affirmed her guess. It wasn’t quite praise (that was hard to come by, no matter how brilliant Athena knew she was, her parents still reserved that for select and special occasions), but it was something, and she’d take anything even close to praise - she knew it wasn’t good to be as hungry for it as she was, but she couldn’t help herself. She atoned for her excessive need for praise before, and nothing bad had ever happened as a result of it, so all was well.

Except that her brother was refusing to answer. She could hear their father’s voice pipe in, and even when it was over-even and distant, she found herself listening intently. She didn’t know quite as much about kitsune as her brother did, but she knew some things and so she pressed her hand over her mouth, because the last thing she wanted was to call out something and have her parents get mad at her. I don’t know. “As if.” Athena replied, her voice still muffled by her own hand. She didn’t know if her brother could hear her. Didn’t really care, at this point, because this was supposed to be a celebration and if he wasn’t going to take her knife then he could at least use his smarts and answer their parents.

She retrained her eyes on the creature, the illusion flickering. It would be gone, soon enough, probably. Probably because her parents always got what they wanted. Probably because this was a thing and it looked so unnatural, so inhuman and Athena finally dropped her hand from her mouth, wrinkling up her nose in disgust, though a certain element of morbid fascination always took over. It did, when she got to sometimes go and watch her father at work in the basement. It did, when she listened to her parents and to other hunters at the Silver Bullet talk about how they’d gotten rid of a creature.

Her mother’s voice was so playful and Athena made a careful note of the tone, of the fact that somehow that way of talking seemed far more effective and intimidating than yelling at the kitsune would be. She watched the exchange of the knife from her father to her mother, the way she deftly spun it around before digging it into the woman’s - no, the creature’s - stomach. There were a few other muffled gasps, garbled words that didn’t mean anything, anymore. Her mother cleaned the blade of the knife before handing it back over to her father. Both of them made their way over to where the twins were standing. “Quick and efficient can be the best way in certain circumstances.” The playfulness from earlier was all gone, and now she was all business. “We couldn’t just let her get away, as I am sure you both understand.” Athena nodded quickly, not daring to look over at her brother.

___

Those few moments after were quiet. A sharp intake of breath followed by held breath completely from both of the twins as the knife cut through the woman’s stomach. Orion kept his mouth covered and refused to let move. The woman’s muffled cries of pain and protest against his mother’s clamped hand slowly faded as her consciousness did. The only sounds left were the woman’s heartbeat, the beats becoming slowed and off beat. Soon, there wasn’t a rhythm at all. And then there was nothing. Just the dripping of blood against the root of the tree.

Another death. He knew this wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal to have seen this so young. He didn’t talk to many people in school, but he listened. None of them talked about death. That meant that it couldn’t be normal, right? Then why was so much of his own life surrounded by it?

His legs shook violently against his weight. Suddenly, the four were grouped together again, looking at each other. But he couldn’t hear what his mother was saying. He was looking directly at her, but couldn’t seem to make out the expression on her face. It all looked blurry, sounded blurry. The only thing that seemed in focus was the woman. She was on the ground now, slumped against the tree with a pool of blood circling the spot his mother had stabbed. Everything else sounded fuzzy, but her silence was apparent. No breaths. No heartbeat. No more muffled cries. Just silence.

He had no hope of self control at the moment. Not when his senses were going haywire. They blocked out everything except the woman, and soon Rio was completely losing it. The hyperventilating came first, something only exaggerated by the time he started panicking that he couldn’t catch his breath. Tears were shortly after that, his eyes stinging in protest as the sobbing began. He felt like he was choking. His legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees. Around him, he could hear his parents saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. He wasn’t sure he could ever breathe again. It all felt hopeless. So hopeless.

___

She wanted to touch the tree. She always wanted to feel what it was like, after. After the creatures died. What was left of them, what their mark on the world was. She’d watched creatures in her dad’s operating room long after they’d died, the scent of the sterilizing materials burning her nose but in the best way possible. Athena didn’t move right now though, instead just watching, eyes wide. Eyes wide, lightly curled hair spilling around her shoulders. She liked how her family matched - all golden and bright against the dark, dark world. Nothing was ever going to change that, that much she was certain.

Except that then her brother had to go ahead and practically have a stupid panic attack. She had those, sometimes. She wasn’t supposed to, she didn’t like it, but sometimes when she thought too hard about one particular thing her heart started racing and suddenly she was tiny and in their shared childhood bedroom again, gasping for air in the middle of the night, not able to fall asleep until her brother came over. She was back, the day they’d been made to have their own rooms, whimpering because they were twins and she was supposed to be with him forever and she was a big girl but being with her brother was how it worked.

“Deal with him.” Her mother’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. She blinked. She knew what it meant. Deal with him. “Quickly, before he causes more trouble.” Without thinking, Athena whipped around and bent down, kneeling next to her brother. Slapped him across the face, twice. One on each side. Glared at him, as if to say listen to mom and dad. Don’t make this harder for us both.

___

At that moment, Orion didn’t care what attention he attracted. Whether it be his parents, the police, more supernatural creatures. Let them all come at this point. A woman was dead, a person. It didn’t matter what his parents told him. That was a human being, an innocent woman that had just been captured and gutted, ruthlessly. This wasn’t right. No matter what his parents or his grandparents or the family friends that came over for dinner parties told him. Nothing about this was right. So he would scream. He would scream and cry until somebody came to stop them. Or until they stopped hurting innocent people. Or until-

The smack took him by surprise and silenced him instantly. His panic attack had completely blocked out his senses. He had been fully unaware that his sister had knelt beside him until she had already hit him. The crying and gasping for air ceased immediately. Somehow, her attack had managed to both knock the wind out of him and help him find his breath simultaneously. Suddenly, he wasn’t concerned about the world spinning or his vision blurring because he could only focus on his cheek, stinging in agony against the already fresh bruise his mother had dealt earlier. “Ow.” was all Rio said, a mumbled phrase under his breath. He wasn’t speaking to anybody in particular, he was just too numb to think or say anything else. After, he pushed back up onto his feet. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. His parents didn’t seem to care much, they were just thankful that he had finally shut up.

“Thank you, Athena.” His father mumbled, the notion passively doubled by their mother. Though neither seemed particularly interested in praise. They both studied the no longer breathing body on the ground. “I assume she is of no use to you?” his mother peered over at her husband, answered only by the brief shaking of his head. He was only interested in live test subjects. Twelve years old, and Rio was certain in this moment that they were monsters. “Athena, keep your brother under control. We are going to get rid of the body.”

___

She didn’t like the sound her hand made against her brother’s cheek, but it did what her parents had wanted it to do. He’d shut up and even though the response was neutral, and (as always) she found herself craving more praise from her parents, pressing her tongue firmly against the roof of her mouth, to remind herself to not not not talk, to not speak out of turn. She didn’t pay attention to the quiet ow that escaped his lips. This was a natural consequence, he knew that. She knew that. Athena gave a small tug at his scarf, as if to say ‘come on, straighten up, we’ll be done soon’. She’d been more encouraging when they were younger, but now they were twelve - and double-digits in general meant they were practically adults, and it really was time to start acting like one.

So she didn’t offer caring words to her brother because if she did that then how would he ever learn? She would have, years ago. A certain part of her still wanted to. Wanted to check in on him and make sure everything was okay. But saying sorry made you weak, and if there was one thing that Athena was not, it was weak.

She listened intently at her parents’ words. Not of use. This made sense, given how she looked, Athena didn’t figure that her father could make much use of the woman. Except that part of her wanted them to take her back, because books told her a great deal, but she’d never seen the inside of a kitsune before. Instead, at their comments, she just nodded. Firm, neutral, probably more serious than most twelve-year-olds would. As their parents retreated, she turned to face her brother again. He was getting taller than her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do her best to look him in the eye. “Come on. Just - like, I dunno, behave.” Her voice was almost whiny, a hint of actual pre-teenage-hood laced in her words. “Things work out better for you - us - if you do.”

___

How could they all think this was normal? Was Orion the crazy one? The way that his mother had so casually stabbed that woman. The way that his father and sister went along with it, walked around the body as if she wasn’t even there. How was he the only one losing his mind? It was almost enough to convince Rio that he was in the wrong somehow. His family had nothing to offer in the way of kind words or affirmation. His parents didn’t even speak directly to him, choosing to bark the order to his sister to shut him up instead. He wasn’t even worth their time.

Athena was no better, Rio decided. He had been on the fence for a long time. She had always been the golden child. Strong, smart and fearless. She never questioned them. She followed them to a fault. The two of them had been treated differently for as long as Rio could remember, but he had never settled on why. The two used to be close. They used to look out for each other. Rio always wanted to believe that she had seen that this was wrong too. Had just gone along with it because she wanted to make their parents proud. But tonight was a rude awakening. If his parents were monsters, she was no better. Give it a few years and she may actually be worse. Rio wanted nothing to do with that. Athena tugged at the scarf she had given him, and he pushed back onto his feet and tore the thing off and pushed it back into her. He’d rather freeze to death than wear anything of hers. “Whatever. I just won’t talk.” Rio stated as cold as he could manage, but his voice was still cracking.

“Pick up the pace.” His father spoke. The woman’s body was slung over his mother’s shoulders and the two were already making their way through the trees again. There was no other choice but to follow them, so he did. Though it was pitch black out, Rio could see just fine. Through a narrow path in between tree trunks, his mother and father walked side by side. Inches behind them was Athena, no doubt forcing herself to keep up right behind them. And then, trailing in the back with the distance between them only growing as the seconds passed by, was Rio. He never could quite keep up.

#wickedswriting #c orion #chatzy #enough for you #// this quinn twin chatzy brought to you by olivia rodrigo's recent album #though we wrote most of this before #also i love love love cody so much and same for rio #physical abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #sibling abuse tw #also the twins hardly talk but the replies are long ://#and cody emotionally wrecked me with this

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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March 12, 2021: Jason and the Argonauts (1963) (Part Two)

Probably shouldn’t have talked so much in the first part...

Well, it’s all good. Epic-length Recap for a movie about an epic tale! Greek mythology, man, what can I say? Other than, of course, let’s keep going! Part One of the Recap is right here!

Recap (2/2)

OK, so where were we? OH RIGHT, Heracles fucked up!

See, Talos is a bronze giant with various origins. In one case, like in the movie, he was built by Hephaestus. He was built with a single vein, which ran from his neck to his ankle, and contained a golden ichor that sustained him like blood. Said vein was protected by a nail in his ankle, and he would bleed out and fall to the ground useless if it were removed.

So, sure, I could talk about the fact that Talos only encountered the Argo on the return journey, after they’d gotten the Fleece already, and that all he did was throw rocks at them as they passed the island of Crete (which he protected), only for...somebody who’s coming in later...to put him to sleep, allowing the group to pass. But, uh...

Yeah, that’s cool as shit. Which the Argo basically FUCKED for now, Jason speaks with the figurehead of Hera, and asks for some advice. She simply says to look to his ankles. I like where this is going. She also tells him that this is Heracles’ fault, which I’m sure pissed her off even more, given their history. That’s confirmed when Jason and the remaining Argonauts make it to shore, and Heracles is still holding the staff, the great idjit.

Jason quickly formulates a plan, and the Argonauts keep Talos’ attention while he gets close to observe his ankles. He notices a large stopper in the back, and sneaks up behind him to remove it. And once he does, the ichor releases itself. And it looks...awesome? Holy shit, it looks awesome.

And Talos falls to the ground, broken and dead, but at a cost. He falls on top of the frail Hylas, almost certainly killing him. Damn, poor dude. They repair the ship, and also try to find Hylas amongst the rubble and on the beach. An extremely guilty Heracles pledges not to leave the island until he finds Hylas, alive or dead.

The rest of the Argonauts aren’t happy about this, and refuse to sail without the guy who’s inarguably the most powerful amongst them all. Jason decides to burn his last bit of help from Hera, who informs ALL of the Argonauts that Hylas is dead, and that Heracles is not fated to accompany them any further. Which, yeah, is similar to how that plays out in the myths. And so, off they go to find a blinded man named Phineus, on Hera’s command.

Phineus (Patrick Troughton), meanwhile, isn’t having the best time in the world. On the island of Thrace, the seer Phineus is being attacked by the vicious Harpies, pictured here as demonic women with the wings of bats. Phineus, see, was punished by Zeus or revealing the future to mankind, and was both blinded and beset upon by the Harpies for all of his days.

The Argonauts save him from the Harpies’ recent torment, and Phineus agrees to help them IF Jason can permanently free him from the Harpies. Jason agrees, although Zeus is seemingly pissed off by this promise. The deed is accomplished by having Phineus serve as bait to the admittedly badly composited Harpies, and the Argonauts capture them by using nets to trap them.

And no, that’s not how it goes down in the original myth. But, since the Wind Brothers aren’t in here, there’s not an option for an aerial chase between them and the Harpies, which...holy shit, I NEED this to be in a modern movie, can we remake this? Please? PLEASE??

Now that they’ve completed their side of the bargain, Phineus feasts and gives them directions to Colchis: go through the Clashing Rocks, and head from there to Colchis. Without the protection of the gods at this point, Phineus offers them a clay token of some kind, and they part ways. The Argonauts make their way to the Clashing Rocks, which seem totally fine. But Argos is suspecious of this, not trusting Poseidon and other gods of the sea. They observe another ship coming through the Rocks. And it initially seems fine...until...

The rocks tear the other ship apart, and also cause the deaths of one of the Argonauts as well. The other ship sinks, but Jason insists on going through despite this. He says that the gods want their entertainment. Zeus overhears that, and says that he’s going to far with that comment. However, and unhappy Hera agrees with Jason, that the gods themselves are going to fair with this gambit.

In their little game in Olympus, Hera is left with only one movie, which she enacts as Jason throws the clay token into the sea. And from it...

Holy shit, it’s Triton (Bill Gudgeon)! A merman (and eventual father of a Little Mermaid), Triton was the son of Poseidon and the sea goddess Amphitrite. A messenger for his father, Triton is one of the most prominent symbols of the sea gods, which aren’t limited to Poseidon. And while he had absolutely nothing to do with the Clashing Rocks, he did encounter the Argonauts on their journey back. But yeah, not much to his appearance there that warrants mention.

What DOES warrant mention is what happens afterwards. See, the Argonauts row like hell, and they make it through with Triton’s help. But Jason sees a survivor of the other ship’s destruction. That survivor is...Medea (Nancy Kovack).

WHAT

Um...no. Medea, see, is the daughter of the King of Colchis, Aeëtes. She’s the head priestess of Hecate, and a powerful sorceress in her own right. She meets Jason on Colchis, and definitely had no ability to leave the island on her own, or even with other people in general. Once meeting Jason on Colchis, she quickly fell in love with him, and agreed to show him to the Fleece IF he pledged to get her off of the island. He agrees, and the two get married.

But Jason DEFINITELY doesn’t rescue Medea from a shipwreck, that’s for goddamn sure. Still, OK, I’ll deal with it. Jason and Medea introduce themselves, and the group heads towards Colchis. In the process, Jason decides to scout on the island alone, to the anger of Acastus. However, Jason’s now learned exactly who Acastus and his father are, and accuses him of trying to kill him. A fight ensues, and Acastus is thrown overboard. Son of Poseidon Euphemus (Doug Robinson), is sent after him, but the traitorous Acastus kills him, and disappears beneath the ocean waves.

On Colchis soon after, Medea heals Jason’s wounds with the nectar of a native flower, then invites him and the Argonauts to the performance of a ritual to Hecate, goddess of sorcery and magic. Also attending this ritual is Medea’s father, King Aeëtes (Jack Gwillim). There, he waits to meet with Jason, whom he invites to dine with them that evening, along with the Argonauts.

Jason is a bit caught off-guard by this, but they accept. At dinner, Aeëtes reveals that he knows he’s come for the Fleece, to take or steal it from Colchis. He’s been warned of this not by Medea, but of Acastus, who managed to make his way to the island after all. Dick. Jason and the Argonauts are imprisoned by Aeëtes and his men.

That night, Medea goes to pray to Hecate, the goddess of darkness who gave her the gift of foresight. In love with Jason, she decides to betray both Colchis and Hecate’s will in order to save Jason and his Argonauts. And as she goes to free Jason, this is a great time to talk briefly about one of the most complicated characters in Greek mythology: Medea. This is gonna be a little long, so you can skip it if you wanna just get back to the movie.

See, here’s the thing about worshipping a chaotic evil Greek goddess: you've gotta be a little chaotic evil yourself. And Medea...oh boy, Medea. In order to escape her dad, Medea distracts him by killing her brother. Yeah. She made amends for that act with the gods, and then helped to heal Atalanta, and defeat Talos. She also helped Jason’s dad, and Jason eventually fell in love with him, with some...help from Hera. That help resulted in Medea helping to kill Pelias, then fleeing to Corinth with Medea, where they married.

But 10 years of being married, Jason decided it would be a good idea to cheat on the terrifying chaotic evil sorceress for a younger woman. Which is when Hera, the GODDESS OF MARRIAGE, finally abandoned Jason. Medea, meanwhile, LOST it. She gave Jason’s new fiancée a poisoned wedding dress. She killed the bride AND her father in one fell shot when she hugged him. In front of him, she KILLED THEIR TWO SONS, then took the FUCK OFF FOREVER, leaving Jason a broken fucking husk, partially because of his own stupidity.

So, you can see why this little union here is a...mixed bag of emotions.

Medea pleads with Jason to flee with his men, without the Fleece in hand. Seeing that she can’t convince him away from it, she forces him to bring her along, and she will help him steal the Fleece from the tree where it rests. Jason and Medea free the Argonauts, and Medea tells the how to escape. They then head out to obtain the Fleece.

However, Aeëtes figures out pretty quick that Medea’s betrayed him and Colchis, and sends his men after them. Acastus, meanwhile, has headed out to get the Fleece for himself. Dick. And unfortunately, he finds it before Jason and Medea get to it.

And yet...when Jason arrives there to get it, the Fleece is still intact. And that’s because Acastus wasn’t able to take it, having been killed by the Fleece’s guardian...the Lernaean Hydra?

Um...wow. That’s a few hundred miles out of its natural distribution. Also, it’s alive? How? Hercules killed the SHIT out of it, a long-ass time ago! And in case you weren’t sure, no, this isn’t in the original myth. However, it’s a dragon guarding the Fleece instead, so...I guess they made a compromise? Shame, too, because the Colchian Dragon has the ability to create soldiers when its teeth are buried in the earth, similar to the Ismenian Dragon that was used by Cadmus.

...Sorry, went a little overboard. Anyway, Jason kills the Hydra (with no help from Medea, by the way), the Argonauts arrive to help him grab the Fleece, and Aeëtes and the Colchians follow after them, pissed off. Aeëtes prays to Hecate to deliver...the Hydra’s teeth. Interesting. If this is going where I think it’s going, then I will be VERY happy.

Aeëtes and his men collect the Hydra’s teeth, and set off after the Argonauts. They catch up, and they shoot Medea with an arrow, KILLING HER? WHAT? But then, Jason uses the Fleece to heal her wounds, and brings her back to life. OK, fine, fine, you can give the Fleece that bullshit superpower if Medea gets to live. Just then, Aeëtes shows up, bearing the Hydra’s teeth. He preys to Hecate once again, and throws the teeth onto the ground. And...

HELL YEAH, IT’S THE SPARTOI, BABY!

These undead soldiers created from the Dragon’s Teeth were originally sown by Cadmus, on command by Athena. He made them defeat each other, and therefore escaped their wrath. The Dragon itself was sacred to Ares, so this whole thing had some other implications.

In the Jason myth, Aeëtes made him sow the teeth in order to win the Fleece, and he did. Jason also defeated them in the same way that Cadmus did: he threw a stone amongst them, confusing them enough that they fought each other to figure out who threw the rock. But in this movie...in the movie, they’re just fighting. And I love it.

Look, I can never claim that Harryhause’s effects aged particularly gracefully, but this shit is still pretty goddamn awesome. Honestly, I’m having a ball watching this climactic fight between the skeletons and Jason’s crew. And this fight has consequences! The Spartoi here actually do kill some of Jason’s men, and end up forcing Jason himself off of a cliff into the water!

He escapes, and makes his way to the ship, just as Hera tells Zeus that the game is now over. He claims that it isn’t at all, and Hera looks on as Jason and Medea reunite on the ship. He gives the a reprieve, and...

WAIT WHAT??? That’s IT? It ended so...abruptly! We don’t even properly get a resolution, or see Jason return to Thessaly, or...THAT’S IT” ARE YOU GODDAMN KIDDING ME? WHAT THE HELL?

...See you in the Review, I guess. Damn.

#jason and the argonauts #don chaffey #ray harryhausen #todd armstrong #nancy kovack #honor blackman #ary raymond #laurence naismith #greek mythology #argonauts #argonautica #apollonius rhodius #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #movie recap

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wolf-mask · 5 years ago

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Why Borderlands 3 is Disappointing

Borderlands 3 is a fun game mechanically. I’ve spent almost 6 plus DAYS worth of hours playing the game. I finished every side quest and every collectible. The only thing I haven’t done is collect all the echo logs, but I’ve listened to all of them. The only complaint I have with the game is the story. I’ve ranted to my friend about this and, like they said,

“it feels like great writers set up a world and cast with a ton of potential and plans laid out, and then halfway through a different team of writers took over and there was 0 communication between the two groups.”

There was so much potential for Borderlands 3 to be good, but instead it came out “Meh.” and that seems to be what everyone thinks. After watching multiple reviews, there are 4 points of BL3’s story that people pick out as detrimental to the story.

If I’ve forgotten anything, or something sticks out to you that can be explained away by canon, please let me know.

More under the read more

1. The Calypso Twins

I have 2 complaints about the Calypso twins: their unexplained motivations and the writers’ choice of focus.

This is my own personal complaint, but why do the Calypso’s have these motivations? Sure, I get it. Tyreen wants to open the Great Vault because she thinks its her birthright as the daughter of the first vault hunter. But why become a God? I understand the whole wanting to be the most famous person thing but she could’ve just opened the vault to do that, look at Lilith and the other Vault Hunters. So why become a God? How did she come to that conclusion? Why build up an army? Why cause galaxy wide pandemonium when you could just become a Vault Hunter like the current and past playable characters? She even says herself they came to Pandora to be Vault Hunters! So why start a CULT? None of that is really answered by the game. Instead we’re given surface level villains with a surface level backstory. We never find out how their mother died.

The main complaint I’ve seen in these reviews is the story’s focus on the villains. Tyreen is never given screen time. We never learn more about her nor does she undergo any kind of character growth to become a good villain, yet she becomes the Final Boss. Instead, Troy gets most of the character development. Troy is the main focus out of the two villains, he gets the character growth after taking Maya’s powers. Troy is the more compelling villain out of the twins. He starts from the bottom, forced to rely on his sister to live but she sees him as nothing more than a parasite. He’s constantly forced into the background, be a follower, kept under his sister’s heel as she gets what she wants.

After taking Maya’s powers, however, he figures out he doesn’t have to depend on Tyreen. He starts crawling away from Tyreen’s shadow to stand by himself. The cultists start to worship him just as much as Tyreen, he starts hijacking the echo calls, he starts disagreeing with Tyreen’s leadership. The scene in Jakobs mansion makes it seem like Troy is scheming on his own. All of this focus, compounded with Tyreen’s comments during Troy’s boss fight, hints that TROY will become the Final Boss. But instead of having a compelling villain who’s crawled out from under his sister’s shadow, we kill Troy and we’re left with the less interesting villain. If they HAD to go with Tyreen as the main villain, they should’ve given her character growth to make her more compelling. You’d think she’d show some sort of growth after having her brother killed and killing her father, but nothing ever from that. She just stays a one dimensional character throughout the main plot.

2. Maya’s Death

Maya’s death was severely mishandled in Borderlands 3. In the context of the story, Maya had to die eventually, but that doesn’t mean her death couldn’t have been pushed back though.

Compare Maya’s death in Borderlands 3 to Roland’s death in Borderlands 2. In BL2, Roland’s death had more impact because we spent more time with him (Over half the game to be exact, 11 out of 20 story missions), he spent most of the game guiding the player, and we got to see him interact with other characters as well as see how his death affected other characters.

With Maya we spend less than a fourth of the game with her (4 out of 23 missions. She should’ve been introduced earlier and killed off later), we barely interact with her and we don’t see her interact with any other characters aside from Ava and Lilith. One of the things I loved about BL2 was being able to see the old Vault Hunters interact with each other in Sanctuary. When Maya dies, her funeral is played off as a joke, Lilith is blamed by Ava, and that’s as far as acknowledgement goes. No one besides Ava ever acknowledges Maya’s death. It’s as if her death is totally ignored.

Did Maya have to die though? Yes, but not immediately. When Tyreen drained Lilith, Lilith didn’t die. But when Troy drained Maya, why did she die? She didn’t have to at that moment. Throughout the story, Maya’s powers are an important plot point. Her powers are what allow Troy to experience some independence for the first time in his life. When Troy drained Maya he could’ve just stolen her powers and left her alive. This would have left her the potential for character growth.

So why did Maya have to die? Because Ava had to become a Siren eventually. I don’t mind Ava, I think she’s fine as a character, but if her purpose was to show how Siren powers are transferred, we already have Tannis for that. They practically shove in Ava to replace Maya as soon as she dies. It’s like taking a child’s favorite toy and shoving a new one in their arms, expecting them to like the new toy immediately. They should’ve let Ava become a Siren later down the line instead.

3. Ava’s Characterization

As I previously said, I don’t mind Ava. I think she’s an alright character as she is right now. Most people don’t think that though, and I can see why. Ava is directly responsible for Maya’s death. She disobeyed Maya’s directions and came to the Promethea Vault on her own. Due to her disobeying orders, Maya is forced to put Ava’s well being above hers. Ava further escalated the situation, leading to Maya needing to save her. This ends in Maya’s death.

Instead of taking responsibility for her actions, Ava blames Lilith for Maya’s death and claims that they need to rush in without thinking. And later on she’s praised as being right for the same thought process! When Lilith goes to sacrifice herself, she basically tells Ava she’s right. Not only that, she gives leadership of the Crimson Raiders over to a 13 year old child with no experience who got her mentor killed. At no point is she forced to face the consequences of her actions, she never goes through a character arc. Ava has the potential to be a likable character but her characterization was so botched that most people hate her now. They player should’ve been allowed to slowly learn more about Ava and watch her grow before taking over Maya’s role. Hopefully the DLC that focuses on her will do her better.

4. Ignoring the Player

The BIGGEST sin of BL3 is how it treats the player character. The achievements of the player are constantly undercut and we are consistently ignored by the narrative.

The whole game made me feel like I was the side character to the Sirens. All the other Borderlands games have focused on the Player as the main character. In BL1 the Vault Hunters killed the Destroyer, in BL2 the six vault hunters defeated the Warrior and defeated Handsome Jack, in TPS those six beat the Sentinel and helped Jack rise to power. In BL3, it feels like none of our achievements matter. As soon as we accomplish one thing, something bigger happens and that needs to be focused on. You got to Tannis after that pain in the ass fight with the Agonizer? Welp looks like Tannis is a Siren and you practically did that shit for nothing! We defeated Tyreen the Destroyer? Welp looks like Elpis is going to crash into Pandora and now Lilith has to go stop that. The only times I really felt like I was making an impact was when I wasn’t doing missions for the Sirens.

At the end of the game Ava is more acknowledged than the player and given command of an entire army. This should’ve gone to the player! The character who’s busted their ass off to bring the Raiders back from the brink of disbandment, who’s done all the heavy lifting! Hell, before going down to Promethea Lilith asks YOU to take over field operations while she’s powerless.

But what ticks me off the most is how the narrative ignores the player. Unlike the cut scenes in other Borderlands games, you are ignored. Nearly all of the cut scenes are in third person and you are NOWHERE to be seen. Maya being killed by Troy, Tyreen absorbing Troy and trying to crush the other Sirens, Tyreen killing Typhon, and Lilith’s sacrifice. We’re NEVER seen in those cut scenes. Compare this to the cut scenes in previous games, which are almost always in 1st person and if they aren’t, the 3rd person view is used when the cut scene isn’t important. In BL3, almost all the cut scenes are in 3rd person. The only time the player is acknowledged is when Troy phaselocks the player in the Jakobs Mansion, which makes this issue all the more frustrating.

Conclusion

Borderlands 3 is a graveyard of missed potential. The story could have been so much better than it came out as. I love the game from a gameplay standpoint, it’s so fun to play, but the main story is a drag to get through at this point. I don’t think it’s worth re-playing at this point and I’m going to wait for DLC to come out before playing more of it. Again, if I missed anything or you think something could be can be explained by Canon, please let me know! I have other little nitpicks I might talk about later but for now these are the main things that I think are wrong with the main story of Borderlands 3.

If you’re interested, these videos helped me in pinpointing what felt so wrong about BL3. They’re good videos to watch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-ws6VRYEDw&t=431s (Tina vs Ava)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nO2qmhaRmcc (Main problem with BL3)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lL0fAxjZnc (Wasting Maya)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibOPCU2adkE (Why Borderlands 3 is Disappointing)

#Borderlands #Borderlands 3 #BL3 #tyreen calypso #troy calypso #maya the siren #ava the apprentice #ava the siren #my post #my rant #they could have done it so much better

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eltanin-malfoy · 5 years ago

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THE QUIET

based on the song by Troye Sivan

pairing : draco/veryintroverted(quiet)!y/n (gender neutral :))

word count : 7.7k (i genuinely have never written anything as long as this)

warning(s) : abuse/self-harm/torture/trauma/depression/ptsd mention, fluff, angst, slight smut

requested : nope! (i am going to have a request from a while ago up soon so watch out!)

a/n : lots of pan-top! draco vibes. also based somewhat on this song by our boy tom. i conceptualised this quite a while back after sorta getting my own heart broke, so it’s kinda.. um.. sad. screw men! lol. not to mention, this is my 1st attempt at writing in 2nd person, so i hope it isn’t total crap.

taglist : @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @socontagiousimagines

Silence is something Draco used to hate. With every fibre of his being.

When he was seven and sitting at the dining table, picking through his greens with his fork, his mother not letting him get up till he was done, everything was quiet. Forcibly so. His father thought that his chatting only got in the way of him finishing his spinach.

He’d overheard his parents talking about him when he’d sneaked out of his room late one night, to get his toy broomstick out of his father’s study after he’d confiscated it. (“You can’t be mucking about outside all day, Draco.”) He’d hidden behind his father’s desk, fingers wrapped tightly around the wood of the broomstick, while his parents had walked in, Lucius’ voice practically booming.

“Draco’s taken after me quite a bit. You’re right.”

“He definitely has.. Like everybody says, his fa-”

“No, not just that.. His behaviour. Just what I used to do.” “You haven’t told me about that.”

“He’s smart, isn’t he? He can babble on about anything and everything at dinner and you gush over him, and he realises it.” “Are you just pointing tha-”

“No, dear. I mean, he realises it. He hates eating his greens, you know that. He tips them into his pocket while you fawn over him when he speaks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I glared at him when I noticed it myself and put a stop to it this evening.”

“Wow.. he’s only seven and-” “He’s smart. At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin.”

Draco’s eyebrows had raised considerably since this conversation had started. He poked his head out the side of the drawers lining the side of the desk and couldn’t miss the smile lining his mother’s lips.

“At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin. I’ll just have to keep him quiet, I suppose.” She agreed, giggling as his father picked out a novel from the bookcase by the door. “So, this is the Waffling novel you so worship? Doesn’t look like much.” She took it from him and checked out the cover, turning towards the door. “Narcissa.. “ His father’s voice muttered off in a slow drawl as the two exited the room.

Draco clutched the broom closer to his chest and felt his heart racing, a smirk soon forming on his face as he realised he’d gotten away with what he so desired. He slowly crept out from his hiding place, carrying the broomstick with both hands now. He waddled over to the door, conscious of his movements as he tried his best not to make a single sound.

Tiptoeing on his tiny toes, he managed to get out of the study. The weight of his parents words suddenly hit him. For the first time in his life, he’d understood… his parents did in fact, notice the things he did. Little mischiefs here and there to somehow cajole an extra sweet or two from his mother. Their line of sight didn’t extend simply to his bad posture or hyperactivity.

Not only that, they’d figured out exactly how to combat his actions. Drat! It was such a clever idea.. how did he manage to see through it? Or, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as slick as he would like to admit. Either way, he’d seemed to have gotten his broom out just fine, so maybe they weren’t that aware of everything he did. Right?

Wrong. It wasn’t long after he’d gone up the staircase towards his bedroom that he felt a hand press flat onto the top of his head. He flinched at first and then looked up, squinting slightly.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” His father’s voice came out in a whisper, while his features still seemed high strung, even in the dark. Draco simply stared up at him silently and handed over his broom. “Now, you’re not getting this back. Not for another month.”

Draco pursed his lips and trudged silently up to his room. “And I’m not going to keep it where you found it either. You won’t be able to search for it yourself.” Draco felt the slightest bit of rage pulsing through his temple but kept his gaze on the floor, knowing even a cruel glance back at his father would only earn him an even longer punishment. He felt the need to retort and felt his lips moving before he could stop them.

“I’ll find it, alright. Like you could hide it from me.”

Draco felt his father jabbing the tip of his broomstick into the back of his hip and winced, quickly reaching back to grip at where his father had poked him, where there was sure to be a purply red bruise the next day. It wasn’t even like he’d never been put in his place much as a child, but this one time.. just..

“Silence is golden, Draco.”

His hip wasn’t the only thing that was bruised that night. His lovely, large ego hurt too.

And since then, for some stubborn reason, Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it being silent. Not when he knew he wasn’t alone. Not around anyone else. Being silent only meant submission. Giving into something he didn’t want to be.

Submission was weakness. His father had told him that himself. Giving up wasn’t something Malfoys did, and submission was practically the same thing. But apparently, the same didn’t hold for however his father wanted him to behave around him. Even then, Draco knew submitting to another’s will only meant the loss of his own intent. Submission meant vulnerability, and being silent, listening to what someone else wanted to say rather than his own will, meant he was giving himself up instead of getting what he wanted for himself.

And so, he began to treat it as practically his own responsibility to always keep conversations going. Sure, he’d want his peace and quiet now and then (his friends’ constant bumbling around did grow annoying after a point), but he felt that the only way he could truly enjoy silence was in absolute solitude. Pursuing his own interests, reading a book or listening to a song..

If anyone was nearby, he couldn’t really stop himself from saying something to them, whether it be rude or not. He always had a word to put in. He found that while what he said didn’t always reflect what he truly felt, it made people recognise him. Know who he was. Even if it was for the wrong reasons, he found that he liked it. Popularity (or even notoriety) felt good on him. Or at least it felt great for his ego.

Being heard meant being in charge, at least in his perspective. He realised that facing situations head on, that confrontation was the best strategy for him. Even if it didn’t always end up in the best way for him, he never had many regrets. Most of the time.

Even at Hogwarts, his confrontational manner had earned him some sort of following, at least in his own house. Sure, it was also the same manner that had made Potter his rival, but hey, if Potter didn’t know what a great offer he’d just declined, it wasn’t his fault. He could go hang out with Weasley as much as he liked, it wasn’t like it was Draco who really even wanted to be friends with him. Like, at all. He was just doing what he thought he should be doing, dutifully. After all, if he, the Malfoy heir, didn’t attempt to befriend The Boy Who Lived, would he even be a true Malfoy?

But what truly validated him, more than anything else, was knowing that.. people were interested in him. Not that they treated as some sort of queer phenomenon, but that they.. romantically liked him. Sure, it did sound plenty pathetic, feeling great about himself thanks to someone else fancying him, it shouldn’t matter as much to him, should it? But then again, he loved attention. Especially that sort of attention.

And there was Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott and Padma Patil and Wayne Hopkins and.. well.. there was a fair share of people Draco definitely wouldn’t mind a love note from. But even then, so far only one of them seemed to actually feel the same way about him. And after spending enough time around her, it was clear she felt even more intensely about their relationship than he did. And so, he ended it, because while he did love getting fawned over, even he had his limits. His type wasn’t.. people who were clingy, so to say.

The one main similarity he noticed between all those that he developed some sort of attraction for was that they were all outgoing. Not necessarily assertive, some of them even came off as unpleasant at times, but they seemed at least interested in getting their word across, some way or the other.

Of course, there are always, always exceptions to rules. Draco couldn’t even understand why he felt the way he did about you. It certainly wasn’t immediate, as far as he could tell. It was incredibly gradual. For sure. He wasn’t impulsive. Not at all.

He didn’t even really see you at first, per se. You were apparently in the same year but managed to avoid his glance for the entirety of your first four years. It was only really in Draco’s fifth year that he even noticed your existence, frankly.

The very first time was during the later hours of the day, after dinner one evening in September. He’d realised his first OWL practice essay for Transfiguration (homework McGonagall had assigned in the second week of school, Merlin) wasn’t up to the mark. He’d scanned through Pansy’s when she’d left her materials in the common room while she headed to the washroom and was not pleased with her seemingly improving essay writing skills. He certainly wasn’t going to let her do better than him. Not when he knew a victory like that would go straight to her head and make her stop basically kissing the ground beneath his feet, even though they’d been apart for quite a while now.

He’d gone off to the library by himself in an attempt to rework it. Roping in another student to do it for him would have definitely done the job as well, but for some reason, a churning feeling in his gut told him this was something he needed to deal with himself. Maybe there was something special about Vanishing spells..? Maybe this was the year he’d impress everyone and get straight O’s for each of his assignments. And of course, his actual OWL’s, O’s on all of those too. Maybe he’d even do better than that mudbl-

And suddenly, the usually-very-regal-in-his-gait Draco Malfoy fell to the floor, face first. He felt an uncomfortable flaring up on his nose and grimaced. His book bag fell to his side, and he heard his ink bottle crack open.

He got back onto his feet as quickly as he could and picked up his bag, narrowing his grey eyes as he watched a dark stain forming on the side of it. Merlin. His father had only bought it for him that summer. Shit. He quickly looked to see what had caused him to fall on his face, frowning terribly. But he definitely wasn’t expecting what he saw. He was figuring some overexcited Gryffindor first year had bumped into him and pushed him over but.. no..

It was you. You. Someone close to his own age, looking up at him with nervous, nervous eyes, anxiously darting all over his figure and his bag. “I’m sorry.” You managed out, reaching into the pocket on the side of your robes. You did seem familiar. He recognised you somewhat. Sort of, at least. You couldn’t possibly be trying to get on his nerves on purpose. Not with the finicky way you were picking through your coin purse.

“I”m sorry. I.. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, you should have.”

“R-right.” You paused and stared up at his face, avoiding his piercing gaze. “How much d-”

“You don’t need to pay for this. Just leave.” Draco uttered before he could even process his own thoughts.

“But I do.”

“No, i-it’s fine. I can handle it. Don't need you.” Why was he being generous? With this stranger?

“Your parchment..? And your b-books? They must be ruined too.”

“I know how to deal with them.”

“Oh.. oh. If you-you say so. I’m sorry. I can-”

“It’s alright. You don't need to bother.”

You offered him an awkward sort of smile and nodded before turning to leave. Draco blinked slowly and took a deep breath, holding the bag up a bit higher. He reached for his wand and did what little he could to deal with the mess. It was almost hopeless to begin with. And he couldn’t exactly understand why he was suddenly all jittery. Why his stomach suddenly felt like it was full of butterflies.

It really was hopeless. To begin with.

You were so not his type! Sure, there were no real physical aspects to tie into ‘his type’, but goddamn it! He now realised you’d been in his year all this while and he hadn’t thought of you once. Not once. You’d stay huddled up within your tiny group of friends most of the time. You’d shy out of uttering a word in class to anyone but those sitting right next to you, and the couple of times he’d heard your voice was when a teacher directly questioned you. Oh, dear god. He shouldn’t even care. If he actually had forced someone else to polish his essay for him, this problem would never even have manifested in the first place. He found himself wasting time, so much time, just pondering over you. Wondering over dumb, idiotic things. Time he could’ve spent studying for his OWL’s, practicing Quidditch, trying to butter up Umbridge… he was staring out the window by his bed, looking at the Black Lake, thinking about the color of your eyes.

Even during lessons, he’d find himself staring at you while you remained mostly unaware. Mostly, since at random moments you would peer back at him in fear. Why were you so goddamn afraid of him? What had he even done for you to think of him as such? Sure, he was intimidating, but he’d been nice to you. Right?

And before he knew it, he was pulling you to the side of the hallway after a particularly tricky Charms practical when he thought you seemed relatively.. alone. You looked up at him, again nervous, nibbling at your lip.

“D-do you want me to pay up now?”

“What? No.” Draco didn’t even understand why his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“Are you going to take me up to Umbridge?”

“No!” You were far from intimidating. Adorably rattled, if he were to be honest.

“Then? C-could I go?”

Oh god, what happened to his normal headstrong sort of preference in people? You and Draco were seriously total opposites.

But then again, opposites do attract, as a wise man once said (or at least Draco thought so).

“No. I.. was.. um.. we have a Hogsmeade weekend next week.”

“Yes..?”

“And I wanted to know if.. if you wanted to go with me.”

“W-”

“Just.. nothing more than that. We can just go there. As friends.”

“I don’t kn-”

“Please?”

“I.. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Alright.”

The shaky way in which he was gripping your wrist suddenly came to his attention and he drew his hand back. “L-let me know.” He muttered, watching as you slowly turned and walked away.

It was truly abnormal for him to be acting so.. unhinged. On edge, even. Really. This was all so pathetic. He was all worked up simply due to a crush. So very pathetic.

He spent the rest of the day walking around idly between classes, with Crabbe and Goyle following after him. They’d caught on to some extent, it seemed. And it deeply annoyed Draco that he wasn’t the one initiating a conversation for once. His nerves were much too on fire for him to even consider saying a word.

Unfortunately, Pansy noticed him being uncharacteristically calm as well. And what was even more unfortunate was that the Head Boy and Girl had made it such that the two Slytherin fifth year prefects had to do their rounds of the dungeons together that very night. Jesus. Christ.

Not only was his gut still seconds from turning in on itself, but he also had to face a girl who was as nosy as she definitely didn’t need to be.

“So… is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Pott-”

“Nothing to do with him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s got your tongue?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Is there-”

“It’s nothing.” He responded somewhat harshly, hoping to force her silent.

But alas! Pansy wasn’t the sort to relent. She managed to nag and tug at his strings long and hard enough for him to actually snap at her. Thankfully then, she decided to stop sticking her nose into where it didn’t belong and fell silent herself. Oh, thank god. He didn’t want to have to give her the silent treatment himself, goodness knows how much his head would have hurt after that.

Even after his rounds were complete and all his work for the following day was complete, Draco found his stomach swirling with anxiety. It had been hours, hours, since he’d spoken to you. How long could it take for someone to come to a decision to something as simple as what he’d posed to you? Not to mention, there were an infinite number of ways for you to contact him. He had a lot of friends (all of whom definitely weren’t that intimidating and for the most part could easily be manipulated) who could pass on messages to him.

What did you quiet types even think of yourself? That you could keep everyone waiting and hope that they all just chalk it up to you being too goddamn demure? Annoying. You weren’t allowed to make his heart flutter by a simple glance. And with the way all your past encounters had gone, it seemed as if you weren’t going to give him much more than that. Gosh.

He was sitting by himself on his bed, legs crossed while he tried to somehow focus on his DADA textbook. Slinkhard could make even Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation sound plaintive. No matter how much he pretended to enjoy Umbridge’s presence, he had no idea how he was going to act like this textbook was actually usable.

As he found himself reading over the first few lines of the chapter for the seventh time, Nott burst into the dormitory holding up.. something. A piece of folded up parchment, perhaps.

“Y/L/N handed this to me. Just now. By the dungeons.”

“Thanks.” Draco took it from him, his hand trembling in excitement. Finally, finally, finally!

But then he paused. Nott must have read the message already. He wasn’t actually purehearted enough to simply hand over a message as asked. He ran his thumb over the parchment.

“Have you.. looked at it?”

“What? No. It’s private.”

“Don’t give me that.. you have, haven’t you?”

Draco suddenly wished he wasn’t in his silky pyjamas so he could use his prefect badge as a threat. What could you have possibly offered him for him to do this for you? He watched as his cheeks slowly turned crimson.

“No. Haven’t. Couldn’t. It… couldn’t open it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, nodding. Huh. He attempted to unfold it himself and found that it was in fact impossible. Theo was still staring at him, and Draco found that for once, he wasn’t enjoying the attention much. He sneered at him enough to get his message across and walked back to his bed, drawing up the hangings so he could continue with his efforts without any prying eyes around.

Physical efforts proved to be worthless and he found himself extremely confused. Could you have sent him a message just to tide him over for a bit? Give him some sort of hope but actually mean to just annoy him. Maybe you were more annoying than he’d given you credit for.

But then again, he had yet to put any sort of wizarding skill to the test. He brought his wand out from under his pillow and tapped the note.. and somehow.. it opened up! He honestly shouldn’t have been as astonished as he was, sealant charms weren’t new to him.

Draco,

I accept your offer. Let’s meet in the courtyard at ten o’clock on that Saturday morning.

See you,

Y/N.

And that was all it said. And for some reason, Draco couldn’t stop smiling.

You’d accepted his offer! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! He wanted to jump around and sing and dance and just tell everybody. But maybe it would do him better just to go to sleep. It was quite late.. and well… he was tired. The unusual bout of anxiety he’d faced through the day had only made him weary.

Within the next few days, most everyone he knew, at least in his year, seemed to have gotten wind of him having received a secret message from Y/L/N, courtesy of Nott, of course. Gods, he should really have Crabbe and Goyle just let loose on him. Then maybe he’d learned his own place. Never mind, his face was still much too appealing to even imagining disfiguring as such. Maybe some other time.

Pansy didn’t hesitate to ask him, even tease him about it. He’d obviously offered no comment. It was obvious that her and her band of girls had already gossiped quite a bit about it, and he could only hope you weren’t being disturbed.

Surprisingly, you bothered giving Draco an actual smile a couple days later. A few times, in fact. It made him feel a lot giddier than he would have cared to admit.

Your actual ‘meeting’ with Draco turned out to be a lot more.. pleasant than he’d originally anticipated. While it was true that you weren’t one to talk much, you were a real pleasure to have around. You certainly weren’t the type to talk his ear off, and he found that he enjoyed that, for once.

Going to the Three Broomsticks hadn’t resulted in a prolonged awkward silence, as Draco had been expecting, but more of a.. blushy exchange of smiles. Sweet ones. It was totally new to him, what with always being surrounded by his Slytherin cronies meaning hours and hours of pointless banter. It wasn’t absolutely silent either. There were the greetings, exchanges of pleasantries and everything along those lines. Not much more, since, you know, you were.. shy. And it was adorable. Perhaps coyness wasn’t as annoying as he thought.

You’d even held his hand for a bit on the way back, and he’d loved it. (Obviously, he’d never tell a soul that.)

As the browned autumn leaves fell to the ground and left the trees bare, whatever it was between the two of you blossomed into something more. Exchanging letters later into the night (+hiding outside of the dungeons to even receive them) even stolen kisses when Draco knew you wouldn’t expect them (causing you to blush, which he so adored. Which was.. top secret, as well), became more commonplace. He grew accustomed to the frigid breeze that would blow around the courtyard onto his hands, he passed his own thick gloves to you while you walked, of course.

For once in his life, Draco understood that silence didn’t always have to mean subservience. Silence was tranquility. Silence was a symbol for.. intimacy. Sometimes the times when the two of you exchanged no words were the most meaningful of all. Sometimes holding each other close was all it took to calm him down, even after the wildest of days.

Feeling vulnerable didn’t have to mean you were shooting yourself in the foot. Draco now learnt what trust truly meant. Perhaps distance wasn’t the ideal, in actuality. Perhaps being superior wasn’t what he always needed to chase. Perhaps it was simply compatibility.

It felt nice to have you beside him. Or at least.. following nearby. All of his own friends had caught on to what was going on quite easily, and thankfully, Draco had gotten it across to them that there would be real hell to pay for teasing either of the two of you about it. He knew there had to be gossip. Hell, he could imagine some of it himself. But he knew how to pretend he didn’t care. Pansy’s jealousy had only grown, but Draco couldn’t find it in him to give it much thought.

One of his favourite instances was the one time he managed to sneak the two of you out to the Black Lake. It had taken some convincing and quite a lot of sneaking out here and then, but thankfully, Draco wasn’t one to shy away from using his prefect badge to further himself. He got out of his nightly rounds with Pansy and forced Macmillan to take them up instead. You didn’t like that very much but.. hey, Draco wanted to spend time with his significant other, doing.. important things.

Losing it (his.. virginity, shhh) was something he’d anticipated for much of his adolescent life. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t desired it, very very badly at that. (He was a teenager, wasn’t he? If he wasn’t allowed to be hormonal, who was?) The Black Lake was isolated in the dark of night, and a few Lumos Maxima’s did enough to offer some sort of romantic lighting. Setting out a makeshift mattress was hard enough, but he was ultimately just satisfied with the fact that you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

A lot of hand holding, quiet compliments, uncontrollable blushing and petting later, he’d managed to fit himself inside you. The slight tears in your eyes had made him feel like stopping it all right there, but you’d assured him it was all okay with a slight squeeze to his hand. Locking eyes with you had made him want to just… give in right then. He’d have thought the silence would have been awkward (and maybe it was, a tiny bit), but it felt ethereal to just be there.. to feel infatuated. To make love.

The only thing that had really bothered Draco was that your silence seemed to continue into then. Light gasps were all he could seem to coax out of your mouth, even at the tugging of tongue with teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was doing something wrong, or if it was just you. He held you close to his chest long after, grey eyes trailing over you with some degree of perplexity.

It had been very cold outside and you’d practically snuggled into him while you walked back, leaning back onto him while he tried to fit you into his coat. You couldn’t seem to get close enough to him, it seemed. He wanted to just carry you around wherever he went. Keep you on his lap and cuddle you.

And that was when he realised he loved you. And his lips felt oddly loose and he leaned down to whisper it into your ear.

And you said it back.

If only..

If only good things didn’t come to an end.

The Inquisitorial Squad was a beginning. A new start for the spring. But an end to his own free time. What he didn’t take seriously at first turned into an ordeal he was forced to take charge of. Responsibility, the word just didn’t roll off his tongue as easy.

Sure, he was allowed to take his liberty with practically every single decision he had to make. He didn’t have to give any kind of mercy to the people he took points from, and he didn’t plan on it. But it only seemed to force cracks into the foundation of your relationship.

The silence was slowly beginning to fade.

You weren’t enjoying the antics he’d begun to pull. Sure, his teasing was something that annoyed you to begin with, but now that bullying was backed by an official contract.. even watching Draco do his ‘prefectural duty’ and put the students in their place seemed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Draco.. I.. I just.. I don’t like it.”

“I have to do what I have to do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have to go around.. Being so awful.”

“I didn’t ask for you to approve of it.”

“Draco.”

“What?” He took a deep breath and looked up from the book in front of him to see you looking back at him, face more stern than usual. “Take me seriously.”

“I-.. I don’t see why this should matter. I’m not..”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s horrid, you know that.”

“This doesn’t.. “ He huffed. “I’m not doing anything to you. This has nothing to do with you. Keep out of it.”

You got up all of a sudden, making him raise an eyebrow. You hurriedly started putting everything away, silent again.

“W-what? What is it now?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be sporting a black eye if you didn’t go around on such a high horse all the time. I care about you, Draco. I’m only saying this because I do.”

You left soon after, leaving Draco in your wake, unsure of how to proceed. Your words only seemed to grow harsh when Draco was at his weakest. It wasn’t his fault Potter and the Weasleys were so goddamn sensitive, he thought.

As spring melted into summer, everything only seemed to grow colder.

His OWL’s were just as challenging as he’d anticipated them being but he hoped he hadn’t done too badly. The time he’d previously spent studying was filled with him trying to look for where Potter’s secret youth corps was hiding.

The Dark Lord was coming back to his full powers, Draco had known. But what Draco hadn’t expected was his own father being thrown into Azkaban after losing a battle to Potter’s preposterous student group (Dumbledore’s Army, really? The nerve of people!), of all people. The universe was truly bent on humiliating him. He could only feel rage. Red, burning hot.

You tried to comfort him, somehow. Surely, you had to be scared of him. He was the son of a full blown Death Eater.. of a prisoner of Azkaban, how couldn’t you feel afraid? Everyone else must have been. He’d seen the stares the younger children had given him, and he’d given them a taste of what was boiling deep within. His tongue had grown quicker, less patient thanks to all of this. He’d begun to crave the redemption of his family name above all else. Enough to try and seek revenge on the Hogwarts Express. (and fail.)

It was only a few weeks into summer when he’d been told that the Dark Lord himself wanted to include him in his ranks, even offer him a mission. One just for him. A special, secret task he felt Draco was up to. And how could he say no?

His mission was difficult, extraordinarily difficult. Getting rid of one of the most powerful wizards of all time was certainly much more than he could handle along with everything else going on in his life. His turbulent relationship with you, with whom he was still only.. sporadically exchanging letters, was not what he wanted anymore, it seemed. If you got to know about his goal, you’d only try to encourage him not to pursue it, and he couldn’t have any distractions, not when he was bearing his family’s status on his shoulders.

And so he wrote you one final letter. A short one, just to inform you of his decision on the two of you. At this point, he could care less about your feelings. He was simply more focused on being proud of the mark he wore on his forearm, the snake and skull etched into his skin forever. Eternal glory was what he was hoping for, and romance suddenly seemed irrelevant.

Y/N,

I have to end things between us. I’m sorry if this is very sudden. This is all just too much for me to handle, with father and everything, I find myself very stressed..

Good luck and I love you,

Draco.

And that was that. The end of an anomaly, of ten odd months of his life. He’d been happy for a while but it was time to move on and take life by the reins! His new mission was clearly something to be proud about and he knew it. But it was so simple to fall back into his old habits. Pansy…

She was far too eager to take your place. She was far too unconcerned about the mark on his arm. And he could care less for the consequences as she lay on his bed, kissing every part of him that was exposed to the cold air. Moving on was easier than dealing with his feelings, after all. If he moved fast enough, he wouldn’t have to think about you again.

It was clear you had thought about him. Made it clear. You’d sent him letter upon letter after receiving his own, your brown Athene noctua had twittered all over the place, chasing after him for a response. But Draco hadn’t even opened your letters, he’d tossed them straight into his fireplace upon receiving them.

Out of sight, out of mind.

And for the most part, it worked. He wasn’t hung up. He wasn’t moody. He wasn’t crying. He was using up whatever energy he had in bed. Over and over and over until Pansy was exhausted or simply excused herself. He flaunted her a bit, spent time alone with her. Looked you in the eyes while he held her hand. He didn’t even try to hide it. And he hoped his shamelessness helped you move on too. He knew you weren’t going to approach him, and that simply egged him on. The public displays of affection continued and you only seemed to continue to blend into the background, as you always used to. It was all for the best, really.

Except it wasn’t. The mission wasn’t as simple as it had seemed at first. It wasn’t something he could just.. do. It took effort and it took courage. Something he’d realised he lacked, greatly. It was much too much responsibility. Yet again, he struggled with it. His sixteen year old shoulders weren’t strong enough to bear so much weight, or at least that’s what he told himself.

But inside, he knew. He knew it was his own cowardice which would thwart his plans to save his family’s name, which would bring dishonour to his family. He had to try his best.

But he only seemed to fail. His plans didn’t seem to work for much. All that was working was the training Aunt Bella had given him. Compartmentalisation seemed to be the only thing keeping him going. If he gave in to his thoughts, he knew he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.

And suddenly life began to move faster than he could think and he’d Imperiused Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungo’s and Ron Weasley had been poisoned and he was confiding his deepest thoughts to the ghost of a Mudblood.

All his feelings began bubbling up to the surface and he couldn’t attempt to numb the pain, the guilt, the fear by just forcing them away. He was making mistakes left and right, and perhaps.. his first had been you. Maybe if he hadn’t ever met you. Things would have been simpler. He could’ve gotten straight to Pansy. And.. there would have been no complications. Nothing in between. No guilt deterring him from looking you in the eye and just telling you to sod off.

Perhaps it had been true all along, that vulnerability was like holding your arm out on your own accord while it was permanently marked to show your allegiance. It was only regretful. For what reason would you bare your soul to someone? Why would you let down your guard? Was there anyone you could really even trust?

Draco didn’t know why. But inside, deep, deep inside him, he knew that there was still love for you in plenty. But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not when he was so close..

And everything else after that point seemed to pass on in a vivid haze. It was like having an out-of-body experience, except the ‘experience’ wasn’t coming to an end. No matter how hard he tried. Scraping his nails along his skin drew blood, but nothing else. It seemed the pain had turned into something habitual. It was as if it lived inside him.

He watched himself grow paler, have to buckle his belt as tightly as he possibly could, give up his life of luxury in favour of serving the Dark Lord, as if he was simply looking in on someone else’s life.

His home was no longer his home. The Manor had turned into a place where turmoil and torture were everyday things. He could barely live with himself. His mother’s smile was all that kept him from knotting a rope around his neck and-

Well, it was that and… it was the memories. The few happy memories he had outside of the Manor. While now his childhood was tainted with what haunted his present, he remembered.. you.

The hours spent in silence, just being around each other. Giving each other smiles. Having no expectations of each other but to just.. give each other company. Cuddling. Kissing. This led his mind to a different path of thinking but he kept it at bay. He had enough of that from his time with Pansy, and he didn’t want to think about being with anyone but you.

It was no mistake. It was fate. It was destiny. That one day at the library was everything. And even if his heart still ached, he was better with the memories than without them at all.

He still loved you. But this damned war was in the middle of everything and the guilt was getting to him.

Hogwarts had succumbed to the Dark Lord’s forces only after Draco had managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. It was all him. He was the reason why so many first years would be filled with dread for years to come. He was the reason why so many people had to face so much more than they needed to. He wanted to end it all. Just. Get it over with.

But he wasn’t brave enough to.

Everything he set his mind to seemed out of reach.

And so, he lost his wand. And his sense of self. He betrayed the Dark Lord. And he endured his punishment for it too. The Cruciatus curse was more painful to experience than it was to watch, he’d learned. Hours and hours of it would leave a bloody taste in your mouth. Even the ruddy scars he’d scratched into his own skin burned. His Dark Mark was sizzling as if on fire.

The “Battle of Hogwarts”, they’d called it. It sounded so much more epic than it really was. It was pain and it was pain and it was pain. Over and over and over. The sight of the dead made him want to empty his guts and pull his eyes out of their sockets.

He couldn’t help but think about you. Where were you? Had you been evacuated? Or were you fighting too? He would have thought the former.. but the war drove people to extremes, he’d noticed. Bellatrix couldn’t have always been this bloodthirsty, surely.

He hoped and prayed and just wished that you were safe. He wanted to find you. And that he would. Perhaps after all of this. Perhaps you’d forgive him. Perhaps everything else would fit into place and you could live together. Maybe you’d be able to help him rid his memories of this insane, inhumane conflict.

But it wasn’t so.

It had been months since the war had ended. Since Potter’s side had triumphed and his had lost, if you could call it his. His family had managed to avoid going to Azkaban thanks to his mother’s courageous feat. His mother was braver than him in every which way, he understood that now. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward, everything wouldn’t have been left in pieces.

The only thing he was glad about was that your name hadn’t been listed in the casualties of the war. He’d searched for it from paper to paper and had been glad it was nowhere to be seen, for once.

He was still in and out of St. Mungo’s and the memories still haunted him. The dreams would never end. Sometimes he’d see it all happen again in a rush, sometimes he’d imagine it was his parents they were hurting. Sometimes it’d be you. They were much too real. Once he imagined it was him hurting you. He’d woken up and gotten into the tub in his bathroom, writhing and shaking, clammy with perspiration. He wouldn’t have gotten out of the water alive if his mother hadn’t noticed his bed was empty.

And so he spent his days in bed, his body barely able to keep down what he took in, if at all. Their house elf practically resided by his bedside for a while, offering him glasses of water when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, nightmares as dark as always.

He wanted to, no, needed to find you. Apologise. Even kneel in front of you until you forgave him.

But he knew you never would. He’d hurt you and then gone on to aid in the murder of one of the most valuable headmasters of Hogwarts. He’d helped the Dark Lord harm all those that were supposedly beneath them. How could you even look him in the eye? You’d been afraid of him before you’d even spoken properly and.. he expected you to forgive him for essentially assisting in the taking over of the Wizarding World? It was impossible.

Draco found himself avoiding every sort of human contact. He’d stay in his room for hours on end with the door locked. The silence was everywhere, all around him. Swallowing him whole.

He’d spent ages just fathoming what it might be like if he could summon the courage to contact you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive him. Maybe it would all be okay.

But the chances of that happening were too low. And so he let the quiet envelope him instead.

He was barely a shadow of himself. Of the person he thought you’d loved. He couldn’t tell you a single good thing about himself. He wished you would write to him instead. He wished there was some way he could retrieve those bloody letters you’d sent him all that while ago. But he could only be filled with regret.

The silence that had once disgusted him, then comforted him was almost mocking him. The loneliness, the despair, every negative emotion was as if a part of it. He knew the only way out of it and although he knew it was practically pointless to even try, he knew he had to.

Y/N,

I can’t take this any longer. I just can’t. I’m the most pathetic person on earth. I can’t live with myself anymore.

I love you. I still do. And I’m so deeply sorry. There is no way I can even attempt to justify what I did because it was just horrible. It was so terribly idiotic. You were right about all of it. I was such an arse. To everyone. You deserved so much better than me. You always have and you always will.

But I need to see you. Please. I need to speak to you. Just give me that much. I’m barely holding on. Just write back to me. Please. I know I sound desperate.

I understand if you decide against seeing me ever again. I do. I deserve it. Just give me this much. Please.

With love,

Draco.

And so he sent it off to you, putting it in his owl’s beak while spilt ink still blotched his fingers.

He could only hope that you would treat it better than he had treated your own letters. That you would even read it. Even two words of acknowledgement would be enough from you, really. He just needed to know that you had seen it.

He sat in his room, waiting for his owl to return. And it did a few hours later, but it was empty handed.

He laid down in his bed, even the thought of going to sleep having left him entirely now. The tears came dripping down his cheeks before he even realised how hard it had hit him.

He was alone. The one for him didn’t want him. He had been right all along.

Thus he spent the night crying into his sheets. The memories of the war and from everything between you flooding his mind and driving him senseless. Was this really the end? The end of everything he’d hoped for? Everything that he’d imagined would never come to fruition. Should he just lose hope?

There was always the proposition from the Greengrass family to consider. Astoria seemed.. pretty, for sure. But.. he wanted you. You over everyone else.

He didn’t even realise when he blacked out. Memories of you plagued his mind, almost as if he was dying and he thought he very well was. Was all that had been happy in his life flashing before his eyes as he lost consciousness? He could practically feel the ground turning to air beneath his body, how he lost his grasp on everything and fell into the void.

But then he woke up again. It was just a bloody dream. His consciousness was as it was. He should have expected as much. The healers had said shell shock was unpredictable.

What truly surprised him was the unusual bird cry that had prompted him awake. The familiar yellow eyed, flat headed, brown feathered, white spotted creature that stood on his window pane. Gripping a folded note in its beak.

And that was when he began to hope.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco #hp #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #hp imagine #romance #angst #smut #trauma #draco fic #draco fanfic #draco x female reader #draco x male reader #gender neutral reader

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hieromonkcharbel · 4 years ago

Text

Jesus Christ: Priest and Victim

by Msgr. Arthur B. Calkins

I. The Mystery of Mediation

An attentive study of God's revelation to us in both the old dispensation and the new discloses that God chooses to deal with his people through certain men whom he designates to represent him to them and to represent them before him. We might describe this as the "mystery of mediation". After the sin of our first parents, which was subsequently to be multiplied billions of times over by the personal sins of all their descendants, the Old Testament shows us numerous instances in which a representative is designated by God himself to intercede on behalf of his people in order that God's wrath, stirred up on account of their sins, might be turned away from them and that his people may receive instead his blessings. Among the many instances, "the prayer of Moses becomes the most striking example of intercessory prayer, which will be fulfilled in 'the one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus'."1 The Catechism of the Catholic Church adroitly sketches the role of Moses as mediator:

From this intimacy with the faithful God, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, Moses drew strength and determination for his intercession. He does not pray for himself but for the people whom God made his own. Moses already intercedes for them during the battle with the Amalekites and prays to obtain healing for Miriam. But it is chiefly after their apostasy that Moses 'stands in the breach' before God in order to save the people. 2

The priests, prophets and kings of the Old Testament, each according to his particular office, all shared in this role of mediation. In varied circumstances and with an ever clearer manifestation of God's plan these chosen mediators reveal to us both (1) the divine dispensation of mediation which God established in order to show mercy to his people and (2) at the same time the provisional role of this mediation.

A. Priestly Mediation

We have already alluded to the fact that most probably the greatest of all the mediatorial figures of the Old Testament was Moses, the lawgiver, who in a certain sense combines in himself the categories of prophet, priest and king. Functioning in a priestly perspective, he offered sacrifice (cf. Ex. 24) and was empowered by God to "ordain" his brother Aaron high priest (cf. Ex. 29). In the course of time it eventually became established that it was exclusively the priest who offered sacrifice to God on behalf of the people and through whom the bounty of God was dispensed to them.3 Here is how the eminent Dominican theologian, Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, sketched the divine institution of priestly mediation:

To accomplish the exterior and social worship due to God, the priestly mediation must both ascend to Him and descend from Him. Man, being composed of soul and body, owes God both interior and exterior worship, and living by nature in society, owes Him, too, social worship, God being no less the author and benefactor of human society than of our soul and body. We need the priest to bind into a single whole the prayers of all the people, to unify their acts of adoration, of praise, and of reparation, and to make up for the imperfection of the acts of the faithful. His sanctity, that is, his special consecration to the Lord for this purpose, makes him capable of offering the prayers of the people to God as an expression of their whole soul.

The priest is no less necessary to bring to the people the things of God, divine light and grace, without human alteration or adulteration.4

B. Sacrifice

While the duties of the priest in the Old Testament included a number of functions related to the sanctuary,5 by far their most important function was to offer sacrifice. Because this was also true for the priests of many pagan religions, it would be possible to approach the question of sacrifice from the perspective of comparative religion and philosophy as well as from that of the Old and New Testaments and of Christian theology.6 We follow here the descriptions developed by Monsignor Antonio Piolanti, abstracting from the biblical, philosophical and theological data.

Sacrifice, which constitutes the supreme act of external and public worship, may be defined as the offering and immolation to God of something sensible (fruits, liquids, animals) in order to recognize his absolute lordship and in order to atone for sin. Sacrifice, consequently, has two aspects: one material and sensible because it is an external and public act; the other internal and spiritual because in order to have an effective moral value it must be motivated by a spiritual and intimate content. The offering especially of something living such as fruits and, even more, animals and then the consequent immolation or destruction of these offerings is the counterbalance to the creative act of God. As God has given life to all things, man symbolically restores life back to him. Particularly in the immolation to God of a victim such as a lamb, a goat, a calf or a bull through the mediation of a priest, man expresses his total dependence and dedication to God. The ultimate end of the sacrifice is the mystical union of man with his God.7

Let us listen to Garrigou-Lagrange comment on the offering of sacrifice:

The twofold priestly mediation takes place especially in sacrifice, the offering of the sacrifice forming the ascending mediation, and the sharing of the victim offered with the faithful by communion forming the descending mediation. Just as the priesthood constitutes the pre-eminent sacred function, so sacrifice, as its name indicates, forms the pre-eminent sacred action. Without sacrifice, no priesthood; without the priesthood, no sacrifice; for sacrifice supposes an offering priest and an offered victim.8

C. The Shedding of Blood

The pre-eminent way of atoning for sin in both ancient pagan religions and also in the Old Testament always involved the shedding of blood. Here is a fascinating analysis of the rationale for this from the late Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen:

Pagan people, without knowing it explicitly, sensed the truth that "unless blood is shed, there can be no remission of sins" (Heb. 9:22). From the earliest times, through the kings and priests, they offered animals, and sometimes even humans, to turn away the anger of the gods. As in the Levitical priesthood, however, the victim was always separate from the priest. The sacrifice was a vicarious one, the animal representing and taking the place of the guilty humans, who thus sought to expiate their guilt in the shedding of blood.

But why, it may be asked, did the pagans, without the help of revelation, reach the conclusion expressed by St. Paul under Divine inspiration that "without the shedding of blood there was no remission of sins"? The answer is that it is not hard for anyone who ponders on sin and guilt to recognize: first, that sin is in the blood; and second, that life is in the blood, so that the shedding of blood expresses appropriately the truth that human life is unworthy to stand before the face of God.9

While it was clear that God required an acceptable reparation in order to restore man to his friendship, it also became clear to the thoughtful man of the Old Testament that no mere man could ever definitively "breach the chasm" which sin had caused between God and his creatures. As the inspired author of the Letter to the Hebrews tells us:

Since the law has but a shadow of the good things to come instead of the true form of these realities, it can never, by the same sacrifices which are continually offered year after year, make perfect those who draw near. Otherwise, would they not have ceased to be offered? If the worshipers had once been cleansed, they would no longer have any consciousness of sin. But in these sacrifices there is a reminder of sin year after year. For it is impossible that the blood of bulls and goats should take away sins (Heb. 10:1-4).

Sin, an offense against the infinite God, in effect required a reparation which man, left to his own devices, remained incapable of making. No mere human creature could really succeed in mediating between God and his people except in incomplete and partial ways which could, at best, foreshadow the full, complete and definitive mediation which was needed.

II. Jesus the Perfect Mediator

At the very heart of the mystery of our redemption is the fact that Jesus Christ is the "one mediator between God and men ... who gave himself as a ransom for all" (I Tim. 2:5-6). Why is Jesus the unique and perfect mediator? This affirmation from the new Catechism provides us with the fundamental elements needed to formulate a response:

No man, not even the holiest, was ever able to take on himself the sins of all men and offer himself as a sacrifice for all. The existence in Christ of the divine person of the Son, who at once surpasses and embraces all human persons, and constitutes himself as the Head of all mankind, makes possible his redemptive sacrifice for all.10

One with God in his divinity, Jesus is at the same time one with man in his humanity.11 In his divine person he unites the two natures of the two parties who had become separated by man's sin: he represents God to man and man to God. As the Word who is one with the Father from all eternity, the Son is not a mediator, but he becomes one from the moment he begins to take flesh in the womb of the Virgin Mary.

A. Jesus the Priest

The position of being a mediator, according to St. Thomas, and indeed, according to the undivided Christian tradition, is in a pre-eminent way exercised by the priest. 12 Indeed, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the inspired author of the Letter to the Hebrews would come to grasp that, even though he was not sprung from the priestly tribe of Levi and never referred to himself explicitly as a priest, 13 Jesus was the perfect high priest who succeeded in bridging the gap between God and his people in a way that no other priest ever could.

Meditating upon this fact, the Fathers of the Church came to an ever deeper appreciation of the fact that precisely by virtue of the Incarnation, Jesus became the perfect mediator, the perfect priest. He was not so from all eternity as the Word coequal to the Father and to the Holy Spirit, but only from the time when he took on our human nature. 14

We can speak, then, of the ontological nature of Jesus' priesthood, that is to say of his being a priest by virtue of his assumption of our human nature. This understanding, in fact, was solemnly defined by the Council of Ephesus in 431. 15

Thus Father Clément Dillenschneider says that

By his union with human nature, the Son of God is ontologically constituted the Sovereign Priest of humanity, and God the Father recognizes him as such in the mystery of the Incarnation. As Son of God made flesh, he is priest forever, according to the order of Melchisedec, although the consummation of his priesthood was attained only after the sacrifice on the cross (Heb. 5:9-10).16

One with the Father from all eternity, Jesus became one with us in an irrevocable way at the moment of Mary's fiat, hence by virtue of the hypostatic union. Garrigou-Lagrange puts it thus: He [Jesus] is a priest, therefore, because of the Incarnation itself, and His priesthood, like His sanctity, is substantial. God decreed the Incarnation and called Jesus to the priesthood and to His universal mediatorship by one and the same act. 17

B. Jesus, Priest and Victim

I believe that it was the special merit of Archbishop Sheen, in what he described in his autobiography as the third [and last] stage of his life, to have meditated at length on Jesus' priest-victimhood and to have drawn out the implications for Catholic priests of today. 18 Hence it is to him that I turn for another crucial insight into the person of Jesus:

The sin-bearing character of Christ did not begin on the cross. He was not first a Priest and then, during the last three days, a Victim. His Victimhood was never at any one moment divorced from his Priesthood. 19

Whichever way we look at Christ, we never find Divinity isolated from humanity or humanity from Divinity. Neither are priesthood and victimhood ever separated. Arianism would deny Divinity as the new Arianism would deny victimhood.20

Jesus could offer the perfect sacrifice to the Father precisely because he is one with the Father in his Godhead and one with us in our humanity and also because he is uniquely and simultaneously both priest and victim.

Here is the answer as to how Our Lord differs from all the other priests -- pagan and Jewish. All other priests offered a victim distinct from themselves: e.g., a goat, a lamb, a bullock, but Christ offered Himself as a victim. "He offered Himself without blemish to God, a spiritual and eternal sacrifice" (Heb. 9:14).

Everyone else who ever came into this world, came into it to live; He came into it to die. Hemlock juice interrupted the teaching of Socrates. But sacrificial death was the goal of His Life, the gold that He was seeking: "I have a baptism to undergo, and what constraint I am under until the ordeal is over!" (Lk. 12:50).

He is both Offerer and Offered; both Priest and Victim. This deep secret of the Suffering Servant He did not develop in His public utterances, but reserved it for His disciples and future priests. To them alone did He unveil Isaiah 53, and only to them does He interpret His death as vicarious dying for sinners. 21

With his marvelous rhetorical gifts Sheen presents this paradoxical truth that Jesus is simultaneously both priest and victim as if he were slowly revolving an exquisitely cut gem. From every angle we see a different facet which helps us to enter into the mystery from yet another perspective. Permit me to share a lengthy excerpt in which he sets forth his theme and develops it with rare skill.

As a Priest He was sinless: "Which of you can prove me in the wrong?" (Jn. 8:46). "The angel answered: the Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the Holy Child to be born will be called Son of God" (Lk. 1:35). "I shall not talk much longer with you, for the prince of this world approaches. He has no rights over Me" (Jn. 14:30). "What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have You come to destroy us? I know Who You are .. the Holy One of God" (Mk. 1:24).

As a Victim He was identified with sinners: "God made Him one with the sinfulness of men, so that in Him we might be made one with the Goodness of God Himself" (2 Cor. 5:21).

As a Priest, He was holy with the Holiness of God;

As a Victim, He was "made sin."

As a Priest He was "separated" from the world;

As a Victim He came into it to fight against the Devil, the Prince of the world.

On the Cross, He was upright as a Priest;

On the Cross, He was prostrate as a Victim.

As a Priest, He mediated with the Father,

As Victim, He mediated for the sins of men.

Before Pilate, He spoke seven times as the Priest- Shepherd;

Before Pilate, He was silent seven times as the Victim-Lamb. As a Priest He has vertical relations with heaven;

As a Victim He has horizontal relations with earth.

As a Priest He had dignity;

As a Victim He suffered indignity.

As a Priest: God is alive;

As a Victim: God is dead.

As a Priest He prays to the Father that the Cup pass;

As a Victim He drinks it to its dregs.

St. Augustine, in his Confessions, interprets it well: Ideo Victor Quia Victima. As the ministry of Christ approached its climax, He more and more insisted that the victory over principalities and powers had to come through His sacrifice and death.

Christ personally was sinless, but He voluntarily bore imputed guilt. If He were only a priest, He would have stopped short of the Cross and the Resurrection. As our Representative, He was found guilty of blasphemy because we blasphemed; at the courts of Annas and Pilate, we sinners were on trial in the person of the Sinless Substitute. Though personally sinless, He was officially guilty. ...

The very sinlessness of His priesthood was the necessary basis of His work of sin-bearing. "Christ was innocent of sin, and yet for our sake God made Him one with the sinfulness of men, so that in Him we might be made one with the goodness of God Himself" (2 Cor. 5:21).22

III. Jesus' Heavenly Priesthood and Victimhood

Now there is another very important aspect of Jesus' priesthood and victimhood which we must consider: the heavenly dimension. In the Letter to the Hebrews, which is our most important source in the New Testament on the priesthood of Jesus, we are informed that

The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office: but he [Jesus] holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues for ever. Consequently he is able for all time to save those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them (Heb. 7:23-25).

Since his priesthood began when Christ took on our human nature and that human nature is now at the right hand of the Father in heaven, even so Jesus continues to exercise his priesthood there. This exercise is described in the Letter to the Hebrews in terms of the liturgy performed by the high priest on the annual Day of Atonement, the day which the Lord had appointed for expiating for the sins of Israel.23

In terms of this ritual the Epistle presents an image of Christ the King entering the heavenly sanctuary as a priest. Risen from the dead, he crosses the heavens, "a tent not made by human hands, not of this creation" (Heb. 9:11), that is, the place where God dwells, and he enters definitively the presence of God, the sanctuary (Heb. 9:12). The blood he bears which wins him admission is not the blood of goats or calves but his own blood which has won for us eternal redemption (ibid.). Christ has entered within the veil to the Holy of Holies into the presence of God (Heb. 6:20; 9:3; 10:20). It is in terms of this comparison with the liturgy of Expiations that Hebrews lays more stress on Christ's bearing his blood into the presence of God than on the actual shedding on Calvary. The slaughter outside the tent was secondary in the Jewish ritual; what constituted the sacrifice was the sprinkling of blood in the Holy of Holies. "This is why Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people by his own blood, suffered outside the gate" of Jerusalem (Heb. 13:12). Christians are come "to Jesus the mediator of the new Alliance and to the sprinkling of blood more eloquent than that of Abel" (Heb. 2:24). Evidently, the metaphor is maintained here; what is expressed by the sprinkling of blood is the presence of Christ, body and soul, before the Father, the submission of his humanity to Him and the intercession which he makes for us in virtue of his sacrifice.24

Admittedly, we are dealing with a mystery here. We are not saying that Jesus' death on Calvary was one sacrifice and that in heaven he offers another, that of his blood. We are rather speaking of two phases of the same exercise of his priesthood: the earthly phase and the heavenly one. As St. Paul emphatically states: "Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him" (Rom. 6:9). Yet, by the same token he continues as a priest to intercede for us at the right hand of the Father (cf. Heb. 7:25).25 Here is the way our Holy Father put it in an Angelus address on 13 August 1989:

Jesus is the eternal victim. Risen from the dead and glorified at the right hand of the Father, he preserves in his immortal body the marks of the wounds of his nailed hands and feet, of his pierced heart (cf. Jn. 20:27; Lk. 24:39-40) and presents them to the Father in his incessant prayer of intercession on our behalf (cf. Heb. 7:25; Rom. 8:34).26

In effect, Jesus intercedes by presenting his sacrifice to the Father who never tires of looking upon the wounds of his Son which are now radiant and glorious and by which the fruits of the redemption continue to be applied to us, especially in the Mass and in the sacraments. A. Jesus' Priesthood and Victimhood in the Mass

It is extremely important for us to strive to grasp this heavenly exercise of the priesthood of Christ in order to understand how we continue to benefit in the Mass and the sacraments from the one sacrifice of Jesus. In his ever fascinating manner Archbishop Sheen put it this way:

Using human words to describe Divine things, we can say that each time we offer Mass, Our Lord shows His Heavenly Father the scars in His hands, His feet and His side; for this very reason He kept them. At the Consecration of the Mass, we can imagine Our Lord as saying: "In My Hand I have engraven their hearts. Not for their worthiness, but for My love unto death, grant them graces through the Holy Spirit. My wounds healed, but My scars I kept, that I might always hold them up before Thee, O Father, as pledges of My love. If Thou couldst not strike in justice the sinful people because the uplifted hands of Abraham stood in the way, then shall not My Hands win for them that mercy I won for them on Calvary? I am not just a Sacerdos in æternum; I am a Victima in æternum."27

What the Archbishop expressed in these evocative words is nothing other than a restatement of the Church's traditional teaching on the sacrifice of the Mass. This is exactly what the priest expresses when he prays in the third Eucharist Prayer: "Look with favor on your Church's offering [oblationem], and see the Victim whose death has reconciled us to yourself [Hostiam, cuius voluisti immolatione placari]."

The new Catechism of the Catholic Church presents this doctrine on Christ's state as victim by quoting from the Council of Trent:

The sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice: 'The victim is one and the same: the same now offers through the ministry of priests, who then offered himself on the cross; only the manner of offering is different.' 'In this divine sacrifice which is celebrated in the Mass, the same Christ who offered himself once in a bloody manner on the altar of the cross is contained and is offered in an unbloody manner.'28

With particular reference to the separate consecration of the two species of bread and wine, Pius XII had underscored Jesus' state as victim in the Mass in this way in his great Encyclical Mediator Dei:

On the cross Christ offered to God the whole of Himself and His sufferings, and the victim was immolated by a bloody death voluntarily accepted. But on the altar, by reason of the glorious condition of His humanity "death no longer has dominion over Him" (Rom. 6:9), and therefore the shedding of His blood is not possible. Nevertheless, the divine wisdom has devised a way in which our Redeemer's sacrifice is marvellously shown forth by external signs symbolic of death. By the transubstantiation of bread into the body of Christ and of wine into His blood both His body and blood are rendered really present; but the eucharistic species under which He is present symbolise the violent separation of His body and blood, and so a commemorative showing forth of the death which took place in reality on Calvary is repeated in each Mass, because by distinct representations Christ Jesus is signified and shown forth in the state of victim. 29

After the consecration the priest says: "Let us proclaim the mystery of faith." It is precisely this mystery of faith which we have been trying to elucidate and penetrate. In the strict sense it always remains a mystery, something that is beyond the capability of our finite minds to grasp. Even if we don't know the how, we are capable of knowing the what. Jesus, who accomplished his role of priest and victim on the cross, is still priest and victim in heavenly glory and on our altars through the ministry of his priests.

B. Jesus' Priesthood and Victimhood in His Priests

There are surely more ramifications of this central mystery of faith. Here I should like to introduce one more and I will let Archbishop Sheen do it in his own inimitable way.

I was a priest without being a victim. The priest is one who offers to God; the victim is what is offered. In the Old Testament and in all pagan religions, what was offered was something distinct from the priest himself -- a lamb, an ox, a bullock. But when Our Blessed Lord came to this earth He changed all this. He, the Priest, was also the Victim. He did not offer something apart from Himself; He offered Himself. ...

Eventually I came to see that the Lord was teaching me not only to be a priest, but also to be a victim. This explains why two of the books which I authored are on this very subject.

I can remember when, after four months in the hospital, I began to recover; I was reading Mass on an altar constructed over the bed before a few priests and friends. I spontaneously gave a sermon, which I remember so well. I said that I was glad that I had open-heart surgery because when the Lord comes to take us all, He will look to see if we have any marks of the Cross upon ourselves. He will look at our hands to see if they are crucified from sacrificial giving; He will look at our feet to see if they have been thorn-bruised and nail-pierced searching for lost sheep; He will look at our heart to see if that has been opened to receive His Divine Heart. Oh what joy is mine just to have endured the minuscule imitation of His suffering on the Cross by having a wounded side. Maybe He will recognize me from that scar and receive me into His Kingdom.30

Quite evidently Archbishop Sheen considered the beginning of "the third stage" of his life as the point at which he accepted being both priest and victim.31 He doesn't tell us exactly when this occurred, but indicates in the introduction to The Priest is Not His Own, which appeared in 1963, that these thoughts began taking shape while he was writing his Life of Christ. 32 His second book, Those Mysterious Priests, was published in 1974. I have been quoting extensively from these books in this presentation because I believe that they are prophetic works which have a great deal to say about the nature Catholic priesthood. Sheen analyzes as few others, I believe, the malaise which afflicts the priesthood today. He saw the crisis coming over thirty years ago and so devoted the last years of his life to preaching retreats for priests and promoting among them a daily holy hour before the Blessed Sacrament. I will leave to him once again the specific application. He states the premise succinctly:

In the New Testament there is no priesthood without victimhood. In Christ the two were inseparable; therefore, they are united in every priest called to be an Ambassador of Christ. 33

Fulton Sheen was surely not the first to recognize the necessary connection between being a priest of Jesus Christ and a victim with him, but he did underscore this nexus in a particularly striking way with reference to the era in which we live. There are any number of luminous figures in the history of spirituality who exemplify this teaching. One thinks, for instance, of Sylvain-Marie Giraud, the second Superior General of the Missionaries of Our Lady of La Salette, whose masterpiece is considered to be his last work, Jesus Christ Priest and Victim. 34 Again one thinks of Saint Maximilian-Maria Kolbe, who offered one of his Masses his first Christmas as a priest for the intention "pro amore usque ad victimam [for love to the point of becoming a victim"35 and who received the grace requested by giving his life on behalf of another innocent victim.

Further, one might ponder with great profit one of the most important conclusions which the great Sulpician Scripture scholar André Feuillet draws in his classic book, The Priesthood of Christ and His Ministers, which is a sustained meditation on the high priestly prayer of Jesus in chapter 17 of the Gospel of John. This magnificent prayer, Feuillet states,

offers the great advantage, lacking in the letter to the Hebrews, of linking to the consecration of Christ as priest and victim the idea of a participation of the apostles in this consecration. ...

In the priestly prayer of Jesus, the latter makes it clear that he intends to govern, sanctify, and unify his Church through the apostles: to this end he gives them a share in his twofold consecration as priest and victim.36

Granting that Fulton Sheen had personally rediscovered what many before him had also come to understand of the mind of Christ Jesus for his anointed ones, let us allow Sheen to draw out some important ramifications of his discovery which seem particularly pertinent to our postconciliar era:

In continuing the Mediatorial office of Christ, the priest-victim, is to be holy and unholy; holy, because in intimacy with the Father; unholy, because He will never deny His responsibility for the wickedness of men. The basic reason for the confusion in the ministry of Christ in the last few decades has been: the identification of the priesthood with liturgy and ceremony instead of with holiness: and the identification of victimhood with social action rather than with human guilt. The priest was linked with the altar; the victim with poverty exclusively, rather than with human frailty and ignorance and suffering. Once the priesthood no longer meant a vertical relation to the Holiness of God, and the victimhood no longer a horizontal relation to all men who have come short of the glory of God, then the priest was chained in the sanctuary and the victim to the inner city. 37

His final conclusion is this:

The divorce of husband and wife endangers the children; the divorce of priest and victim harms the Church. But once the priest is holy because the Lord is holy, once the priest is victim because the sinless Christ died for sinners, then the wounds of the Church become glorious scars.

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sammy24682468 · 4 years ago

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Lesson 6 from arrogance to destruction

"Memory Text: “And He changes the times and the seasons; He removes kings and raises up kings; He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding” (Daniel 2:21, NKJV),

"In Daniel 5, the Word of God gives us a powerful example of human hubris that ends in a stunning and dramatic way. Though one could say that it takes Nebuchadnezzar a long time to learn his lesson, at least he learned it. His grandson, Belshazzar, does not. In using the temple vessels in a palace orgy, Belshazzar desecrates them. Such an act of desecration is tantamount not only to a challenge of God but an attack on God Himself. Thus, Belshazzar fills up the cup of his iniquities, acting in ways similar to the little horn (see Daniel 8), which attacked the foundations of God’s sanctuary. By removing dominion from Belshazzar, God prefigures what He will accomplish against the enemies of His people in the very last days. The events narrated in Daniel 5 took place in 539 b.c., on the night Babylon fell before the Medo-Persian army. Here occurs the transition from gold to silver, predicted in Daniel 2. Once more it becomes evident that God rules in the affairs of the world."

Belshazzar's feast:

"Read Daniel 5:1-4 along with Daniel 1:1, 2. What is Belshazzar doing that is so bad? How does it reveal his true character? Compare his actions with Revelation 17:4-6. What parallels can you find?"

"The king commands that the sacred utensils of the Jerusalem temple be used as drinking vessels. Nebuchadnezzar seizes the vessels from the Jerusalem temple, but he places them in the house of his god, which shows that at least he respects their sacred status. But Belshazzar turns the sacred vessels into drinking utensils in a most profane way."

"While drinking from the sacred vessels, Belshazzar’s lords “praised the gods of gold and silver, bronze and iron, wood and stone” (Dan. 5:4, NKJV). It is worth noticing that six materials are mentioned. The Babylonians used the sexagesimal system (a system based on the number 60) in contrast to the decimal system used today (based on the number 10). Thus, the six categories of gods represent the totality of the Babylonian deities and, therefore, the fullness of the Babylonian religious system. Interestingly enough, the order of the materials follows the order of the components of the dream statue of Nebuchadnezzar, except that wood replaces the clay. As in the dream, stone appears last; although here it designates the material composition of idols, stone also evokes God’s judgment upon worldly empires (see Dan. 2:44, 45), which Babylon symbolizes."

"This feast serves as an apt representation of end-time Babylon as seen in the book of Revelation. Like Belshazzar, the woman in endtime Babylon holds a golden cup and offers polluted drink to the nations. In other words, by means of false doctrines and a distorted worship system, modern Babylon lures the world into evil (Rev. 17:4-6), oblivious to the judgment that will soon fall upon her. One day judgment will come."

An uninvited guest:

"Read Daniel 5:5-8. What happens, and why does the king respond as he does? In what ways does this account parallel Daniel 2, and why is that parallel important? (See Ps. 96:5 and Col. 1:15-17.)"

"As Nebuchadnezzar does in previous crises (Dan. 2:2, 4:7), Belshazzar calls the astrologers, the Chaldeans, and the soothsayers to clarify the mysterious writing. And to make sure that they give their best, the king promises them extravagant honors: (1) purple clothing, a color worn by royalty in ancient times (Esther 8:15); (2) a chain of gold, which was a sign of high social status (Gen. 41:42); and (3) the position of third ruler in the kingdom. This last reward reflects accurately the historical circumstances of Babylon at that time. Because Belshazzar was second ruler as co-regent with his father, Nabonidus, he offers the position of third ruler. But despite the tempting rewards, the sages once again fail to provide an explanation."

"On top of all his sins, then, the king attempts to find wisdom in the wrong place. The Babylonian experts cannot uncover the meaning of the message. It is written in their own language, Aramaic, as we shall see tomorrow, but they cannot make sense of the words. This might remind us of what the Lord speaks through Isaiah: “For the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hidden” (Isa. 29:14, NKJV). After quoting this verse the apostle Paul states: “Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of this world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world through wisdom did not know God, it pleased God through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe” (1 Cor. 1:20, 21, NKJV)."

"Some truths are too important to be left for humans to try to figure out for themselves. That’s why God, instead, reveals these truths to us."

Enter the Queen:

"Read Daniel 5:9-12. What does the queen say about Daniel that the king should have known already? What does it say about him that he seems ignorant even of Daniel’s existence?"

"As the banquet hall is thrown into confusion because of the mysterious message on the wall, the queen comes and provides direction to the befuddled king. She reminds the king about Daniel, whose ability to interpret dreams and solve mysteries has been demonstrated during the time of Nebuchadnezzar. If Belshazzar were as smart as his predecessor, he would have known where to turn to find the meaning of this mysterious writing. The intervention of the queen proves necessary for the king, who at this point seems utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Her words sound like a rebuke to Belshazzar for having overlooked the only person in the kingdom who can interpret the mysterious writing. And she also gives the king an oral résumé of Daniel: the prophet has the Spirit of the Holy God, light and understanding and divine wisdom, excellent spirit, knowledge; he is capable of understanding, interpreting dreams, solving riddles, and explaining enigmas; he was chief of the magicians, astrologers, Chaldeans, and soothsayers in Nebuchadnezzar’s time (Dan. 5:11, 12)."

"At this point, we again wonder why Belshazzar had ignored Daniel. The text does not offer a direct answer to this question, but we presume that at this time Daniel, after serving the king at least until the third year of his reign (Dan. 8:1, 27), is no longer in active service. One factor could be Daniel’s age. He is probably around 80 years old, and the king may have wanted to replace the old leadership with a younger generation. The king also may have decided to ignore Daniel because he did not want to commit himself to Daniel’s God. But whatever the reason or combination of reasons, it remains striking that someone with such a portfolio as Daniel’s could be forgotten so soon."

"Read Romans 1:16-32. In what ways do we see the principle expressed in these texts manifested, not just in this story but also in the world today?"

Weighed and found wanting:

"Read Daniel 5:13-28. What is the reason Daniel gives for the soon-to-come demise of this king?"

"Forced by the circumstances, the king resorts to consulting Daniel, but he seems to do so with reluctance. This may tell more about the attitude of the king toward the God of Daniel than toward Daniel himself."

"In turn, Daniel’s response to the king’s offer of reward says a lot about Daniel’s priorities and character. It also is likely that Daniel, knowing the meaning of the mysterious words, realizes just how worthless the reward really is."

"Daniel then indicts the king on three counts.First, Belshazzar totally has ignored the experience of Nebuchadnez-zar. Otherwise he would have repented and humbled himself like his predecessor."

"Second, Belshazzar has used the temple vessels in order to drink wine and to praise his idols. Here Daniel mentions the six kinds of materials used to make idols in the same order noted previously."

"Third, the king has neglected to glorify God, the One “who holds your breath in His hand and owns all your ways” (Dan. 5:23, NKJV)."

"Having addressed the failures of the king, Daniel proceeds to the interpretation. Now we learn that the divine graffiti consists of three Aramaic verbs (with the first repeated). Their basic meaning should have been known to the king and his sages—MENE: “counted”; TEKEL: “weighed”; and PERES: “divided.”"

"With the Medo-Persian army at the gates of Babylon, the king and the sages must have suspected some ominous meaning in that writing, but the sages do not dare to say something unpleasant to the king. Only Daniel proves capable of decoding the actual message into a meaningful statement in order to convey its full meaning to Belshazzar: “MENE: God has numbered your kingdom, and finished it; TEKEL: You have been weighed in the balances, and found wanting; PERES: Your kingdom has been divided, and given to the Medes and Persians” (Dan. 5:26-28, NKJV; emphasis supplied)."

The Fall of Babylon:

"Read Daniel 5:29-31 along with Revelation 14:8, 16:19, and 18:2."

"What can we learn about the fall of Belshazzar’s Babylon that points to the fall of end-time Babylon?"

"Whatever his faults, Belshazzar is a man of his word. So, despite the bad news, he is satisfied with the interpretation given by Daniel, which is why he bestows upon the prophet the promised gifts. It appears that by admitting the truth of Daniel’s message, the king implicitly recognizes the reality of Daniel’s God. Interestingly, Daniel now accepts the gifts he has refused before, probably because such gifts can no longer influence his interpretation. Besides, at that point such gifts are meaningless since the empire is about to fall. Thus, probably as a matter of courtesy, the prophet accepts the rewards, knowing all the while that he will be the third ruler of the kingdom for only a few hours."

"Exactly as announced by the prophet, Babylon falls. And it does so quickly; while the king and his courtiers drink, the city falls without a battle. According to the historian Herodotus, the Persians dug a canal to divert the Euphrates River and marched into the city on the riverbed. That same night Belshazzar is slain. His father, King Nabonidus, has left the city already, surrendering himself later to the new rulers. Thus, the greatest empire humanity has ever known to this point comes to an end. Babylon, the head of gold, is no more."

"“Belshazzar had been given many opportunities for knowing and doing the will of God. He had seen his grandfather Nebuchadnezzar banished from the society of men. He had seen the intellect in which the proud monarch gloried taken away by the One who gave it. He had seen the king driven from his kingdom, and made the companion of the beasts of the field. But Belshazzar’s love of amusement and self-glorification effaced the lessons he should never have forgotten; and he committed sins similar to those that brought signal judgments on Nebuchadnezzar. He wasted the opportunities graciously granted him, neglecting to use the opportunities within his reach for becoming acquainted with truth.”—Ellen G. White, Bible Echo, April 25, 1898."

Further thoughts:

"Large feasts were common in the courts of the ancient world. Kings loved to throw parties with extravagance and luxury to show their greatness and confidence. Although we do not know all of the details of this particular feast, we know that it took place when the Medo-Persian army was poised to attack Babylon. But humanly speaking, there was no reason for concern. Babylon had fortified walls, a food supply for many years, and plenty of water, because the Euphrates River flowed through the heart of the city. So, King Belshazzar sees no problem in having a party while the enemy surrounds the city. And he orders a momentous celebration, which soon degenerates into an orgy. What a powerful testimony to the hubris of humanity, especially in contrast to the power of the Lord. Through Daniel, God tells the king that despite the opportunities he has had to learn truth, “the God who holds your breath in His hand and owns all your ways, you have not glorified” (Dan. 5:23, NKJV)."

"“The history of nations speaks to us today. To every nation and to every individual God has assigned a place in His great plan. Today men and nations are being tested by the plummet in the hand of Him who makes no mistake. All are by their own choice deciding their destiny, and God is overruling all for the accomplishment of His purposes.” —Ellen G. White, Prophets and Kings, p. 536."

#Ellen G White #bible lessons #biblestudy #biblical #bibletruth

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