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avocad1s · 2 years ago

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Bring Back What Once Was Mine

Chapter Summary: Lumine tells the False Creator some fabricated news. You are confronted by the Prince.

Characters Mentioned: Multiple Characters Mentioned

Content Warning: Cult and Religious themes ahead! You've been warned. I would also say this deals with slight Yandere themes as well!

Reader is the true creator of Teyvat. GN! Reader

Part Three Part Four (You are here!) Part Five

I’ve re-read this multiple times but I think if I read it again I’ll grow to hate it and delete so I’m just gonna post it

Even with the moonlight spilling through the campsite, you could hardly make out the features of his face. His grip on your hands was firm but not tight enough to cause you any discomfort, it didn’t seem that he was going to let go any time soon.

“Oh how I’ve waited for this…. Waited for you.” He breaths out.

You simply stare at him, not saying a word. Had he been following you this whole time? If so, how come you weren’t alerted to his presence?

His smile drops at your silence, “don’t be alarmed Your Grace. I have no intention of hurting you! I just want to talk for now.”

He looks behind him for a moment, as if he were looking out for someone, perhaps Yelan. Once he looks back, his smile and soft gaze return.

His tone is unbelievably sweet. You could feel his hands shaking, and based of his demeanor, you assume it was due to excitement. Even if he was trying his best not to show it.

“I’m Aether.” He introduces, smile never fading.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Your Grace” He replies, “I need your help. Khaenri'ah needs you.”

You raise your brow, “Khaenri'ah?”

He nods eagerly, “I am going to restore your nation back to its former glory, and now that you’re here, I have no doubts that we can bring it back.”

“Wait a minute,” you say, “you’re not of this world, why do you care about some ancient nation from five hundred years ago?”

His closes his eyes for a moment, “you’re right. I’m not from this world, but I’ve been here since that nation stood tall and I got to experience everything it had to offer. Everything you had made.”

He caresses the back of your hands with his thumbs, “Your Grace… when you returned to Teyvat few days ago, we in the Abyss we’re immediately aware of your presence. I tried so hard to find you, and I’m mad that I didn’t find you first. I should be the only one allowed to help you, only I know the truth of this world.”

“The truth of this world?”

Aether pulls you to stand up with him, “I know this may be hard to hear, but please listen to me.”

You could feel the anxiety crawl up your back as you wait for him to continue talking. You’ve been so blindsided by the False Creator that anything else that happened in Teyvat wasn’t a concern for you at the moment.

“The archons are taking advantage of your kindness,” he begins, “your world is becoming corrupted because of them. Teyvat never had this many monsters on it before, and it’s all their doing.”

You pull your hands away from his grip, his eyes widen but he lets go. “I know how it may sound but I would never lie to you Your Grace.”

You cross your arms looking away from him, “this is a lot to take in. Are you trying to tell me that I cannot trust my own Archons?”

He shakes his head, “I would never tell you what you can and can’t do, I’m just telling you do not be blinded because you know them from the past. It’s been centuries, they can change.”

Aether reaches out to grab your hands again, you put up no fight as he laces his fingers with yours and he smiles gently. “Come with me Your Grace. Together, we can get rid of the fake you on the throne and make Teyvat whole again. The Abyss will welcome you with open arms.”

“I’m not letting them go anywhere with you.”

Behind Aether, Yelan was holding a few sticks in her hand, but you could tell she would drop them at any moment if she had to go on the defense.

“You know for someone who doesn’t want anyone to know they’re on Teyvat, a lot of people keep finding you, Your Grace.” She teases.

Aether gives Yelan a death glare but makes no attempt to unlace your hands, “you cannot protect Their Grace like I can and how dare you talk to them like that?

She scoffs at his words, “I’m letting them go anywhere with someone from- what did you say?- oh right, the Abyss. You hate humanity. Their Grace will stay here where they belong.”

He scowls but brings his attention back to you, “it seems that we are already out of time.” He lets go of your hands reaching into his pocket to hand you a particular flower. “The next time we meet, I will not allow anyone to interrupt us… and I hope that you join me in the future.”

He turns around shoving his way past the girl walking off into the darkness.

“If we have to collect fire wood later I’ll take you with me, it’s too dangerous for you to be alone.” Yelan states taking a few steps toward you before dropping the sticks on the ground. “You Grace, just like with the Fatui, the Abyss cannot be trusted. I would even say they are more dangerous, whoever that man was, you should stay far away from him.”

You say nothing staring at the flower in your hand, you recognized it’s origins the second you saw it, the flower was from Khaenri'ah. Was this his way of telling you that everything he said was the truth, that he actually was around before and during the destruction of the nation. You bring the flower close to your chest closing your eyes.

“Erm, Your Grace?”

You jump at the sound of her voice, “sorry I’m just a little distracted.”

She gives you a reassuring smile, “don’t pay any mind to whatever he said. He was probably just trying to trick you and use your powers to destroy humanity.

Yelan kneels down fixing the sticks to build a fire. Even though you nod at her explanation you couldn’t help but feel relieved that she didn’t hear everything he had told you. Trying to explain the fall of a nation that no one should know existed anymore would be impossible, especially since you still had questions about it yourself.

“Here let me do it.” You kneel down using the Pyro element to light a small fire on the wood.

Both of you sit in front of the fire in a comfortable silence, but your mind kept going back to everything Aether had told you, was he telling you the truth? Or should you believe Yelan who said that he just wanted your power for the destruction of humanity.

“You should try getting some sleep Your Grace.” Yelan whispers, “I’ll keep watch over you.”

The overwhelming sense of fatigue washes over you, “are you sure?” You ask. She nods, “Of course, I would never forgive myself if something were to happen while you’re with me and I don’t think anyone else would forgive me either. The last thing I need is two Adepti mad at me. Please sleep.”

With that final reassurance you let yourself relax in the soft grass, the ancient flower Aether gave you laid by your side as you stare up at the stars. You couldn’t help but wonder how many more people were after you. The Fatui, the Abyss, and probably the Archons as well since the Gnosis alerted your presence to them.

You let out a breath closing your eyes. Wondering who you could possibly run into next.

A few days ago, Sumeru City

“Lumine you’ve returned, but you don’t have who I asked for…”

A few hours after Lumine and Nahida split away from the true Creator, they returned to Sumeru City. Nahida entered Irminsul like she said she would and now Lumine stood in front of the False One like before. Yet it felt different this time, if she were to mess up it wouldn’t just be her life at risk, many others were counting on her as well. The real Creator was counting on her.

The Traveler bows stiffly at them, “I have some… news regarding the task you gave me.”

They told their head at her statement sitting up straight in their throne. “Well, what is it? Don’t tell me they got away.”

“No Your Grace, it isn’t that. I managed to locate the individual I told you about. When I told them to come with me I guess they got suspicious that I was going to bring them back here and they took off running. While I was pursuing them, they fell off a ledge and…”

“Are you telling me that they are dead?”

Lumine, who was still bowing, nods a bit. “Yes, I checked myself.”

The False Creator lifts themselves of the throne walking slowly down the staircase until they stood right in front of the girl. They grip her chin lightly bringing her gaze to meet theirs.

“And where is their body now?”

“I pushed it into the river… I assumed since they look like you, no one else should see them.”

They smile, “how smart of you, but I’m still disappointed. All of amazing stories I’ve heard about you and you couldn’t do one thing I asked of you. I’m disappointed…”

Lumine swallows trying to keep her composure, she hadn’t felt this terrified since she had seen the defiled Statue of the Seven.

They let go of her chin crossing their arms behind their back, “now what should I do with you, Traveler? Can I trust you?”

“Yes your Grace! I will never tell anyone about this…”

They nod at her declaration, “don’t worry I trust you, but I can’t help but get a bit paranoid at times. So I hope you understand why I have to do this.”

“Do what?” She asks.

“Guards!” They call out and almost immediately a dozen Sumeru guards enter the room bowing as they await their orders.

“Take her and the fairy away. They’ll be staying in Sumeru for a little longer.”

The guards waste no time surrounding the Traveler pulling them away from the False Creator, Lumine tries to fight them off but there was too many of them.

“Don’t worry.” They say a smirk on their face, “I have no intention of hurting you or your companion, but I cannot risk this information getting out to any else in Teyvat.”

The Traveler is pulled out the room without another word the last thing she heard is the False Creator asking one of the guards to find Nahida immediately.

In Liyue, present day

“Wake up sleepyhead…” a voice sings.

A groan leaves your mouth as you turn over.

“Do I have to throw water on you? C’mon time to wake up!”

You open your eyes and your met with a kneeling Yelan who smiles at you.

“Ah, there’s those beautiful eyes.” She coos, “it’s time get moving if you want to make it to Liyue Harbor before sunset.”

You sit up rubbing your eyes, “you let me sleep through the whole night? Aren’t you tired?”

“You looked exhausted. Don’t worry about me Your Grace, I’ll be fine.”

Yelan holds her hand out to help you stand and you accept rising to your feet. Not without grabbing your flower first.

“Are you going to keep that?” She asks.

You look down at it, “well it is beautiful.”

“Alright,” she hums stomping out the campfire, “you ready to leave?”

You nod, “let’s go.”

Somewhere else in Liyue

The eleventh Fatui Harbinger was looking for someone.

It was supposed to be a close kept secret between him, the Tsaritsa, and the other Harbingers but he had accidentally slipped and told some of the soldiers under his command due to his anxiousness.

That slip up might’ve cost him what he was looking for.

He stares coldly at the few soldiers that kneeled at his feet, they were the ones he had sent to the Chasm.

“Lord Harbinger! Please forgive us!” One of them cry.

“We had no idea someone was listening to what we were saying.”

He scoffs at their excuses, “you’ve heard the saying about Liyue, there are ears everywhere. If you were under the command of any of my comrades they would waste no time in killing you.”

They tense up, even thought their eyes wasn’t visible due to their masks, they made no effort to meet his gaze.

“You’re lucky that I am in a good mood but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Find that woman.” He waves his hand and they take off.

When he and the other Harbingers witnessed the glowing of the gnosis, it had cleared many doubts he had about what the Tsaritsa was thinking.

To clarify, his doubts were about the Creator. Or rather, the False One.

The Fake Creator had been on Teyvat way before Childe was born so as he grew up with his parents had told him all the amazing things they had done.

Then he fell into the Abyss and that’s when he first encountered the idea that the one on the throne wasn’t who they claimed to be. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind putting his focus on his family until he joined the Fatui.

In the Fatui is when he was reintroduced to The Creator not being, well, The Creator. Now it wasn’t something he could just push away, he actually wanted to know if it was the truth or not. The Tsaritsa explained to him that if they collect all seven Gnosis they can summon the real Creator back to Teyvat.

So when the Jester sent him to Liyue to collect Rex Lapis Gnosis, he jumped at the opportunity.

“Lord Harbinger…” a timid voice says, “we had located the woman.”

“And?”

“You were right, they are with her.”

“Lead me there.”

They were right. His soldiers were right.

A few meters up ahead he could see them and the woman he instantly recognized to be Yelan. She had popped up on the Fatui’s radar years ago due to her… persuasive methods of learning Fatui secrets from the lower ranks.

It felt as if he was frozen to the ground, he never expected to find you in Liyue. He believed someone else would’ve been the one to find you, but no, it was him.

He felt so lucky, he was going to be the first Harbinger you’d talk to.

“…and that’s how I got this jacket.”

You laugh a bit, “well aren’t you a sneaky one?”

“You’re right, she’s always sticking her nose in business that doesn’t involve her.” Childe smiles directly at you as Yelan puts her arm up in front of you defensively.

“I knew we’d run into you, but I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

Childe laughs, “well I hope you don’t mind me taking Their Grace off your hands then?”

Yelan’s eyes narrow, “Their Grace isn’t something you Fatui can just take as your own. They are going with me.”

He rolls his eyes at her directing his attention to you, “Her Majesty the Tsaritsa has been waiting for you for a long time Your Grace. Come with me to Snezhnaya.”

Yelan looks back at you, “Don’t listen to him. This is the Fatui Harbinger Childe that I told you about. His motives are unknown.”

You look at the Yelan then at Childe.

“We in the Fatui would never hurt our Creator.” He states.

“What does Snezhnaya even have to offer Their Grace?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” He argues.

“Both of you stop fighting!” You say suddenly causing both of them to look over at you. “What does the Tsaritsa want from me?”

His dull eyes light up at your question, “Her Majesty believes she knows where the False Creator comes from. So as soon as you made your presence known, we began searching for you.”

You step closer to him despite Yelans warnings.

“She found out where the False Creator came from?”

Childe nods, “please come to Snezhnaya with me Your Grace. The False Creator is the reason you returned, right?”

“You’re right.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste anymore time.” He clasps his hands together.

You turn giving Yelan reassuring smile, “Yelan. Thank you so much for your help up until this point, and I will never forget everything you’ve told me but I have to go with him. If whatever the Tsaritsa knows is right, that could change everything.”

She nods bitterly, “if you must go, allow me to come with you. I’ll protect you with my life.”

You reach out grabbing her hand, “That’s sweet of you but I can’t. Even if I needed protection I can tell that he is way too powerful for you to defeat on your own. I promise that I will return to Liyue.”

She hold your hand tightly, “alright then. I’ll wait for your return.”

And with that, You leave Yelan alone as you walk off with Childe.

“How are we getting to Snezhnaya?” You ask.

“By boat, it’s waiting for us right outside Liyue Harbor.”

“Right outside?” You raise a brow.

He laugh a bit, “Well people from Snezhnaya aren’t welcome in other nations anymore. It would’ve drawn unnecessary attention us if we anchored at the dock, and I doubt the Liyue Qixing would let us be there anyway.”

You suppose his explanation made sense, he wasn’t the only person to tell you how unwelcomed Snezhnaya was in other nations.

“Your Grace,” Childe says after a moment of silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, it’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

He keep walking but stares at you, “what did Yelan tell you? About the Fatui I mean.”

“She told me that you all have done terrible things and how a few years ago you all had an unprecedented amount of power in every nation.”

He hums, “I see…”

It falls silent once more, as you both continue walking towards the nation of Geo.

A few hours after you had split with Yelan and decided to join the Fatui Harbinger Childe, you two (and the rested of his crew that trailed behind you) arrived at Liyue. All you had to do was walk across the bridge and you’d be in the Harbor.

However Liyue Harbor wasn’t your destination anymore.

Right off to the side of the bridge was a fairly large sized boat, Childe leads you to the hatch allowing you to step on first then he follows.

“The trip to the Zapolyarny Palace is only a few hours,” He explains, “but you’re going to need this when we get there.”

Childe digs through a chest pulling out a luxurious coat, it was made out of the finest materials Teyvat had to offer.

“One of my comrades had this custom made just for you. Well actually he had way more than one made so no matter who had encountered you first, you would have something to keep you warm once we enter Snezhnaya.”

You take the coat from him, the second the material touches your fingers you could tell how expensive it was. There was an insane amount of care and respect put into making this.

“That is very sweet of him,” you mutter, “I should thank him once we arrive.”

He lets out a sigh resting his head in his palm muttering to himself, “it will only go to his head…”

You want to laugh at his comment but decide you should pretend you didn’t hear him. Looking out to sea, your mind finally fills with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Even though Childe told you that the Cryo archon figured out where the False Creator came from, you kept thinking about what Aether told you the night before.

Should you trust the Archons? Was the Tsaritsa leading you to Snezhnaya with a Trojan Horse? Or was it Aether that was lying to you.

You try to shake the thoughts out of your head, it would only be a few hours before you know for sure.

An unknown location in Sumeru City

It had been days since Lumine had been thrown into this dungeon. It wasn’t the same place the Sages had put her a year ago, it was probably a precaution so that none of her Akademiya friends found her.

“Traveler” Paimon whines, “what are we gonna do?”

Lumine brings her knees to her chest, “I don’t know Paimon. No one knows we are here, we have no way to reach out to the Creator or Nahida.

The fairy flys around sadly for a moment before her eyes widen, “wait a second! Why don’t you try reaching out to Nahida in your dreams.”

Lumine picks her head up, “you’re so smart Paimon! Maybe not using you as emergency food was a good idea.”

Paimon scoffs, “this is not the time for joking around! And for the last time, Paimon is not emergency food!”

The Traveler moves to lays down on her back steadying her breathing as she closes her eyes. Soon enough, she falls into a light slumber trying to the best of her ability to reach out to the Dendro Archon.

“…Nahida…?”

“Lumine…?” A familiar voice says, “I can hear you, where are you?”

“The False Creator. They locked me in some dungeon.”

“That’s horrible, did they not believe you?”

“No, I think they believed me… did you find anything in Irminsul?”

“Yes… it’s horrible… I’ve been searching for you everywhere to tell you.”

“Well, what is it?”

“The False Creator… they were created by Celestia.”

Note: this part took way longer to put out than the others, but I just want to say thank you so much for all the love on this series and for all the follows and reblogs you all have given me. I never expected this story to do so well!! :’)

And I know, I know, many people have maybe Celestia the enemy in SAGAU (be cuz they are) but I just trust me :>

Taglist: @esthelily @the-dumber-scaramouche @undrxtxd @grimreapersscythe @seawater-aurelia-writing @probablynoposts @issy-lol @genshin-impacts-me @itsredactedlove @chidouna @thedevioussmirk @hoo-hoo @chaoticfivesworld @akemiixx01 @lunarapple @nowords-onlybreathing @fangirlinindia @veyu002 @blackcoffex @kaveh-is-pretty @ariasdream @averycuriousperson @bloopthebat @chuuya-brainrot

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#genshin cult #genshin cult au #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #imposter sagau #sagau impostor au #sagau lumine #self aware genshin #sagau childe #sagau nahida #sagau yelan #sagau x reader

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orange-orchard-system · 5 months ago

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"dehumanization is the weapon of the enemy and it is wrong to do to anyone" also goes for systems btw.

Dehumanization is the process of denying someone's humanity or personhood; to say they do not occupy the same position as a full human person, and as such, are not to be treated as a full human person. It's often used as the reasoning behind being cruel to someone – "They're not a person like you and I, so it's okay to treat them as lesser.", essentially. It's not always as clear-cut as "this thing isn't a person", nor will those dehumanizing others always realize that's what they're doing, but it's typically an intentional effort to divorce "acceptable humans" from "unacceptable monsters/things/devils".

Dehumanization is a shitty thing to do. It is still a shitty thing to do when the victims are systems and/or the headmates in systems.

Whether you see our selves, or the selves of anyone else, as people, parts, or anything else, you need to treat us like people. Denying us this position of personhood is to deny us rights and respect. To do so is to declare that we are lesser than you, that you don't need to listen to or care about us; that it's okay to treat us poorly and differently. To prevent this, then (and some system punching you in the face down the line, sorry not sorry, talk shit get hit (especially when your "shit" is a key component of fascism)), you must learn to recognize when you are treating us not only as other, but as lesser.

If you force parts language onto all of us with the excuse that it's impossible to be more than one person in a single body, you're dehumanizing systems. If you tell headmates that they're not allowed to use the same vocabulary as real people – whoops, I mean singlets [PT: real people – whoops, I mean singlets / end PT] to describe themselves, you're dehumanizing systems. If you make a rule that introjects are not allowed to go by their own names in your community, but real people – whoops, I mean singlets [PT: real people – whoops, I mean singlets / end PT] who happen to have those same names are allowed to, you're dehumanizing systems. If you deny us the right to have our own religious and spiritual beliefs the second those beliefs involve our plurality, you're dehumanizing systems. If your argument is "this would be fine if you were a real person [PT: a real person / end PT] the only one in your body, but you're not, so it's not", congratulations! You are dehumanizing systems. You are denying them the position of personhood. I do not trust you, you need to take a step back and correct yourself, and until you do that, I don't think you're a safe person for any marginalized group or person to be around, since you've shown yourself to be someone who is all-too-happy to buy into the excuses of why it's okay if we're treated like shit.

I want to make it clear that this isn't an argument against parts language. Some systems or individual headmates don't like to call themselves people and choose to call themselves parts, and that's fine. But no matter the language someone(s) uses for themselves, you still need to treat them like people. You need to watch the way you talk about us, you need to unpack your pluralphobia and sanism, and you need to respect each headmate as an individual with their own thoughts, emotions, opinions, experiences, and worldviews, even when that means simultaneously respecting them as part of a whole. Some systems using parts language is not an excuse to treat them, or any other system, like shit. Respecting how someone wishes to be referred to does not give you free range to disrespect them in other ways.

"But isn't it impossible to be more than one person in a single body?" Personhood is a concept, not a law of nature, as seen by how easy it is to take it away. Therefore, whether it's "impossible" is not only irrelevant, but impossible to determine for certain. Whether or not individual headmates meet some arbitrary standard for personhood*, you still need to show them the respect you would anyone who is the only being in their body. You need to hold your gddamn tongue [PT: hold your gddamn tongue / end PT] if you don't believe it's possible to have more than one person or self or part or anything else in the same bodymind. I do not care about your personal beliefs, have whatever philosophical views you want, just don't make them the problem of anyone else. Don't share your opinion where it's not explicitly asked for, and don't be surprised if you're called an asshole for telling strangers that you don't consider them real people.

* We don't even have a standard, btw! There is no standard! We're still figuring out how to define consciousness, and you think personhood is somehow a concrete, perfectly defined, and universally understood idea? You must be joking if you think it's some sort of law of the universe that one body = one person. Get out of here.

"But (marginalized group/person said) –" yeah, I hate to tell you this, but you can be part of a marginalized group and still a fucking asshole. Especially when it comes to a group you don't know much about and don't interact with all that often, thus leaving your preconceived biased unchallenged. It doesn't become okay to dehumanize a group just because you're not top of the pecking order. Transphobia is still transphobia when it comes from a cis woman; pluralphobia is still pluralphobia and dehumanization is still dehumanization when it comes from someone who is part of a marginalized group.

"But this headmate doesn't identify as human!" Yeah, cool, not an excuse to be an asshole to them or treat them as lesser. Seriously, this is not a comeback. "I think it's okay to treat others badly if they identify in a way I don't like despite it harming no one and obviously being important to them." isn't an own. And neither is the implication that it's okay to treat anything that isn't a human like shit; this just makes it sound like you're fine with animal abuse.

Dehumanization is basic cruelty that borrows from the fascist playbook. It's wrong to do to anyone, and that includes systems and individual headmates. Systems, plurals, and all others who are more-than-one – you don't have to sit and take it. You can tell them off for it. You can tell them this is unacceptable. You can tell them exactly what flavor of shit they're spewing. You deserve the full respect and rights that anyone else is given. Spit in the face of bigots. And may everyone who's ever been dehumanized for being more-than-one find unexpected luck this week – you deserve it for ever having to put up with such bullshit.

#homura.txt #long post #pluralpunk #plurality #pluralgang #actuallyplural #plural system #pluralphobia

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otsanda · 1 year ago

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So @sayuri-of-the-valley and I were talking about the music in Good Omens 2 and particularly the similarities and differences in the music that happens 'Before the Beginning' (that's the song title) and at The Kiss (that's not the song title) and I have accidentally developed Theories and had Thoughts, so I’m gonna share them in case anyone else wants to weigh in.

First of all, the general musical structure is similar. They are both dramatic moments that start quietly, grow to a powerful crescendo at the Big Moment, and then resolve more quietly again, but with subtle changes that make them feel very different. Without actually going through and checking it, they sound to be at roughly the same tempo (around 140 BPM) and comparable time signatures.

Now, I'm treating these two dramatic moments and the surrounding music as two songs, although in the soundtrack the music surrounding The Kiss is actually divided into two songs itself: I Forgive You and Don't Bother, so that's. Fine. I'm normal about that. I'm sure dividing that in half doesn't Mean Anything at all. I'm NORMAL about it!!! Ah... anyways.

The instrumentation for both Before the Beginning and The Kiss is also very similar. Both songs start with orchestral winds and strings and add a powerful choral part (on the same pure round vowel sound, no less!) on the big crescendo. Both add orchestral chimes (bells) for that epic religious feel. Both the nebula creation and the kiss were a revelation. Something like a religious experience.

And then both songs resolve featuring wind and strings again, among other instruments. The "after" part of both songs also features more pitched percussion (harp, maybe a celesta, glockenspiel, possibly a dulcimer or some other fun, ethereal pitched percussion in Before the Beginning, but interestingly a piano in Don't Bother). Ouch. That hurts.

Now, to me: the piano is possibly representing the nightingale, Crowley and Aziraphale's love of Earth and humanity, whereas the glockenspiel and etc. may be more representative of heaven. Just a guess. I would have to do more careful listening for a more solid theory.

I don’t have perfect pitch so it’s hard to tell without getting out my instruments or transcribing the piece, but I’m willing to bet ‘I Forgive You’ is in the relative minor key to Before the Beginning’s mostly major key (I *think* ‘Before the Beginning’ might be mostly in the key of C major and ‘I Forgive You’ in A minor, but I could be wrong). Regardless, the former is major and the latter is more minor, but otherwise a lot of the chord structures, especially at the big moment, sound very similar.

More on instrumentation: ‘Before the Beginning’ uses more (ethereal?) flutes in the wind sections and The Kiss uses more reed-based, (earthy?) winds like clarinet, bassoon, oboe, etc. Different feel, but the same kind of structure. Both moments heavily feature a big string section for the nice full orchestral sound.

Before the Beginning has a lot going on musically before the crescendo and it intentionally feels kind of chaotic and unformed bc each instrument family is doing something a little different, building anticipation, etc. and then at the big crescendo, they all come together. Very powerful. Then after the crescendo, we get a subtle, playful reprise/variation of the Good Omens Main Theme. The strings and the winds are no longer entirely together at this point. They’re sort of playing off one another, leaving space. Having a conversation.

By comparison, in ‘I Forgive You’ the wind/strings start off playing together, in a sad version of unison before the crescendo (they both knew the conversation they were having wasn’t going to end well but they fundamentally *understand* one another now; they’ve been talking for millions of years). And AFTER the crescendo of The Kiss, the song ‘Don’t Bother’ DROPS the majority of the string section and gives the melody to a solo violin (alone!!!!). Even worse (better) the strings and the woodwinds and pitched percussion are no longer playing together. This time, they aren’t even having a conversation. They’re musically doing a separate lines. It feels extremely lonely (because it is). The violin is very exposed. The piano is very exposed. Even the chorus sounds exposed (smaller group of singers?). This ALSO includes a reprise/variation on the main GO theme, but instead of being playful it’s extremely sad (as though you didn't notice). The rest of the orchestra is still there, providing background, but it's not the same.

The Biggest Decision (the song after Don't Bother) has a lot more of those ethereally coded instruments again. Harp, pitched percussion. Full string section. Angelic chorus. Aziraphale is making the hardest/worst decision to return to heaven.

And to round it out, once we get to "The End?" we are back to piano. Our duo is separated. Now in place of the solo violin we have solo cello and piano. Gutting. We get notes of the ethereal celesta (I think). The piano keeps us grounded, but cello is a big focus. We also get more of that haunting chorus and violin runs. And then we end with solo piano playing the same 5-note run three times. Alone. After every other instrument has dropped out. Very lonely.

Just for fun, (and to end on a slightly more positive note), I went back and listened to the ox rib music as well, which was surprisingly consistent with some of my theories from up above and also not on the soundtrack so although I'm sure it has a name, I certainly don't know it.

In the ox rib section, there are more instruments before the first big moment (when Aziraphale tries the food) that are going back and forth. Again it sounds to me like they’re having a conversation… tempting and being tempted. Winds and strings (strings are tremoloing like at the kiss for that sweet, sweet tension), but also brass instruments. We have some more ethereal sounding pitched percussion, especially *before* he tries the food but afterwards it... switches to piano! Like I said: Earth!!!

The choir is on a different vowel altogether for this part (more aggressive and ominous, a taller Ah instead of a round Oh/Aw like the first two musical moments). The choir is also much more rhythmic. Again, increasing tension. And, of course, after he tries the food the music supports the tension of the scene by gradually building, getting louder and bigger after the key moment has already passed. It's super interesting that Aziraphale trying the food is actually quite quiet, but the music grows quickly afterwards. Sort of the inverse of how the other two scenes play out musically! Fascinating!!

Anyways, let me know what you think I got wrong and what I missed and if I thought something was a celesta when it was actually a glockenspiel or something. I am thrilled and devastated by this incredible music.

#Good Omens #Good Omens 2 #Good Omens Soundtrack #Good Omens music #David Arnold #Neil Gaiman #Good Omens meta #I have so much more I could say #but believe it or not this was the condensed version #also the strings used two types of tremolo which is neat #did I detect some col legno in there as well?#god I love orchestral music #Also I think there was mandolin or some other kind of picked tremolo in Before the Beginning #I love to see it... or hear it I guess

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Text

brujería i: inhuman | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ pairing | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ type | doubleshot, explicit

❛ summary | since taking over his bio-father's company, miguel just can't seem to sleep. there may be someone behind that though. or, a succubus wants miguel.

❛ tags | some sacrilege, succubus!reader, ceo!miguel, sex-dreams, sleepy sex, dub!con: miguel is asleep during many encounters, exhibitionism outside of a church, f!reader, some mention of blood and wounds, au with deviations from canon, slight hurt miguel, slight caretaking peter, excessive bodily fluids, some mindgames.

❛ request fulfilled | Was wondering if i could request ceo!miguel x succubus! reader? whether he’s spider-man is completely up to you but reader is basically like a demon hiding in plain sight, toying and feeding on the sexual energy of people. maybe she’s a new hire and then she visits him in his dreams or smth. miguel becomes her target and he finds himself falling in love with her and wanting her so much it brings out an intense carnal desire inside him (1/2)

❛ sy's notes | i based some of miguel's sleep paralysis on my own experience. the catholic religious connotations are not very heavy, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, i'd probably skip this one.

Miguel O’Hara was never a superstitious man.

He grew up in a deeply Catholic home thick with superstition. His grandmother’s rosary still sat on his desk, enveloped in a spherical glass alongside stacks of organized paperwork on the latest drug his not-so-dearly held biological father left before he kicked it. Corruption was fiercely rooted, a fact that Miguel was not so subtle about. The papers he rifled through that morning revealed the stupidest account of Brujería among reports of Rapture.

“Brujería-- what bullshit,” he murmured as he dropped a stack of papers back onto the oak desk. He glanced at the glass tabletop and found his reflection therein. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, carried the reflection of countless days of his dark exhaustion. “Si no es una cosa es otra.”

“Miguel?”

“What, Lyla?” Miguel threw a glare at the ceiling at the AI that sang at him. She seemed far too happy with her position as the resident terror of his new office. New was an overstatement. It was his father’s before he croaked, reflected in some of his tacky taste in the things Miguel had immediately thrown out. Why else would it have a picturesque, but grandiose view of Nueva York but for a great view of the people he was destroying? The bright windows also did a bang-up job of burning his eyes

“The psychiatrist is here,” she chirped. “Are you going to tell her about your wet dreams?”

The flutters that danced over his skin at night at the strike of three. Foreign warmth caressed his skin like a warm blanket over his skin. His heart rate raced, and pleasure burrowed under his skin. It never failed that Miguel would wake to a rush of pleasure, cum painting his sheets sticky, his heart soaring into his throat. With such pleasure, why would he tell anyone but Lyla about his pathetic, ruined state that came night after night?

Miguel waved his hand in dismissal. He instead checked the chunky watch on his wrist. You're just on time. He appreciates a punctual professional given how much work he had to complete. In lieu of the report of spiritual abuse, he picks up the pile of sexual misconduct. That was a more pressing matter to address. The actual victims were far more important than some bruto’s complaint of ojos based on a huevo in some water. He should send these idiots to any middle schooler’s chemistry class. The bruja who was coming to visit him today could hardly be a source of concern.

“Why would I do that? Let her in. You listen in and I’ll unplug you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Lyla teased, but he knew she was right. Lyla was one of his only friends and by far the one he spent the most time with. She has patience for him. He slips his reading glasses out of their holster as the lock on his office door hisses apart, welcoming in the strange woman whose name he could never find but in Stone’s personal records. A chroí, my love, like Stone could love anyone else but himself.

“Dr. O’Hara.”

Miguel slipped the lenses on. Not only was the woman before him, not the sort of hippy-dippy woman he expected, but you were… familiar. Oh, so familiar. He’s never met you before. Yet, he finds himself inexplicably pulled to closing the gap between your bodies.

You extend your hand for him to take.

“Dr…” You finished his sentence by offering your name.

“Have I met you before?” His large hand clasped your own. A blanket of warmth blossomed from your small hand in his grip. Gentle at first, your very same small hands laced in his. The sudden realization of where he’d seen you hit him like a bullet through the head: unexpected and instantaneous. The image rippled across his mind, Miguel’s hand collared on your nape, his fat dick splitting your cunt against his office’s wide windows. Another pulse of heat soared through his hand--

Miguel jerked his hand back. What in the hell?

“¿Estás bien?” You were so close that he could smell the perfume on your skin. A dark cherry, sultry, and so good. He was swimming in the vague delusion that was your skin against his. There was something delicious about the way you looked at him, tracing the outline of his tie that sat tightly behind a constricting vest. He was hazy, clumsily falling back into his office chair. Moving was tiring with the sudden vial of desire that flooded through his veins. You were at his side in an instant.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “It’s… the heat.”

“Oh! Stone's office is always hot. Here, I'll help you,” No-- he tried to argue. Against his wishes, you slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders and down his muscular arms, loitering a bit too long along his pumped biceps. “Though, I guess it’s all yours now, isn’t it? We all are.”

Miguel has no energy to fight you, lost in the haze that was last night’s forgotten dream. He’d never met you before, that much he was sure. Yet he swore, on all that was scientific and right, that he dreamed of your body on his, emptying him of any worries as he came into the nothingness of his sheets. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was a sea of rapture, and he drowned in it.

“According to your AI, you’re burning up lately.”

How do you know? You walked around his chair, your slender heels clicking over the hardwood floor. His eyes traced the curves of your velvet red pencil dress up to your bust as you leaned in, the back of your hand taking his temperature on his forehead. Your bust had delicate black lace detailing that enhanced your natural beauty. It scorched his ability to be a decent gentleman. Every man had their limits. He’s nearly at his, and you’ve only just arrived.

“You're so warm,” you gasped, but it's strained, a crack through stained glass. “Let me help you.”

You reached for the knot of his tie. That’s enough-- Miguel shoves your hand from his neck. He tugs the charcoal tie away from his throat, drawing it away from his white button-up. You wet your lips, drawing a sheen across your perfectly applied lipstick. You came in here with a plan and purpose to inflame him-- and did just that.

“Careful.”

A pause-- your eyes challenged him, seemed to know how weak he was in resisting the strain of lust that came with your mere presence. He was losing the fight quicker than he’d like. Miguel has to focus. “Your findings on Rapture’s… trial run. Where are they?”

“Destroyed,” you answered curtly.

"Project 2099?"

“Under seal. Oh, don’t look at me like that, hermoso. It wasn’t my choice.”

Hermoso. A flicker of anger shot through him as you reclined on his desk and ran your hands across the rim. You seem to notice the rosary on his desk, eyes lingering on it for more than a few seconds. You dipped so comfortably between propriety and looseness. The distance between your easily accessible skirt and his hardening erection is the entirety of only a few steps. “Stone’s orders, not mine.”

“There are no copies?”

“Why would there be? Stone was always very persistent with what he wanted.”

You? He doesn’t ask.

Something in him doesn’t want to think of it, what his father could have done to you that would make you so willing to stand so close to him. Your gaze faltered. You bore at his groin, his sleek dark slacks straining against his length.

“Now you want to know if I fucked him, que no?”

That's a yes. The way you slip onto his desk, legs slightly apart, tells him all he needs to know. His gaze falters, down then up again, an irrational amount of envy welling low in his belly. He found himself wondering what you’ve done in this very room. You bat your long lashes, far too pretty. He isn't easily dissuaded.

“I've barely met you and you want to know everything about my work and personal life. You’re so greedy. So like him.”

“I am nothing like that man.” At that very moment, his eyes locked with yours. A distant rage filled his belly. No one, he meant no one, compared him with that maniac. His tongue twisted in his mouth, ready to make some sharp remark, but you snatched his words by leaning forward, pressing your lips to his head. Your fingertips combed through his dark hair, a warm comfort. A kiss? His hands felt heavy, weighed down by an impossible weight, one he couldn’t push off no matter how much he strained.

"Hasta luego, Miguel.”

The door closes behind you with a clap. Back in the chair, Miguel was heaving heavy breaths. The restriction on his body loosened up and allowed Miguel to grab the black mirror stashed in a drawer below his desk. Your sticky lipstick left a stain on his forehead, strained with stress lines. He wiped away the red stain of your lipstick and rolled the remnants between his thumb and middle finger.

"Like Stone," he repeated with a hiss. "Mierda."

He wracked his hand around his swollen cock-- panting as he beat himself off, ecstasy claiming that he had to have you. The insatiable need to have -- his father’s whore-- overrode any of the papers on his desk. He came into the cold nothingness that is the air, his hands coated in his own essence. Miguel untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped himself clean.

“Lyla? Who?” he gasped a breath, “Who is that woman?”

“Beats me,” Lyla thought she was so funny. “She’s not in any electronic records.”

“Really.”

Even if that was the case, Miguel would be damned if Stone got the better of him in death. Miguel cleaned up his hand and whirled open the sexual harassment folder-- he was nothing if not a determined man.

You shouldn’t be here. No, really, you should not be employed here.

He doesn’t know your qualifications because he cannot find them. In the electronic documents, your file is bare bones. The suggestion of your education is non-verifiable but signed off by Stone himself. If it were only him, he might chalk it up to corruption. But there were others-- other dead bodies-- who signed off on your highly amended report on Rapture. The board claimed your employment was not a subject for discussion. Even if he were the face of the company, you were untouchable.

He left his office to the small coffee shop on the third floor. The man who ran it, Peter, was a refreshment from the stress of the day in his own, weird little way. It was probably the high quantity of caffeine that kept him awake.

On the surface, Miguel’s dreams are unoffensive. Light things, like fingers brushing veins that creep along his muscles, soapy breasts dragging along his chest. Using your body like a sponge to clean him after a heavy session at the gym. You are always on your knees, suckling the cum free from his cock with an angelic little flutter of your lashes and those sultry, cat-like eyes. He was in a state of constant arousal with nothing to show for it but a consistently swollen dick. At his age, he considers it a feat.

“You’re so sexy, Peter.”

There it was again. Your giggle over top of the sound of the hiss of a coffee machine. Peter was laughing, shy, or uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite tell. Miguel slips off his wire sunglasses, looking along the bar for the source.

“Hey, Miguel!”

He paced around the corner, then back. There are a few work couples and colleagues speaking with one another. Their tables are fresh with coffee and tea, tiny wrapped sandwiches a poor lunch. You’re conspicuously absent. The lack of sleep was fucking with his head, it had to be. He settled the glasses into the lining of his suit pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“Miguel! You'll never guess who came by. Uh, the usual?” Peter bounced over, leaning over the cash register with a glitter in his eye. He was more upbeat than even usual. Some girl must have made his day, he decided. Sí, he rumbled. Miguel dipped his fingers into his wallet to pull out his card only to be stopped short of the action.

“Nope,” Peter pushed Miguel’s hand away. “Someone paid for you.”

“For me?” Miguel settled the card in its proper slot. “Who?”

“You know,” Peter whispers. "The bruja."

“She was here?” he repeated, following Peter across the side of the bar as he began to make his coffee. Peter is an airhead, a wonderful airhead. Some part of him is infectious on days when he’s not being stalked by a woman with no traceable name. It was as if you were wiped clean. “When?”

“About two hours ago? She said you looked spooked and left me some money for your coffee. I think she likes you.”

You were doing more than liking him.

“And why would you think that?” Miguel pulled out a chair at the bar, humoring the scrawnier man. Peter frothed some milk, a fluffy cloud of relaxation on top of his usual coffee dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg. Miguel takes the mug from Peter, wrinkling his nose at the addition of nutmeg.

“Well, she turned down some dude from marketing,” Peter mentions. “I've been here for a while and-- she rarely turns anyone down.”

You rarely turn anyone down?

It bothered him long after he finished the coffee. You’re so sexy, Peter. You weren’t there. Peter told him that you’d been gone for two hours. He should not have heard the wisps of your caramelized voice in the coffee shop.

It’s the exhaustion, Miguel convinced himself. He just needs the weekend, to rest.

By Saturday night, he hit his last nerve.

Restful sleep would not come. He lay in his large, empty king-sized bed after searching through files for another project that had no other name but 2099 for the entirety of ten long hours. Any information-- redacted-- but your name slapped over the top and bottom of countless documents was like a great, big fuck-you O'Hara. The more he read about you, the angrier he became. You enraged him, but he was positively enthralled with your presence.

He lay in bed listening to should-be soothing jazz that now grated his ear. Night after night, his torment never failed. When he finally found an instance of peace, his muscles locked up. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Heavy pressure overtook his chest and arms forced him to remain still. The world fazed in and out, doom on beating alarm bells in the back of his mind. Then he felt it, the phantom pressure on his neck that slid over his tawny skin, from his belly to the dark happy trail that dipped below his silky pants.

Miguel gritted his teeth and ripped himself from his trance. When his eyes popped apart, he was greeted by his shock. Hunger flowed through him in warm waves, piercing underneath his skin. Miguel’s fingers twinged, your phantom figure on top of him. It looked like you, but misty, as though an illusion. In the darkness, he can only make out the shadows that bounce off what little light is in the room.

“Motherfucker--”

Though he said that, your teasing fingers freed him from his cozy pants, ripping them around his hirsute thighs. His length lulls against his body, a shameful drool of cum gathered at his cock. A night of phantom touches has done him in. Miguel lurched back onto his flat pillows when he was abruptly shoved down by an outrageous amount of force. With his arms thrown up by his head-- he whimpered, frustrated with tonight's-- dream, delusion, dare he say-- reality. His joints were locked by invincible chains that forced him to stay in place. The more he fought, the hotter his need became for what came next. His body was pitifully trained.

He wasn’t certain that it was you-- but it smelled so deeply of your perfume, rich and cherry, flooding his nostrils. So familiar. He glanced down at the opaque figure, grinding over his hard cock. A pair of hands crashed onto his shoulder, claws curling into his broad shoulders. Blood seeped forth. A growl gathered in his chest, ripping up when something warm and tight sunk down on his bobbing dick. Miguel gritted his teeth: it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone. Not for a lack of viable partners, but his annoyance with them all.

Despite his immense muscle, he was too weak to do anything about it. Even if he could, what would he do? Throw off the sex-crazed hallucination on his dick? You rolled your hips over him, suckling him right back up. Hypnotized by the smoky illusion, Miguel gazed on begrudgingly, grunting as you rolled over him, his dick straining your insides. He was a toy, nothing more and nothing less, used for his fat cock that split your airy body apart. His hips jerked, frustrated as he found he could go no deeper. You punished him by dragging your claws over his swarthy shoulders, over his collarbones. Blood ripped free, sliding down his deltoids.

“Chingado,” Miguel’s lips parted for the word, hips juddering up like a hungry slut. It wasn’t normal, the warm tickle of your lubricant over his shaft, exquisite in its nature. His heels dug into the bed, balls tightened. He was so damn close to his relief, he could taste it on his tongue, bordering somewhere between immense pleasure and decadent pain. Your need for his pain won out, dipping down over his chest and latching your fangs over his chest-- then up, hooking on the front of his throat. It was going to bruise, badly.

You shook loose his orgasm, ripped free with the need to fill you, own you-- as though he were not the one being owned. His hips staggered, sticky whips of cum coating your walls in waves. More than he’d cum before before. His eyes shut hard, tears pricking the sides of his eyes. Then, as if it never happened, the hold on his hands was released. He struggled with his freedom, his hands slack, softening cock worthlessly weeping over his thigh. The pain-- oh, the pain, it washed over him moments later.

“Woah,” Lyla interrupted, “Miguel! What happened?”

She couldn’t see you. His eyes were like two dark coins, staring up at the ceiling, wide, and unseeing. He can hear her frantic questions, the ligature marks left behind from invincible chains, and the all-too-real blood and bruising that left him utterly ruined.

“It,” he choked out, heat biting at his well-chiseled face. “It hurts.”

He doesn’t remember what comes next. It was five in the morning when he finally rolled out of bed, and onto the floor, gripping the growing headache that grew miserably behind his head. Bitterness bubbled in his stomach, exhaustion in his eyes. The aberration that was his poor sleep was irksome more than anything. He felt someone’s eyes on him, soft and worried, rushing to his aid as though he were an old man who fell off a bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Peter said with an undercurrent of concern soaring through his words. “No, wait. I got you.”

He helped him sit against the frame of his bed, a frame that looks small as shit with Miguel’s large body against the frame. He’s unsure of what to say, assuming that Lyla called him in desperation, and let him into the house that Peter most definitely did not have a key to. Miguel’s chest ached. “What happened? Are you… are you okay?”

Everyone seems to ask him that lately.

“I’m fine,” he was alien to the feeling of care. He knew when Miguel dug himself into a hole. Miguel didn’t want to think about what happened only a few hours prior when his exhaustion took over his body and knocked him out. He dreamed of nothing. An abyss of unsettled nothingness, the ache low in his belly to fuck you until you were soaked in his cum and Miguel could finally, finally rest his tired eyes. Miguel pulled on a fluffy white robe Peter supplied, dragging it over thick strips of gauze and medical tape.

“You don't look fine.”

They both know he’s lying, but what else could be said? That the state Peter saved Miguel from was a rarity? That he’s used to being preyed upon by his own delusions? He needs a fuck, maybe that’s it.

“If you’re going to stay, be useful and get me that file.”

“Oh-- okay, this one?” he doesn’t look surprised. He padded across his room to his desk, kicked a chair that was falling apart aside, and picked up the folder on Brujería. It was buried behind more useful folders such as sexual harassment and inter-employee workplace violence. A fact that Miguel wasn’t exactly proud about in the first place.

“Brujería? Like witch stuff, right? No way. You think work is haunted too?” Peter says with a choked-out, nearly forced laugh. Miguel doesn’t pay himself enough for this. Of all the files at hand, it was nearly untouched. It included such things as ancestors, spirits, demons, and curses.

“I don’t. But the workers obviously do.”

Peter was soft and kind, but not stupid. He plopped down next to him and crossed his legs one over the other.

“The ones that say she’s a bruja?” Peter tapped on your photo. Your photo offers emptiness. That though you have a bright smile in the photo, it is undoubtedly fake. He never saw a woman look so innocent and sweet, but dangerous.

“You’ve heard?”

“Well, the men she hangs around always end up dead. They get all successful and rich then, bam, dead. But you can’t believe that right?” Peter reasons. “She’s not cursed, she just has bad luck. She’s always been nice to me.”

“A curse?”

“Yeah,” his warm breath wavers into a sigh. “Stone wanted company, found her in Sacred Heart-- you know, the one they say is cursed?”

“A cursed church? Give me a break. The only curse at Sacred Heart are the exploitive priests.”

“I’m just saying what I heard,” he’s whispering, shivers wracking up his arms at the mere mention. He tries not to push him anymore. Peter stood up and walked to the coffee stand in the corner of his dark room. For the days that he couldn’t be bothered to leave his room, he’d make a hot coffee in the corner and keep working just as he always did. “She’s always been nice to me.”

“Maybe you’re not her taste.”

“Yeah well, probably not. I don't look like you-- but she did call me sexy, so that's something right?” Peter laughed, “Want a cup of coffee?”

Sexy. That's it, he's so fucking sick of this shit.

“No, I don’t want a cup of fucking coffee,” Miguel bit back, shoving the bed several inches as he pushed his hand off of it, storming into his walk-in closet. “Lyla. When is mass at Sacred Heart?”

“Sacred Heart?” Lyla laughed. “You’re kidding--”

“Lyla,” he snarled, chucking his bag across the closet. It connected with his tall, black safe with a loud boom. She was quiet for a moment, undoubtedly momentary confusion for why non-believer Miguel O’Hara wanted to go to, of all things, a Catholic mass.

“6:30,” she answers.

“I’ll go with you,” Peter calls out.

Don’t bother, Miguel returns from the next room.

It’s been a long time since he dressed for mass-- some dark brown slacks and a warm, vanilla button-up. He snaps a chain necklace around his thick, bruised throat and his favorite watch. As he grabbed the manilla folder on brujería he felt like a child, lectured by his grandmother to not be like his bad man-loving, alcoholic mother and go to church. Despite very much not believing in any of this shit, it was frustrating, annoying even, that he had to go back there.

He didn’t want to go but his spirit was unsettled. Something told him that going to his grandmother’s favorite church would give him a sense of illumination, that it would make sense of the things that made no sense.

Sacred Heart stands on a hill, both physically and metaphorically. It takes offerings off the backs of the poor and sits atop a lush hill. Its stained-grey architecture is only beautiful by virtue of its stained-glass murals. He doesn’t care for the saints that loom overhead, unseeing eyes judgemental and cold. Viejitos and the truly devout are the only ones in attendance. Based on Peter’s account, he should expect you there. It doesn't take long to be proven right.

“Bendición.”

Is he hallucinating again? Despite the many rows of unspoken burgundy benches, you sit by him. Miguel is disconcerted as you slide your thick hips by, sandwiching him between the side of the bench and your chunky, beautiful thighs. He worked his words in his mouth for entirely too long.

“Dios te bendiga,” he said, the words chalky and thick in his throat, drawn up from the bottomless abyss of his fluttery stomach. You sat with a black lace veil pinned to your head. The only sort of women who wear a veil are very old or not Catholic at all. He veers on the latter. “You’re Catholic?”

“If you want me to be.”

“Why else would you be here?” he reached over and plucked up a cheap bible from a pouch behind the bench before him. Your eyes follow pupils dilating in a way that isn’t human at all, staring at the many words on the page that spun under his thumb.

“I think you know why,” you said with soft and pliable words. He felt himself melting.

Of course, Miguel thought, you always seem to show up during the most inopportune times.

"You didn't bring a bible," he offers it to you. Your eyes, dilate wide and bright at the sight of the thing, flicker a look down to it, then Miguel again.

"I prefer to listen." You turn away from it. He flipped it in his hand before returning it to its rightful pouch. For some reason, you did not want to be close to the book. He thinks he knows why.

“So you are stalking me.”

"Stalking is such a mean word, Miggy. Haunting, I like haunting better." Miguel throws open the report. He doesn’t want to read it-- but it is the last folder that may hold the information he needs. Your eyes fluttered to the footsteps of others filling their spot, an archaic song on the lips of the practitioners. Wrong page, Miguel.

"What was that?" he asked you.

"Nada."

He looked down to his lap where the report sat. The voices of those present, their lips forming an off-tuned song, itched at his already exhausted mind. The more he fought, the worse it became. You flipped open a black fan and cooled yourself with long flicks of your wrist. He doesn’t think it’s so hot.

“The rosary on your desk is from here, isn’t it?”

How would you know?

“You’re hiding something.”

Page 76. His fingers thumb on the pages on their own accord. Your eyes traced the movement, looking down at the pages before him. On deaths of company men.

I just do.

The thought entered his mind without prompting. He scanned names on the page. Aaron Delgado… asphyxiation. Tyler Stone… myocardial infarction. There were photos pinned there, photos that shouldn’t be so graphic, but somehow are. The men are as naked as the day they came into the world.

“If you say so, Miggy.”

“What are you hiding?”

You brought your hand over the file, closing it shut on top of his hand. He turns his hands over the top. Your fingers run over his knuckles, in misleading circles. “Are you sure you want the truth?”

“I don’t hide from the truth.”

“The truth,” you leaned in, your words husky against his ear. “The truth is I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a good girl, Miggy. You have to believe me.”

Something about the way you spoke enraged him, prickling him enough to force him to stand in the middle of the priest’s words. He snatched your wrist with his thick hand, gripping you enough to leave pepper bruises across your skin. Your heels clicked after his boots, out through the foyer, past the bath of holy water, and down the discolored steps.

“Miguel?” you sang like a siren.

He’s hit his limit, throwing you against the discolored church wall. A gasp punched out of your lungs, aggravated by Miguel’s large hand strangling the breath from your throat. He felt warm as he kicked your legs apart and took up that space. The heat doesn’t feel like it is his. His bulge against your skirt certainly is. Now, he seems to expect pleasure when he is in your presence.

“You want me to fuck you, sí? That’s why you’re tormenting me every fucking night.”

“I thought you liked cumming,” you relinquished with a harsh giggle. It grates his last nerve. “You finally look relaxed when you do.”

“Qué mala eres,” Miguel snatched the bottom of your skirt, ripping it up the slit to expose your warm skin. He found no panties there, just smooth skin. He cupped your sex for emphasis. “No panties in church. You're filthy.”

“¿Y qué? You’re proving why I didn’t need them.”

He stared, lingering for a moment, challenging your insistence on control. Since he took over this god-forbidden company, you had been defying him with your devilish smile. Miguel slapped your cunt, eliciting a groan that was half of the pain that he’d had only a few hours ago. You liked it, scratching lines up his arms to his broad shoulders.

“You’re so big,” you balanced his abuse with your overwhelming worship. “So big and pretty.”

“Shut up,” he bit out and slipped his middle finger inside of you, unconcerned for your pleasure. Your muscles tightened around his finger, drawing him deeper. He slides another beside it, his hand leaving your cunt to slap your jaw, forcing you to keep focus. Your tender flesh is hot and red, a wonderful tenderness radiating throughout your jaw.

“And you're dripping, do you have no shame?” He grips your chin to look at your face. Raw defiance was slapped across your face. You rolled your hips onto his hand, forcing him to caress your walls in the right spot. He perked his brow, listening to the priest lecturing in the background. Your sweetness drooled over his curled wrist, dripping from his squelching fingers.

“For you,” you whined. “I want your dick. Give it--”

“You’re a brat.”

He said that-- but he was amused. Miguel slipped down onto his knees, knocking your legs rudely apart. His mouth encircled your puffy clit, bringing it into his mouth and suckling it fat. His rhythm was quick, making a point that he could make you cum too. You weren’t debating him, your hands tight in his hair, loud little moans beating free from your lips. His tongue was warm and soft, kissing and nipping.

The priest went quiet.

“You’re being too loud. Do you want them to hear us?” Miguel’s brow furrowed, slipping up from your vulva.

"Why is that my problem?" You whined in distaste after he stopped pleasuring you, your pulsing cunt beating like an open wound. Asshole.

"You could care for someone other than yourself." Miguel tilted his head, turning you to face the wall. He pulled himself free of his pants-- his thick cock fat against the curve of your ass. That’s what you wanted, he decided, gauging by your whine that came with his action.

"How does that get me what I want?" You shook your ass at him, waiting for him to rear back.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Fine, have it. Just shut up."

He leaned over you, your scratchy black veil catching along his stubble. He doesn’t wait for a response, pushing inside. He wasn’t just thick, he was long. But he knew you already knew that-- you knew every curve of his body, loved the thick veins on his cock that filled you so well. You scratched at the wall as he crushed you into the wall, his hips stuttering with your walls tightening him, drawing him further, impossibly deep.

Estúpida, he thought-- and knew you’d hear it. Whatever you were, you weren’t human. You were somewhere between a human and desire itself, evident in the way you looked at him, pleasured by his rutting hips against the church. The priest went back to his lecture-- the churchgoers enraptured in their worship. The only thing Miguel was enraptured with was the way your pussy tingled, the fluid soaking his cock, and the stretch in your lower belly. His hand clasped over your mouth, index finger poking into your mouth. Your tongue drew him in, fangs nipping his finger.

It earned you a hard slam, stuffing you full, your strange body catching his thrusts beautifully. He slipped his hand over your soft cunt, working your clit for your orgasm, though you deserved no such thing. Habit, he supposed. Gloria a Dios-- the churchgoers clammed with one another. Nearly out of time, your pleasure won out, gushing over his fat cock. Miguel suckled a breath, his ego demanding him to hold out, batter your sweet cunt through your orgasm.

“I’m hungry-- Give it to me,” you bit on his finger, breaking the skin and urging blood to flow into his mouth. Your body twitched violently around his cock, drawing bright pleasure forth. “Give me your cum.”

"Stay out of my dreams."

"I don't want to," you reared your head back at him, your nose tight with wrinkles. He drew you fully onto his dick, the final thrusts were sloppy and immature-- but he held out, making you angrier by the second.

"I'll cum on the floor right here, I don't give a shit."

"No, no! Fine! I promise-- I'll let you sleep," the threat of going hungry is enough that you concede, punching your fist against the wall. He grunts in response and feeds your body with whips of cum that felt far heavier than his usual. A pleasure, far sweeter than any orgasm he could give you. Miguel soaked your sweet little body with his sticky cum, chest swelling heavily against your little back. He finishes and pulls himself free. To his surprise, your cunt doesn’t leak. Miguel staggers back with a perk in his eyebrow.

You look far better for wear than he does, clumsily zipping himself back into cum stained slacks, running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. You recline on the wall, inspecting him. He knows how he looks. He's bruised, long gashes down his chest, and properly fucked-- a mess. The manila envelope sits forgotten by your heels, your skirt-- perfect, as though he never tore it in the first place.

“You’re not human.”

Miguel bends down, picking up the folder. Not like he needs it anymore. He does, however, need that information on Project 2099. I can help you, he hears. He catches your wide, toothy smile. You've grown fangs. He isn’t surprised.

“Not even a little.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #spider 2099 x reader #miguel/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara imagines

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sophieinwonderland · 1 month ago

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Response to Sysmed on the Boundaries With Normality

Here's the original post.

Yay! You finally found it!

Did anyone else catch what they did there?

Here is the full text for comparison:

For those who are not aware, "e.g." is short for exempli gratia, which essentially means "for example."

Acknowledging this, the boundaries with normality could be rephrased as such:

The presence of two or more distinct personality states does not always indicate the presence of a mental disorder. In certain circumstances (such as experienced by ‘mediums’ or other culturally accepted spiritual practitioners, for example), the presence of multiple personality states is not experienced as aversive and is not associated with impairment in functioning. A diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder should not be assigned in these cases.

The use of e.g. intentionally leaves it open for other nonpathological forms of plurality.

But it seems to have been strategically omitted by the OP in their quote of the text.

I find it extremely deceptive to pull that part of a sentence out of context, and cut the e.g. from it, without showing readers the full text.

If they were specifying that only those practices apply, it would have used "i.e." instead.

There are a bunch of claims here that are being made at once. Let's see if I can dispel them.

#1 "Tulpamancy is a spiritual practice"

This is largely false. Although it's a claim that sysmeds love repeating and spreading among their circles.

In Varieties of Tulpa Experiences, by Dr. Samuel Veissière, 76.% of tulpamancers surveyed reported having purely psychological explanations for their tulpas. Comparatively, only 8.5% reported purely metaphysical explanations.

Tulpamancy is largely a psychological practice, not a spiritual one.

#2 "Spiritual Practices Are Inherently Intentional and Therefore Aren't 'Natural Systems'"

Genuinely, not sure how they are making such a reach.

If you listen to spiritual mediums, many will describe having connections to spirits at a young age, and that being a medium wasn't something they chose.

For a concrete example though, here is one case study describing a spiritual leader who experienced possession states since childhood.

While this is just a case study, one wouldn't need to venture far into spiritualist circles to confirm this as fairly common and natural.

#3 "Being a System is More Than Just Headmates"

We've entered into the semantic part of the conversation. "This isn't a system because it doesn't meet my baseless and arbitrary definition of systemhood."

Anyway, the use of "system" in reference to people with multiple parts has also been applied by Internal Family Systems therapy since the 80s. And researchers into endogenic systems have frequently referred to endogenic systems as systems.

See Dr. Michael Lifshitz referring specifically to tulpa "systems" in the r/tulpas AMA.

The fact is that there is no strict definition of system that only applies to DID and OSDD.

If you disagree with this, I might ask under what basis you would have for believing Dr. Lifshitz is misusing medical terminology.

No.

But you are intentionally misleading people by omitting the "e.g." from the quoted text because you know it would undermine your argument to quote it in full.

I find it incredibly dishonest and deceitful to cut words from your quote but make it clear that this is just an example which inherently implies that there are other scenarios where someone can be plural without a disorder, then accuse me of stretching the exclusion.

It does NOT specify that.

It uses that as an example.

Again, it only has the appearance of specifying because you selectively removed part of the sentence.

Do you possess clairvoyance to know what the authors intended?

The ICD-11 was published in 2019.

This was 3 years after Varieties of Tulpa Experiences delved into the tulpa community's plurality.

This was 2 years after "Multiplicity: An Explorative Interview Study on Personal Experiences of People with Multiple Selves," the first interview study into the online plural community outside of tulpamancy, which interviewed plural systems and concluded that multiplicity made up a spectrum.

This was 1 year after Transgender Mental Health was published by the American Psychiatric Association, affirming that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

Trying to read the minds of the authors of the ICD-11 seems like a pointless endeavor to me. And also, a distraction.

It's distracting from the fact that the ICD-11 explicitly confirms that there are other ways to experience plurality (i.e. what it refers to as multiple "distinct personality states") without a mental disorder.

We've shown our sources. Now burden of proof is on you to provide this evidence you claim exists.

Thus far, the only sysmed sources pertain to DID exclusively, and do not address plurality outside of that. This makes these sources utterly useless against the mounting papers affirming the existence of endogenic plurality, and the ever-growing number of professionals who have acknowledged that endogenic plurality is a real psychological phenomenon.

*Makes sideways glances to my list of sources on endogenic and non-disordered plurality.*

Though to be honest, I actually like the Guardians doc better since it gives a brief overview of what each one is about.

Mine has become more of a personal thing. A list of sources I'm familiar with to be able to easily find and cite as needed, stored in one easy location and categorized with simple sifting in mind.

But the sources are there.

Wrap-up

Overall, as a rebuttal to the Boundaries With Normality, this seems pretty weak.

The fact that you've conceded that plurality can be caused by intentional effort heavily undermines the trauma-exclusive claims.

You've acknowledged that some endogenic systems are real. Specifically those with spiritual origins. Though I'm sure if given the chance, you would invent stipulations why only certain spiritual origins are valid.

But the most important part of this is the acknowledgement that you don't need trauma to be plural.

It seems the goalposts have moved from "you can only be plural with trauma" to "you can only be plural from trauma or intentional practices."

Which I suppose is a good start. 🤷‍♀️

#syscourse #pro endogenic #pro endo #multiplicity #plural #plurality #endogenic #systems #system #systempunk #syspunk #psychology #psychiatry #actually plural #actually a system #tulpamancy #tulpa

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thaleleah · 20 days ago

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Godless (Part Three) Sneak Peek

Note: I'm not going to get this out by tomorrow like I had originally intended. My week got away from me 😭 I'm so sorry. Give me a few extra days and I'll keep you guys updated on the exact date when I have a better idea. I'm aiming for Sunday now but... you know lol. Sorry about the severely inconsistent updating schedule. Unfortunately, it will definitely happen again.

I'm really excited for Godless though and this next chapter and I hope you guys are too so I wanted to give you a little sneak peek for anyone who is interested. Hope you like it 👀

Unedited. Subject to change.

CW:// ***NON-CON***, Oral (fem receiving), Religious desecration (?), Naughty stuff happens in a religious place, Paranormal aspects (?), Idk if these are technically the proper tags tbh, but I tried lol (it makes sense in the story i promise)

The room is your room, a place that you’re intimately familiar with, but the feel of it is wrong. It feels off and like something is missing - the peaceful presence of the Lord is unnervingly absent in this space that should be holy.

There’s another presence though, something darker, and the hair stands on the back of your neck as you register the new energy. Something is creeping up behind you, you can feel it - can feel as it comes closer and closer and you want to turn around so badly, want to spin and lock your eyes onto whatever is nearing you and making you feel so unnerved in a place that’s supposed to be safe. But you can’t, your body is frozen in its spot, not listening to your brain’s commands as you scream at it to turn around.

There’s warm breath on your ear, a hand at your hip and you’re still frozen as the hand balls the material of your tunic, dragging it up until it's over your bottom and pooling around your waist. Another hand finds the curve of your waist and then another caresses your shoulder. Two more hands slide along your front and drag down to grip at the fat of your thighs, trying to pry them further apart, and you can feel the faintest of touches of fingers against your nipple as if the hands touching you now don’t need to be concerned with the barrier of clothing you have on to block their advances.

Fear courses through you at the touches and you murmur the words of the Lord’s prayer faster. Your eyes are locked on the crucifix, taking in the wooden grain of the cross as it contrasts with the dull metal figure of Jesus hanging in the center and it's the only place you can look. The warm breath is still on your ear, but now it's between your thighs too somehow - searing hot as it fans across your bare folds.

Your clasped hands squeeze together harder as something soft and wet slides against your slit, and you gasp when the thing laps over your clit. The murmured prayer is louder now, rushed and panicked as you beg God for guidance and deliverance from whatever monster is attacking you right now. A demon maybe. Perhaps the Devil himself. Your body heats up as the thing digs in deeper, pushing between your folds and dragging against your hole. The tip of it nudges against your entrance, wiggling like it wants to push inside but is just barely holding back before it retreats and slides back up to the top.

The heat that fills your body is a terrible combination of pleasure and shame as the demon has its fill of your paralyzed body. The sensation of what it's doing between your thighs is forbidden - you were never meant to experience this, and yet the feel of it makes your eyes water and your hole clench like it’s trying to clench around something else.

The thing focuses on your clit, lapping at it and swirling around it and you can feel how your belly tightens with increasing pressure with each lick. You can’t think clearly anymore. Your prayer is becoming muddled - coming out in whimpered words, accidental repeated sentences, and interrupted by the desperate whines and moans as your hips unconsciously try to drive down harder on the foreign thing between your thighs.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Lord, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please for—

#𝑆𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑃𝑒𝑒𝑘 ꧂#dark!billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #tw: noncon #tw: non con

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arenabreadandbiscuits · 2 months ago

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Chaggie headcanons?

AWWW SUPRE CUTE MY FIRST CHAGGIE ASK ÙWÚ

Here's some of my headcanons for them listed below but really they are so cute. If me and my future partner(a) not something like Chaggie then I don't want it!!! 😩

Chaggie Headcanons

For one, literally the cutest ship in the canon to me. I wonder when exactly they met because after seeing Charlie's emo phase I'm sure Charlie probably met Vaggie on a complete whim. It's giving love at first sight. Like whether Vaggie fell or she simply ran into Charlie for a split moment the second Charlie seen her it's like she woke up from some sort of dream. Like seeing Vaggie was refreshing.

Much more so considering where Charlie lives. Upon her crush growing she probably found herself lightening up, like she found something so new after living in hell for so long. When Charlie thinks of her she probably had a moment where she laid in bed looking at the ceiling and imagined what they could be together if they were allowed to.

Charlie definitely knew about Vaggie before Vaggie knew about her, imagine Vaggie did get hurt and specifically during her fight with losing her eye, imagine her slumped somewhere and simply distraught after the fact and... Charlie is walking and they just happen to run into each other. They'd both freeze for sure and then Charlie would see the wound and practically fall to her knees to help the angel. She probably spent days with Charlie in this period, as a guest of course and Charlie most definitely spent all her time taking care of Vaggie.

Changing her bandages, getting her new clothes, bringing her food, protecting her from other demons that smelled the scent of 'angel blood' around. Not like there was much to do when it came to protecting because she was always quick to mention she was the daughter of the King of Hell and if someone still didn't listen she definitely went to her dad and we know Lucifer loves his daughter so he came and showed out if needed.

Being in safe hands Vaggie tells Charlie things she's never had the time to tell others. I have a feeling in Heaven they probably had to bottle things up all the time especially emotions and such so there were things that Vaggie told Charlie that she would have never told anyone else. It takes months but they take the friend route before any relationship. Not purposely but on one hand Charlie is completely fascinated by Vaggie and on another Vaggie is smitten by Charlie especially seeing how much she cares even with her title. It's interest, to puppy love, to completely wanting to devote themselves to each other as the years go by.

Charlie is probably a lot brighter now because of Vaggie and completely because of Vaggie. Though her little angel can have little hope in the denizens of Hell Charlie keeps her focused and keeps her pushing. They encourage each other to keep going in order for their home to be better for them and Charlie's people. Vaggie loves how passionate her girlfriend really is though at times if Vaggie thinks about it she probably gets a little sad thinking of the past. How Heaven and Hell are made to function and the fact that Charlie never really got the chance to ever experience Heaven like Vaggie had. She didn't miss much but...it is something that comes to mind from time to time. That because Charlie was born in Hell, technically she was to never see Heaven.

Vaggie has religious trauma from time to time, not because she misses Heaven but because she has seen bad people in Heaven before but a soul as innocent as Charlie's was destined for Hell. It saddens her to think of it from time to time but then she sees Charlie when she's out and when she talks to people and all she can do is smile and feel relief because Charlie belonged here and Vaggie now felt like she belonged with Charlie which meant she belongs in Hell too.

They do so many cute things together whether people see or not, I like to think that maybe behind closed doors they are impossible to separate from each other because they're in their own space and can show love freely or without being sexualized but in public id personally like seeing them hug more, hold hands, little back rubs, etc. After the battle with Heaven the people of Hell definitely take their relationship a bit more seriously. They don't need recognition though from anyone because to the both of them those moments together and alone mean so much more than anyone else could tell them.

Big soulmate energy with these two. Like they were made for each other and maybe they were. Charlie is the sunshine to Vaggie's moonlight and they feel the sky alongside stars of unconditional love. It's not to say they don't have their problems, everyone does but I think they had those situations and we're more capable of handling them compared to other ships because they love each other so hard and so deeply that it hurts both of them for a problem to stir and nothing to be said about it.

I feel like if they had a problem too those were the moments we could see a weaker Charlie, pushing others away and stressing herself out to the point of crying, hair pulling, etc and Vaggie would hunt her down. Every. Single. Time. Even if they were both hurt they are mature enough to sit down even in a puddle of tears and talk it out. Vaggie would hold her close, pet her back, give her kisses and I think Charlie's reactions are just examples of how she's had to live her childhood especially with her mother not being there.

Nonetheless these two definitely have a starcrossed lovers kind of vibe, the love that's in like kids movies and such. It's so innocent even with everything they've grown in and have been through in their lives. Also kinda makes me think of yin and yang tbh but that's all I'll say for this post now!

Hope you guys like these, askbox is free but I'm in a really bad situation with funds so both writing and art commissions are available HERE. (Ask me questions if you have any and never pay before asking for your commission. I prefer you pay all at first and I'll keep you updated throughout the process of your commission.)

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khaire-traveler · 9 months ago

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Avoiding Trauma Reenactment in Pagan & Polytheist Communities

***Mentions of emotional abuse***

Something I've noticed is that there's a lot of trauma within the pagan and polytheist communities. Many trauma survivors - religious or otherwise - seem to come to these religions, maybe seeking comfort or maybe not.

Unfortunately, when there is a lot of trauma within a community, there tend to be cycles of it as well. People traumatize other people because, to put it simply, hurt people hurt people. I've experienced this first-hand and done it, obviously unintentionally, myself. So here's my advice on how to avoid traumatizing the shit out of one another.

Go to therapy or counseling if you're able. If you're not able, I suggest at least looking up ways to cope with trauma (CPTSD or PTSD may be specifically helpful for some people) and identifying your personal triggers. For example, some people might be triggered by not getting an immediate response to their messages, especially if emotionally charged, and may react based on the burst of emotion that triggered trauma can cause.

Recognize whether or not you're reenacting your own trauma in unrelated situations. This happens A LOT with abuse survivors specifically. There is a tendency to reenact one's traumatic experiences which can even come in assuming the worst of a situation or staying around people who remind you of (or treat you like) past abusers. Do you find yourself reenacting past trauma with others? Do you find yourself engaging with self-fulfilling prophecies?

When you feel yourself reacting with extreme emotion to a situation, try to pause yourself for a moment and ask yourself why you're feeling such a strong reaction. This is a skill that's easier said than done, and it takes some practice, but overtime, it becomes easier and easier. I've found it to be very helpful in identifying when my trauma is causing me to react a certain way to something vs. my genuine reaction.

Remind yourself that constructive criticism is not a personal attack on you. It's healthy to receive constructive criticism from others, especially friends who may be addressing issues within your friendships. Remember that when you receive criticism, it doesn't automatically mean that someone is trying to tear you down.

You are not responsible for how others react to you. This is a very helpful reminder for survivors of emotional abuse especially, since there's a tendency to self-blame. This is a reminder that takes a lot of practice, but when someone sends you cruel and hateful words, remember that 1. you don't have to listen to them, and 2. you are not responsible for the way someone else feels about or reacts to you. Simply put, we cannot control the emotions of others, as scary as that can be, and it's best to keep reminding that to ourselves.

If someone makes you uncomfortable, you are allowed to block them. You don't need permission from anyone to block this person. It's best to keep away from people who remind you of past abusers specifically to avoid potential reenactment.

Try to assume the best of people. Most people are not out to get you; most people are trying to passively enjoy internet time just the same as you. Of course, this doesn't mean harmful and hateful people don't exist, but it's best to not make yourself riddled with anxiety over that potentiality.

Practice healthy conflict resolution skills. This is something I recommend doing with a therapist or only after extensive research. The best type of conflict resolution, in my experience, is relating your emotions calmly and maturely. Try not to go flying off the handle or reacting with repeated apologies. Take a moment to ground yourself before addressing the conflict because even though it feels extremely pressing and urgent, it can likely wait for you to ground yourself first.

Don't go looking for a fight. Don't start arguments where it's not necessary, and don't go after people's personal character just to prove your point. These situations can end horribly for all parties involved. Should go without saying, but this includes not harassing people for their "wrong" opinions. It's an opinion, not a fact; please ground yourself if it truly upsets you that much.

Try not to say things with the intention of hurting someone. This is unwise for several reasons. It can lead to long-term regret later on, you can end up traumatizing someone with your words, and you may find that you were projecting your own feelings onto someone else. All sorts of consequences can come from this, so I encourage you to think before you speak. If you're extremely upset, wait to respond, and take time to cool off first.

This is all the advice I can think of off the top of my head. I hope it helps someone! Take care, everyone. 🧡

#trauma #paganblr #helpol #trauma recovery #hellenic pagan #pagan

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bonesbonesbones69 · 3 months ago

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A HARROW THE NINTH FANMIX

I know I’ve put out a number of fan mixes at this point but this is my favorite one.

Track list:

New York (St. Vincent)

Moderation (Florence + The Machine)

Heavy Cross (Gossip)

How To Be Eaten By A Woman (The Glitch Mob)

Ballad of the Thin Man (Bob Dylan)

Spent Gladiator 2 (The Mountain Goats)

Foreign Object (The Mountain Goats)

Drive It Like You Stole It (Glitch Mob)

Cosmic Love (Florence + The Machine)

Francesca (Hozier)

Wear Black (The Mountain Goats)

I'm about to get VERBOSE under the cut, join me if you want a deep dive on why I chose these songs. Or just listen to the playlist and draw your own conclusions :)

NEW YORK (St. Vincent)

You know how Gideon's death kind of haunts the entire 'Harrow the Ninth' narrative, because you can't stop thinking about it even though Harrow doesn't remember it and the book isn't mentioning it? But it's so present, the negative space in the story creating a very clear Gideon-shaped outline?

This song is first to set the tone for the playlist in the same way. It's a good song about grieving someone who fit with you in a way nobody else did or ever could.

It's about the bits that go:

you're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me /can stand me /forgives me

It makes me a little crazy. Especially the forgiveness bit. Kind of brings forward the depth of what Harrow lost when Gideon died.

MODERATION (Florence and the Machine)

Like a fine wine, this song pairs excellently with thinking about harrow giving herself a lobotomy.

Want me to love you in moderation? Do I look moderate to you?

I've never heard of anyone loving someone LESS moderately than harrow when she carved up her own brain about a girl. Someone said in a tumblr post somewhere that 'most people just get breakup bangs'. YEAH THEY DO. but that's our mistake for thinking harrow was going to do anything other than the most insane possible thing.

This song is ominous and heavy, evokes religion and fear, the concept of love used as a threat.

It's perfect.

Actually let's talk real quick about the religion part. This isn't going to be hugely cohesive but it's important to me and I think you'll get what I'm going for:

The lines:

Bow your head in the house of God Little girl, who do you think you are

Can be read like the narrative voice is taking on the persona of God, loving in the powerful and unknowable way God might love. Loving in a way you have no say over. Interpreting Harrow's actions with this lens is like a fucked up mirror, consider: Gideon spent her childhood beaten down by a heavily religious society, the figurehead of which was Harrow herself, beating Gideon down sometimes literally but more importantly, figuratively. Now Harrow continues the role of religiously executing power over Gideon's experience, this time with absolutely ferocious love.

Also LAST THING I PROMISE but there's a quiet vein of self-hatred in this song, lurking just behind all of it. A real judgement of the self for having this power and impulse.

So it's perfect.

HEAVY CROSS (Gossip)

Actually you know what lets have MORE songs about harrow's lobotomy. It's a rich vein.

Most of the songs on this playlist make me a little crazy, and this is absolutely one of them. The manic, dangerous, committed tone (and religious undertones) continues from moderation to heavy cross - but what heavy cross brings to the table is the CHOICE.

We can play it safe, or play it cool Follow the leader or make up all the rules Whatever you want, the choice is yours So choose I checked you If it's already been done, undo it

THE CHOICE

And also, oh my god, "it's already been done, undo it". This song made the cut just for that line, and over time I just liked it more and more on here.

I'm skipping over saying a lot of the obvious stuff as I talk about these songs - assuming you're already connecting "whatever you want, the choice is yours, so choose" to harrow making the choice to stop the lyctoral process. And choosing to undo what's already been done. Right? Are we both there already? Cool just making sure.

HOW TO BE EATEN BY A WOMAN (The Glitch Mob)

I'm not done with songs about harrow's lobotomy yet. But this one's a little about Gideon

Ok also I feel the need to say - YES I did put a six minute electronic instrumental in a fanmix, but give it a chance!! It's evocative.

I went to the glitch mob specifically when I was putting this playlist together because I wanted music that felt confusing and dark and bad (the good kind of bad, in the way music can be). Something to mirror the way it felt to read harrow the ninth.

And then I saw there was a song titled 'how to be eaten by a woman' and I added it to the playlist without even listening to it first. And then I listened to it 50 times and now it's going to be on my Spotify top 100 I just know it.

Anyways this one stayed in the playlist as an homage to the confusing and inarticulate things that happened to Gideon and Harrow, as Gideon both was and was not quite eaten by a woman.

BALLAD OF A THIN MAN (Bob Dylan)

Ballad of a thin man is my all time favorite Bob Dylan song and it is exactly the same amount of stupidly ominously confusing as the events of harrow the ninth.

Now could I go on and on about this song?

Yes, and I will.

I’ve never found a source concretely sharing what the fuck this song is actually about. To me, it’s about being confused, outside, and alone. To Wikipedia and opinionated blogs it’s about the mainstream man encountering counter-culture, maybe queer culture. Sometimes theorists think it's about sex but there's not really enough evidence to say concretely.

In the context of this fanmix it’s about not knowing what the fuck is going on because you forgot you gave yourself a lobotomy.

Also frankly sometimes the way this whole series is written feels like one of the interactions described in this song:

You raise up your head and you ask, ‘is this where it is?’ And somebody points to you and says, ‘it’s his.’ And you say, ‘what’s mine?’ And somebody else says, ‘well, what is?’ And you say ‘oh my god, am I here all alone?’

I mean what the fuck is that about??

Like you're trying to have a conversation, but the person you're talking to is clearly having a completely different conversation and is not interested in explaining themselves one bit. Which is something that's happened many times in Harrow the Ninth.

And I mean - the REFRAIN -

You know something's happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones.

I love that the song speaks directly at Mr. Jones, that he's a specifically named man rather than a general figure.

It makes the tone of the song so cruel and damning - you, Mr. Jones, are dumb as fuck and alone. You think you're smart, you're used to being smart and knowing what's happening, but you don't anymore. You're a lost idiot now. And nobody is going to help you.

Harrow is Mr. Jones that's what I'm saying. Do you get it. Do you agree. She's Mr. Jones.

SPENT GLADIATOR 2 (The Mountain Goats)

This is the title track because nothing else sums up the wretchedness of harrows existence on the mithraeum like this does:

Stay in the game. Just try to play through the pain Like a fighter who’s been told it’s finally time for him to quit Show up in shining colors and then stand there and get hit

I barely know what else to say about it.

The next song in this playlist is also a mountain goats song. As a best practice I think it’s a little gauche to put two songs by one artist back to back on a playlist, but these two absolutely HAVE to be back to back.

The reason is the joy I feel coming out of this song, and hearing the first couple notes of the next song, and thinking… yeah, it’s time to go fucking crazy.

FOREIGN OBJECT (The Mountain Goats)

This one is about the time harrow stabs someone in the eye with a foreign object

I personally will stab you in the eye with a foreign object

It's about harrow jamming her own teeth into the saint of duty's eyes, and also about the soup thing. This song is about being backed into a corner and fighting desperately with unexpected weapons.

Fun fact, the song itself was written explicitly about wrestling - which means that the term 'foreign object' should be translated in the wrestling context, meaning an object from outside of the ring. For example, a classic folding chair. So, considering this, we must admit that harrow doesn't actually literally use a foreign object. She uses her own teeth and bone marrow. Her objects are downright domestic.

But I think we can all agree she's got the spirit.

DRIVE IT LIKE YOU STOLE IT (The Glitch Mob)

OK OK I PUT A SECOND SIX MINUTE LONG ELECTRONIC INSTRUMENTAL ON THE FANMIX!!!! BUT -

really there's so much general bad feeling happening in harrow the ninth that having chaotic instrumentals feels like the only way to even START to capture it.

So here's a song about Gideon waking up in Harrow's body and trying to figure out that weird and upsetting event while also fighting some fucked up bees and learning some weird stuff about her parents and also dying like at least 4 times while all this was happening.

COSMIC LOVE (Florence and the Machine)

I like my playlists to be a bit chronological - it's an urge I can never quite thwart, I love to mirror a narrative. So all the songs about Gideon are at the end of the playlist, when she shows up. Man, we all missed her. I missed her. Didn't you miss her??

The stars, the moon they have all been blown out you left me in the dark

I don't have that much to say about this one, I find it incredibly self-evident. I'll make up for how fucking long-winded I was about 'Moderation' and 'Ballad of a Thin Man' by cutting this short.

FRANCESCA (Hozier)

Some of these songs are so exactly what I want on this playlist that I actually have LESS to say about them, because I think you can interpret the same things I'm interpreting just by listening to the song.

So listen to the song and then lets be insane about it together!!

This is about Gideon's sacrifice, and Harrow's rejection of that sacrifice. And Gideon's butthurt feelings about that.

My life was a storm, since I was born How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'd tell them put me back in it (Darling) I would do it again.

I mean

"I gave you my sword. I gave you myself. I did it while knowing I'd do it all again, without hesitation, because all I ever wanted you to do was eat me."

Are you insane about it yet? I'm insane about it.

WEAR BLACK (The Mountain Goats)

The playlist is coming to an end.

Let's let ourselves be gently outro'd by the soft waves of John Darnielle sharing with us what it means to carry mourning with you throughout your life.

Wear black wherever I go Wear black wherever you are

#tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #my art #should i have a fanmix tag by now #fanmix #sorry i forgot about this for a while its been a weird month and i lost some steam but its very good #Spotify

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