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defectivevillain · 8 months ago

Text

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair.

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think.

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness.

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same.

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful.

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep.

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut.

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden?

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes.

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” you ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.”

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape?

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.”

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.”

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly.

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered.

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear.

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air.

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return.

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare.

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage.

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation.

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions.

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it.

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight.

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this.

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike.

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die.

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life?

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze.

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner.

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life.

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced.

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating.

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face.

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress.

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all.

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible.

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case.

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him.

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move.

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return.

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.”

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something.

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words.

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point.

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” you choke out, entirely unsure of what to say.

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after.

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field?

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life.

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat.

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve.

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering.

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown.

“Company,” he answers.

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” you ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually.

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” you persist.

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly.

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation.

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride. Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves,” you say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” he asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was.

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure.

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply.

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly.

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.”

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” he questions.

“Well…” you trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel.

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” he prompts.

“He’s…” you break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it.

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer.

“Somehow, I interest him,” you say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further.

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it.

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts.

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…”

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it.

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape.

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless.

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can.

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free.

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods.

Fuck.

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention�� you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere.

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you.

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run.

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge.

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness?

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice.

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut.

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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lix-ables · 2 years ago

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⌗ rich boy things – hyunjin + car sex .

🥡 smut includes, fem!reader, dry humping, hand jobs (while he’s on the phone with his father), mentions of ruined orgasms (because he absolutely loves teasing the shit out of you), lovesick + pussy drunk hyunjin, etc etc. word count: 971. (MINORS DNI.)

💌 note: its been a while but hihi, im back!! i was initially going to post something else??? but this has been in my drafts since april

©lix-ables 2022. consider leaving comments and feedbacks !! happy reading ‹33

hyunjin was annoyingly pretty and he knew it, so sneaking around on the campus way past your curfew can be excused, right?

here you were in his car’s passenger seat with your hand wrapped around his dick while he was on an important call. how did you know that? because he told you it was his father, and still your fingers played with the tip, your palm resting under your chin as you watch him shut his eyes.

his other hand moves to wrap around the wrist that was currently busy, and he turns to look at you. “yes dad, i understand,” he sighs and replies. “no im not out racing. i’m with the boys. panting? have you thought maybe it's your hearing?” hyunjin clears his throat and shifts in his seat, making your hand fall on his thigh. but that gave you even more of a reason to stroke him instead of just touching him. a little teasing wouldn’t hurt no one. your thumb rubs circles on his tip before wrapping your whole hand around it, earning a small grunt from him.

“listen i need to go. they need my help with something. yes, i’ll call you tomorrow.”

“you like what you see don’t you, darlin’?” hyunjin’s voice stops you from your task, and makes you look at him. he stares at you, smiling before setting his phone in his jacket pocket.

his hand finds your bare thigh and you curse yourself for wearing pj shorts while it was cold outside. “i thought i told you the call was important,” he mumbles, his fingers snaking all the way up to the hem of your shirt and tugging it toward him. “i want this off,” he nods at your shorts, and you bite your lip in frustration. “i thought we were here to talk,” a whimper leaves your throat when he pulls you to him. “we’re talking. this is good communication, don’t you think?” you let him pull you onto his lap, and you struggle out of your shorts in the process. “i was getting ready for bed, it’s way past curfew what if someone –” hyunjin presses a kiss to your lips, his hands wrapped around your waist and it just dawns to you, that his dick is still out, and is now between the two of you. “no one is going to come here, and you know that,” he smiles again, his finger twirling around a strand of hair that wasn’t held together by the band.

you hum in response, the chill breeze making goosebumps form on your bare skin and you grind against hyunjin’s dick. you’re probably going to have to buy new underwear but fuck it. “this again? and you said you wanted to talk,” he smirks, tugging on the strand of hair in his hand, and his fingers find your shirt, pulling it up so he has more access. your hand wraps around his wrist when you feel him move your underwear aside, and he clicks his tongue. “baby, let me in hmmm? it’s not fair that only you get to do the teasing. it works both ways. besides, no one’s around so i could probably edge you say, four to five times? i’m sure you can take it yeah? because i sure as hell want to see that tight and pretty pussy of yours clenching around my fingers when i don’t let you come.” hyunjin tilts his head to look at you, he shifts the material a bit more before resting two fingers to your clit, and pinches it a little. your thighs shudder at the feeling and he leans back against the seat. “you’d beg me to let you come, but you won’t. you like it too much hmm?”

you nod and his hand reaches down and finds the adjustment lever at the side and moves the seat back a bit more, so there is space for both of you. “when i didn’t see you in class today, i thought something had happened,” he mumbles as he moves his free hand to stroke his dick, bringing it closer to your entrance. “i missed you today, doll.” hyunjin’s fingers work on rubbing random patterns to your clit and you feel yourself getting even wetter than you were ten minutes ago.

“you were supposed to come pick me up, idiot,” you lean forward close to his ear and press a small kiss to his neck. your hands hold onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the leather jacket that he was wearing before going back to grind against his dick.

“just the tip, i swear,” he rests his head at the crook of your neck, his free hand now holding you close to him as you move faster against him. you’re breathing faster now and your fingers come to rub your clit, applying more friction. “baby, let me –” hyunjin swears, his hand shivering and you turn your head to the window – it’s drizzling. the sound of rain muffling out your moans and hyunjin’s swears as he manages to guide your hips toward him, his tip close to your pussy, before entering just a little. “that’s it baby, fuck.”

his hands rest at your lower back, his fingers slowly pulling up your shirt from the back as you ride against him. you’re mumbling something about having a real talk after this, but all hyunjin can hear is your whines and whimpers as he pulls himself out just to replace his dick with his fingers.

“you’re coming on my tongue and my dick once we get to your room,” he grunts, feeling your walls clench around his fingers. “not yet, darlin’. hold it for me.” with his fingers now buried inside you, and your body grinding up against his palm, hyunjin meant what he said. teasing works both ways.

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thesunloveschips · 6 months ago

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Eye of the Storm - Chapter 18: Renewed Desire

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to help them, Lucien invites the sisters for a journey. The shadows always take her side. Two years later, Azriel and Nyra finally let their desires take over. (SMUT FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER)

Author's message: From this chapter onwards, I will not follow the original plot. There will be a timeskip among other changes.

@feerique always and eternally grateful to you!!✨✨

Word count: 5.5k (Enjoy!!)

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

After the war, the Cauldron made Archerons were dragged into politics with Vassa’s request to draft a new treaty.

The twins worked on the draft treaty and correspondences while Elain helped out those affected by the war in Velaris.

And one fine day, Lucien paid a visit. Nesta answered the door.

“We’re the only ones here. You’ll have to go to the River House for the others.” Nesta sounded dull.

“My lady.” He bowed. “I’m here to speak to the three of you.”

Nesta blinked and quietly made way for his entry. She closed the door and held his gaze before she turned and entered the house. “Come with me.”

They moved towards the corridor and stopped in front of a room. Nesta knocked on the door. “We have a visitor.”

Papers shuffled, wood moved against wood, fabrics swished, and Nyra Archeron opened the door. The lightning wielder saw Lucien and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

They reached the backyard where Elain was planting saplings. Elain immediately turned and met Lucien’s gaze. Nesta cleared her throat. “He wishes to speak to us.”

Elain quietly set aside her tools, stood up, brushed off the dirt on her hands, and joined them. She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “Yes?”

The male was now definitely entranced. Probably because she was addressing him for the first time.

“Before I begin, let me clarify that I’m not suggesting this because. . .” The autumn-born trailed away, looking at Elain. She tilted her head in a Nyra fashion. “I’d like all three of you to come with me.”

“Why?” Nesta was not even harsh.

“A change in scenery.”

Silence prevailed before Elain spoke. “The sunlight here is not that great.”

“What kind of change in scenery?” Nyra had only asked and Lucien had begun advertising all the different places he’d travel to after leaving Night.

“We’re not used to travelling. We’ll only burden you.” Nesta was cordial with her implied refusal but he was adamant.

“I’m going for diplomatic discussions. It won’t be hectic. It’ll give you more ideas for the treaty drafting.” Lucien paused looking at Nyra before shooting his next question. “And wouldn’t you like to see the world?”

The lightning wielder looked up at him, clearly intrigued. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I can only try, my lady.” He honestly answered.

“Do you understand what this means?” Elain finally asked.

“You are people. I know how to behave around people.” He answered, looking straight into those brown eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.” She retorted.

“I also understand that you’ll have your cycles. I have helped my mother with hers so there’s no need to worry on that front.” Elain simply blushed as her sense of propriety from her human life prevailed. “I’m a decent cook. And I’ll be ready for whatever you need of me.”

“You need not worry about cooking. We’re good at that.” Elain waved her hand.

“It’s not just the cycle.” Nesta sighed. “We’re different from other fae. We’re even different from each other.”

And Lucien remained persistent, silently meeting their gaze in turns.

“All right.” Nyra was the first to succumb.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Elain comment lightheartedly. Lucien only stared at her in disbelief.

“Fine.” Nesta agreed.

“Do you have any pending works I can assist with?”

Nesta opened her mouth to refuse but she halted. She contemplated the offer and met his gaze with more acceptance. “Actually, yes.”

“I’ll join you after this.” Elain nodded at him and quickly returned to her work.

“It’s nearly dinner time.” Nyra mused.

“Shall I cook something?” Lucien offered. The twins looked at him blankly.

“When I accepted your assistance for pending works, it was not for household chores.” Nesta wondered why he would even offer to cook for them right now.

“We can dine outside.” Nyra suggested.

“Eula’s.” Elain called from the distance.

“Eula’s, it is.” Nyra looked at the sky, its pink and violet hues bringing the night.

“Come with me, Lucien.” Nesta began. “I’d like your opinion on something.” The flame wielders headed inside.

Nyra continued to stare at the sky as she reached Elain. “Does his presence bother you?”

“Quite the opposite.” Elain whispered. “Is it the bond or is it him that calms me?”

“Maybe, you’ll know soon.” Nyra walked away.

An hour later, they had dressed and departed. Eula’s was a fifteen minute walk. Many people greeted Elain, having interacted during her daily visits to the city. Neither twin interacted with anyone. Lucien smiled politely at a few familiar faces. They reached Eula’s nearly half an hour later.

****

The shadowsinger was already sitting on the roof of the building opposite the one where Eula’s was. He’d seen Nyra as she walked with her sisters and that redheaded bastard.

Green silk wrapped her body and flowed with her every movement. Hair in a loose bun with curls escaping near her ears.

When was this female ever going to let him have his senses?

Every single time he saw her, she consumed him wholly.

He wanted to be near her, touch her, kiss her, and whisper sweet things to her.

Could she ever give him a moment to catch his breath?

And then he remembered.

She was going to leave.

His heart cracked.

And the shadows were wailing.

But if this is what was needed. If this is what she needed to regain her spirits. He’d support her.

****

Azriel winnowed in front of the townhouse. He was nervous. He felt pathetic. Maybe, he should’ve come after a while. They’d only just returned from dinner.

As soon as his shadows were about to take him away, the door opened.

Nyra watched him with wide eyes and took a step outside. The shadows stopped and let him be. More shadows were around her wrist.

Fuck.

This beautiful creature, brilliant and full of wonders. What had he ever done to deserve a mating bond with her?

“Were you leaving?” She whispered.

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I want to stay.”

That moment filled with tenderness and intimacy they shared before the High Lords’ meet bloomed again. From when she’d kissed the corner of his lips.

“Come in.” She led Azriel to the office she’d taken over and he closed the door behind him.

Silence prevailed as she sat on her desk, now empty of all the papers and pens. Nyra looked at her hands. “I’m leaving.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him.

“They told me.” She nodded and looked at the black snakes crawling around her fingers.

Azriel did not know what to say. He wanted her to stay but if this is what she wanted then how could he say otherwise?

What if this is what she needed? A change?

Change helped him a lot. He learned how to fly, cook, sew, kill, maim, and so much more. Perhaps he’d changed for the better and worse.

The bond between them thrummed silently, a reminder of life. The storms in her mind were chaotic.

He walked forward and stopped two steps away from her. “May I?”

“What are you asking?”

“To touch you.” He heard her breath hitch. She nodded.

“Words, Nyra.”

She looked at him, eyes gleaming. “Yes.”

Azriel wrapped her in a hug, his entire frame covering her like a shield against the world. There was no one but them.

Nyra wrapped her hands around his torso.

“Be safe.” He felt her nod against his chest. “Be happy.” Another nod. “Write to me.” She raised her chin, rested it against his chest, and looked up at him.

Gods fucking damn this world.

She was too fucking adorable like this.

He never wanted to let go.

“You’ll write to me too?” She whispered.

And he smiled. “I’ll write to you too. But I may delay when I’m on a mission.”

“Mhm.”

Azriel brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her there.

“Have you had dinner?” She asked.

Azriel went rigid. “No.”

“Shall I prepare something then?” He was blank for all but a second before he began panicking. The shadows began cheering and panicking.

She’s accepting? No, she wasn’t.

She’s only offering food. She doesn’t know. Exactly.

Of course, she doesn’t know. Because he was a fucking coward, that’s why.

Should we apply for leave? No!

A month? A month? Why were these idiots going overboard?

Master hasn’t had sex in fifty two years. Owing to Amarnatha’s reign and the overload of work before his mating bond with Nyra snapped.

He’s become a beacon of celibacy.

Does master remember how to bed a woman? What?

How to please our mistress? What even?

He’s going to embarrass us. What in the everloving fuck?

“Have you had dinner?” Azriel managed to ask between his shadows’ commentary.

“Yes. I can cook-”

“I’ll eat at the House. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense.” She leaned back to look at him properly. Nyra seemed mad at how he spoke about himself. “You’re not a bother.”

A silence settled between them. He played with the baby hairs on her forehead and the side of her ears and Nyra enjoyed it as she felt ticklish.

“How are your nightmares?” She asked. His hand near her ear stopped playing with her ear and dropped to her shoulder.

“Manageable.” He was lying.

“And the headaches?”

“Tolerable.” Another lie.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Lying is a part of my job description. I’m famously good at it.” Azriel tried to lighten the mood with an awkward smile. She sees through you.

“Unbelieve.” She was playing with his hair when she traced his ears. He loved her touch. He wanted more of it. “Your ears remind me of when I was human.”

“Bad memories?”

“Bad and good.” She seemed to be lost as she traced the curve of his ear. Azriel sighed, her touch a reminder that the world was worth something.

She was still wearing that green silk. Her neck craned to look at his face and he only wanted to kiss her. This was unbearable.

“I’ll take your leave now.” He kissed her left hand and let the shadows take him away even as she called his name.

****

The next day right before dawn, Rhysand stood at a distance from the townhouse with Lucien. “Day Court?”

“Yes, I’ve received a welcoming reply for our arrival.”

Rhysand wondered when Lucien would discover his paternity. Politics was such a twisted thing and he only pitied the male who was unaware he’d be inevitably dragged into it even more than he already was. “If anything happens-”

“I know. You’ll slit my throat.”

“I was going to tell you to call out for me. If you’re anywhere in the Middle, then contact might be difficult so be prepared for greater risks.”

“Why would we go to the Middle?” Lucien looked at him oddly.

“You’ll find that your mate is curious about plant life in the Middle. The twins may be drawn towards the monsters.”

“The Weaver?”

“We won the war but three ancient gods are now free.” The twin gods and Bryaxis were released for war and were now free to roam the lands even though recent reports suggested their presence in the Middle.

“What if the monsters are drawn to them?”

“Elain’s power shouldn’t. The twins will.” Rhysand sighed. “I’ll ask Azriel.” He closed his eyes and sighed. His power thrummed and the next minute, the Spymaster joined them from a swirl of shadows.

“What?”

“Brooding already, brother? The sun hasn’t even risen.” Rhysand smirked.

“And what are you doing here?” Azriel coldly asked, turning towards a larger fae cloaked in greying rags.

The Suriel grinned, displaying its sharp teeth. Its face turned to the townhouse standing at a distance.

Nyra Archeron appeared at the balcony in a nightdress and a robe, stretching her arms. And then she turned to look straight at Azriel.

His breath hitched. If he could ever wake up to that sight, embracing that beautiful female, he’d count himself blessed.

“Blessed you are indeed, shadowsinger.” The Suriel’s ominous voice spoke. “And even more blessed you will be.” The wind took those words and carried them away to the world.

The Suriel took a step only to see a flash of lightning as Nyra emerged. It grinned and folded in the middle, a casual bow. “Greetings to the Sovereign of the Skies.”

Azriel’s shadows were with her, twirling around her hands and hair and the hem of her nightdress.

“Your robe looks fantastic, Conqueror of the Cauldron.”

At that comment, the shadows slashed the Suriel, dismembering a leg. It kneeled with the other and cackled. As though it had been misted, the ghastly creature disappeared.

Azriel walked over to her. The shadows had produced a cloak which materialised on her shoulders. They wrapped her up nicely in it, tying all the knots for her.

Nyra frowned at him, probably for fleeing like that last night. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the cloak. Fur tickled her cheeks and she removed her face. The cold made her blush. “Rhys? Lucien?”

“Hello, Nyra.”

“Good morning.”

“Hello, hello. Good morning.” She was unusually cheerful for someone who’d frowned at him.

Why did you run away? Here we go. Again. When were they going to stop reprimanding him like a child?

She thinks you rejected her. What?

You should listen to her when she speaks.

Oh fucking fuck. He didn’t. Azriel could never reject her. He would never dare.

“You’re in a good mood.” Rhys remarked fondly, a tone Azriel remembered had been reserved for Maia and now, Nyra.

“Nesta made hot chocolate. And none of us are having nightmares these days.”

“And you’re still sleepy.” Lucien eased into the conversation. Azriel wondered if last night’s dinner had increased the familiarity between him and the sisters.

“It’s winter.” She pouted. Azriel would have a heart attack any time soon if she remained that adorable. “I’d rather be in bed than anywhere else.”

“We’re to leave soon. I hope you haven’t forgotten.” Lucien reminded. They were going to leave this afternoon. The Day Court was the first destination.

“I remember.” And she was going to leave thinking he’d rejected her. But she was just too pretty for him to stay in her presence and remain sane.

Azriel took a step forward and she immediately glared at him and then turned to Rhys. “I need to freshen up. Meet you later?”

“We’ll meet you after breakfast.” Rhysand assured.

****

Azriel, being his calm, stoic self with no ability to communicate the deepest of his feelings, watched quietly as Nyra and her sisters left with Lucien. She spared him a withering glance before the party winnowed away.

Once they left, the shadows began screaming. You better write to her, you stupid male.

Beg for her forgiveness.

You’re a grown adult. Miscommunication at this age is disgusting. For a Spymaster, he had fucked up in communicating vital information to his mate.

Get your shit together before someone else sweeps her away.

There’s no shortage of males or females who’d want her attention and affection.

They wouldn’t shut up. They kept on screaming and yelling so much that he winnowed away to his mother’s house for comfort, knowing they’d behave around her.

****

Two years later.

Azriel knew he had fucked up. He was the one who’d proposed the idea of writing and he was also the one who’d stopped correspondence.

Despite Nyra being upset with him, they’d written to each other and then there was a mission that lasted too long.

He assumed that a pause warranted an explanation but his draft letters were unsatisfactory and he ended up not sending a letter or replying to hers. He even disappeared when she visited.

It had been nearly four months since they stopped corresponding and two years since she’d left Velaris.

Azriel couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live without seeing her, or talking to her, or feeling her. He wanted to lose his senses to her.

He was also scared.

Because she was his equal and identical in one particular aspect—they did not forgive or forget as evinced by how she’d killed her mother. And this much might have been enough for her to consider him a traitor.

And with fear and need, he finally showed up at the Archeron residence with her favourite cheesecake.

****

The living room of the manor was a scene from a horror novel. Probably because Nesta was glaring at Azriel from the armchair she had seated herself on.

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. He’d been so afraid of Nyra’s reaction that he’d forgotten that Nesta Archeron was a terrifying female.

“I hope you’ve made arrangements for your funeral.” She was frosty one moment and then gave him an overly cheerful smile. “I’m looking forward to that.”

Nesta was really looking forward to his death. Surely, Nyra was not that harsh. Right?

The door opened loudly and Nyra marched in, eager and bright as she called her twin. “Nesta, there’s. . .”

She was radiant in silver, he wanted to kneel and beg for everything.

His heartbeat felt heavy, the organ ready to break through his ribs. His mouth parted and throat dried and he did not say anything. He had no words no matter how many times he’d rehearsed his apology.

And then Nyra noticed Azriel, who stood up instantly. He was nervous and anxious and so many things but she simply dismissed his existence and started talking to Nesta about a new novel.

The twins chatted for not more than two minutes before promising to resume the conversation later. Nyra turned on her heel and headed towards the door when her name escaped his lips.

“Who are you?” She sounded like she’d met an unpleasant creature and she’d rather be anywhere else.

The shadowsinger flinched. “It’s me. Azriel.”

“Come to think of it. I knew someone by that name.” Thunder roared outside. “That Azriel who did not write for four months?”

“I-”

“Or was it that Azriel who did not bother showing his face for the past year?” Oh, she was so gloriously merciless.

“Nyra. .”

“I thought he was dead.” She smiled so sweetly and Azriel heard Nesta snort. “Since he did not visit or write.”

“I’m alive, Nyra.” He moved closer.

“Shall I rectify that?” Lightning crackled at her fingertips as she raised her hand.

“Please. .” It was foolish to avoid our precious mistress.

She spared him nothing before walking away. Azriel followed her. “Nyra. Please. Just listen to me.”

Nyra simply walked as if he didn’t exist and entered her room. He followed and caught her wrist. When she turned back, Azriel was greeted with indifference.

“I had a mission that lasted a month and I wrote letters and never sent them because I didn’t think any of them was adequate enough reply and by the time I wrote a decent letter, five months had passed and I’d already heard that you were furious and I-ow!”

Nyra smacked his arm, interrupting his rant. “What’s the point of writing letters if you can’t be bothered to send them?”

Azriel took a step back in response to her advancing towards him. He moved around the bed only to be chased after. She was furious. “You could’ve just visited.”

“I had another mission.”

“That’s what letters are for.” She grabbed a bottle of something and threw it at him. The shadows caught it and gently set it down where it was. “No, don’t protect him.” She took a pen. “Let him feel everything.”

“Nyra, please.”

“You fucking idiot!” The pen hit him. He caught the empty vase. Clearly, the shadows were siding with her. And then she grabbed a dagger. “You and your stupidity warrants everything I throw at you.” Exactly!

“Sweetheart, that’s a dagger.” Azriel only processed the sound of the weapon landing on the wooden column behind him. His wings dropped.

“You repeat this again and I won’t miss.” Gods, she was so beautiful—all feral and angry at him. At him.

Oh, this marvellous female.

He wanted to drown in her.

And she picked up a sword. Where did she even get that from? We gave it to her.

“Nyra.” And his every call of her name was a prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” The apology did not have the intended effect. Lightning coursed from her palm to the sword. “How dare you throw your flimsy apologies at me after no contact for months?”

“I know. Let me-”

“Months. Months! And you think you deserve to be pardoned?” Thunder roared like a chained beast demanding freedom.

“My drafts were not good enough.”

“I did not want perfection from your letters, I wanted you.” Nyra threw the sword away and looked around for something else to throw at him. “I wanted to know if you were alive, breathing, healthy, and you delivered nothing.” She removed her slipper and aimed for his face. Azriel dodged it in time.

And she stopped pacing around, stopped picking up things. Nyra simply stopped and Azriel travelled through the shadows in front of her and took her in his arms.

“You were worried about me?” Azriel asked while praying silently.

Nyra struggled against his grip. “How dare you question that? You absolute-”

“I won’t. I won’t. I swear I won’t.” He hugged her tighter. Nyra began to relax. The shadows gently pried the sword from her hand.

Azriel picked her up and deposited her on the table. He let go of her but his hands remained on either side of her, supporting himself and cornering her so she wouldn’t escape.

Azriel leaned forward and brushed their noses against each other.

A soft feeling came to life.

The same as what bloomed back when they’d shared a moment before Azriel departed for the High Lords’ Meet two years ago. Before Nyra left Velaris.

The scales began leaning towards balance as Azriel and Nyra breathed against each other.

Desire renewed itself and buried affections began sprouting.

Azriel saw her eyelashes and her cheeks glowing golden under the lights. She was breathing heavily after her outburst as she watched her hands play with a strap on his leathers. And he was desperate to meet her gaze.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and let the thumb graze her collarbone. The hand ascended to her neck and stayed there while his thumb traced her chin and pushed it upward so that she would look at him. Midnight blue greeted him gently.

“Inconsiderate ass.” She mumbled. The warmth was returning to her and Azriel was relieved.

The shadows carefully floated over to her and one brave tendril tugged at her finger. She looked at it and turned her hand to show her palm as a sign of her consent. More shadows appeared. The remaining ones slowly brought to her many crumpled papers, all of it raining in the room.

All the drafts master wrote for you.

And for the first time, Nyra looked at the shadows in shock. Because she could hear them.

“These are his drafts?” She slowly looked around her.

Yes, drafts from the very first letter he wrote to you. He thought we threw it away but we saved. . . You can hear us?

“Yes.” She replied. And she heard them cheering like a little band of children.

And in the middle of it all stood Azriel, surprised that she could hear them.

Could you try to speak to us from your mind? That’s how our tactless master communicates with us? They sounded all too eager to talk to Nyra.

Like this? And when Nyra succeeded, they cheered again. She smiled at the dark wisps as they gently pushed her towards the dining table.

We’ve got cheesecake for you, mistress. And from a pocket of shadows, the cheesecake Azriel had purchased earlier appeared.

Thank you. She was happy.

I was the one who bought it. Azriel deadpanned.

Azriel? Nyra’s voice in his mind had him flustered.

We apologise on behalf of our master. He can be an idiot at times. The shadows easily intervened.

Azriel immediately raised his mental shields before contemplating. The mating bond now seemed stronger. Did that have anything to do with Nyra being able to hear the shadows?

Yes. He’s an idiot. Nyra replied dryly. What have you lot been up to? Surely not brooding by his side. She was utterly happy while addressing the shadows.

We missed you. Azriel was convinced the bastards were trying to flirt with her. And our master was the only one brooding because he was too afraid to send you letters.

Your master is an established idiot.

That he is. The woe to belong to someone as grumpy as he. The shadows had now begun bitching about him, right under his nose. He’s insufferable when he writes letters to you, mistress. His attention to detail is agonising.

“Why are you troubling them?” She watched him with an easy smile but his gaze had changed. It was heated and all the lightheartedness thawed, making room for something heavier.

“May I?” His voice was deeper than it usually was and Azriel was obviously looking at her lips. Nyra wanted this. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted this two years ago and even now. How had things not changed?

“Yes.” Her consent was probably the most commemorative thing that had ever happened in his life. Azriel brought his other hand down from her neck which pulled her closer by the hip.

Their lips were close. Still so close and still not touching. So when Nyra leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss, leaned back, and looked up at him intently, Azriel moved and devoured her.

Nyra loved his mouth on hers, his hand on the back of her neck. Absolutely enjoyed him taking control and demanding every bit of her.

Her head leaned back and even further and Azriel grabbed it before it hit the wall. When he moved a little away from her, leaving her gasping after their kiss, Azriel looked like he had every intention to make her moan.

“What. . .” She rasped, hauling air inside her like he was.

“Hold on to me.” Because he was not going to accept her grabbing anything other than him—not the table, not the sheets, it had to be him.

Her hands wrapped themselves around his neck, fingers combing his hair, nails grazing his scalp inducing a soothing sensation. “Good girl.”

His mouth moved to her jaw and descended to her neck, sucking harshly. She had such supple skin, he never wanted to take his mouth off her.

“Beautiful.” He looked up at her. She was flushed and breathless. Her hair messier than before, the straps of her gown removed from her shoulder, two purple marks on her neck and collarbone. And the sight of her hurt so deliciously.

“Tell me I can touch you more.” Azriel was begging now. “Tell me I can undress you.”

Nyra might’ve fainted right then. Or maybe she wanted him to make her faint. The shadows were too much. Felt too good with their fluttery touches.

She’d had sex before but . . what was this? This was new.

Was it because he was her friend?

Because she already found him attractive?

Because she’d already been half way in love with him?

“Yes.” Her hand cupping his jaw moved and she touched his lips with her thumb. Nyra leaned in and kissed him, relishing in the slow start and their passionate progress.

Her skirts were now a bother, forming layers between them. And her slippers, why were they not off? One of them was stubbornly dangling off her feet. And then she felt the cool touch of the shadows remove her slippers and slide up her legs.

“Do the shadows. . .” She broke the kiss and looked up at him. “Do they always participate?”

“They are?” He looked dumbfounded.

“They’re teasing my legs.”

Azriel spared the dark tendrils a glance, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a first.” He mumbled to himself.

Nyra did not understand why this new piece of information made her feel special. And she moaned, head leaning back and closing her eyes. They’d pinched her inner thigh. And Azriel eagerly bit her neck.

Her breathing was already heavy and stuttered. And Nyra wanted to fall, so down. But Azriel squeezed her waist. She opened her eyes to see this beautiful male starving for her, waiting to feast.

“Bed?” Nyra nodded quickly. He scooped her up, hoping he’d last long enough to give her pleasure.

It had been quite some time since he last had sex. Nearly fifty two years. Forty nine something years busy worrying about Rhys and plotting to get him back and around two years since the mating bond.

Restrain me if I’m too rough. Obey her without question or complaint. Because if he was going to do this, he had to ensure a safeguard for her.

Yes, master. The shadows solemnly vowed.

This was everything he wanted. Nyra in his arms and his mouth on her. And he would burst because this female was indescribably endearing. Her hand came to his shoulders and then on his chest.

“Off.” She whispered against his lips. “Take it off.”

Azriel tapped a siphon and the leathers on his upper body dematerialised. He removed his siphon-attached gloves and let the shadows set them down. He felt his boots unbuckle as the shadows helped him out of it.

Nyra felt the cotton of her sheets on her palms as she was set down by the side of the bed. Azriel leaned back and stood straight. Impatient at his own shadows for taking long, he yanked the boots from his legs and threw them away.

Meanwhile, Nyra gathered her hair and brought it forward from one side. The shadows immediately swarmed over to unzip the dress and pulled it down, helping her out of it.

Azriel felt tortured at heaven’s doorstep. Nyra in black made him want to kneel.

His hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with speed and ease. Unbuttoning his pants and letting the shadows pull them down immediately while he moved closer. His undershorts remained.

“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on her cheek.

Nyra was looking at him, his body. She placed a hand on his chest, on the scar left behind by Jurian’s spear. A reminder of the day her sisters were Made into fae. She stood up and kissed the scar.

She looked up at him coyly. “Do I need to write a letter that you might not answer?”

Azriel raised his hand to the back of her throat and ascended to tangle his fingers on her hair. Azriel pulled her soft, thick hair and her gasps were beautiful.

“I’ll write you as many letters as you want. For now, I’d show you all that cannot be written.”

Nyra smiled, amused at that. “There are smutty books. Many things are written in those.”

Azriel smiled faintly. “Not for us.” He kissed her ear. “We’re real.” He whispered.

Nyra’s knees weakened. And she sat on the bed as if she’d been dropped. And he was on his knees, parting her legs.

She leaned back, supporting her body with her elbows and watched his kiss and lick and suck her thighs.

She felt herself become more sensitive as each second passed. Her back felt the cold of the sheets. Goosebumps were all over her hands and upper body. Her legs were warm and wherever Azriel placed his mouth, Nyra felt heat.

And she could feel her damp underwear sticking to her. “Stop teasing.”

“Patience is a virtue.” He was so close. He kissed her inner thigh. Azriel had half a mind to rest his head against that incredibly soft thigh. Maybe he’d finally get some good sleep.

“I’m not feeling particularly virtuous right now.” To know that she desired him brought him peace and then his own desire rattled that peace.

“As if I’m any better.” Azriel chuckled faintly. And he bit her inner thigh once, pulled the fabric of her underwear aside and licked.

Nyra wanted to breathe. She really did. But Azriel was gently licking her as if he were savouring her taste. It was the first time but she would probably cry or scream if he kept on teasing her anymore.

Heat filled her as she met his gaze. Breathing had become a legitimate task because she couldn’t seem to do it unconsciously.

His hands which remained on her inner thighs moved. He now held her thighs from below and lifted it. With no difficulty, he’d placed her legs on his shoulders.

The shadows snipped her panties and disposed of it, leaving behind their cool touch. And Azriel whispered. “Lie down, Nyra. And take all of me.”

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @byunniebaekhyunnie @fhgsvbnh @halo-mystic

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ofmermaidstories · 1 year ago

Text

So on Good Friday I had drafted up a little post just—I dunno. It started off with me talking about my lunch (broiche toast with peanut butter, some slices of overpriced smoked cheddar and a pottle of cherry tomatoes that i’d halved and dressed with wholegrain mustard, salt and pepper and sesame oil), because i enjoyed it, and then because i had been thinking about it, i had mentioned how Australian grocery prices have climbed well above the global average.

I mentioned some of my favourite people to follow, on tiktok! Food accounts—the woman who does the Dollar Store budget videos, where she plans out meals around limited money, or accessibility. The young mum who’s videos are just her making lunch/dinner for her four little kids. The Palestinian man who used to review resturants and dishes before the war on Gaza—and who, before Tiktok took down the videos, had started posting himself making dishes from aid rations. In the end I just saved the post to my drafts because—there was no real point to the post, not really, beyond how unfair it is that food is swiftly becoming a luxury and how it shouldn’t be, for any of us, anywhere. Not us here in Australia with our 54% on average price increases, nor for American families that have to shop at Dollar Tree with their last $30 for the next two weeks.

And definitely not for the citizens of Gaza.

Israel is manufacturing a famine within Gaza’s borders. And just today, they murdered via airstrike a carload of World Central Kitchen aid workers. Seven in total, six foreign nationals and one Palestinian local. No aid organisation can operate within Gaza’s boarders without reporting their travel plans to the Israeli Invading Force. Their car was branded with the organisations logo. Israel has some of the best surveillance technology in the world—it is often the testing ground for the hot new stuff that then gets sold to the rest of our governments. Israeli knew who was in that car. And they targeted them anyway. And now because of their actions, the WCK is now “pausing (their) operations”. And who can blame them? Knowing that if you stay, you’re just putting more lives at risk—but it means how many less meals, now, less food for the Palestinians still there? All of our countries are cowards. The Australian government won’t even name Israel in its condemnation today, of the attack. The Australian government has let our only two real supermarket chains—Coles and Woolworths—create a duopoly where they can charge the public however much they want. We can’t help ourselves and we refuse to help other people—so what good are we, as a country? The boomers and the ignorant on facebook are too busy frothing at the mouth over the imaginary millionaire immigrants who come to Australia in boats and buy houses by the dozens, per family. So many of our problems—here in Australia, globally—would be solved if the majority of us realised the real enemy isn’t a people bomb-locked on their own land, or the refugees that make it here, or even each other but instead our own fucking governments, and the bastard corporations that are gripping them by the balls. I’m grateful for every meal I get to sit down to. But I would enjoy it a lot more if it were easier for all of us to eat—or if it were a CEO or politician or two on the plate itself.

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angelsdevils · 7 months ago

Text

October 1, 2024 - Kakucho Hitto (TR)

A/N: Re-Written to fit the theme of halloweenlmao. Tokyo Revengers Warning: Obsessive behavior, supernatural elements, murder mentions, psychological horror

Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @thisbicc @bontensbabygirl @useless-potatho

At first you thought you were going crazy — there was a shadow in your peripheral vision, the cold draft on a still night. No one would be that interested with you, right? Wrong. He wasn’t just stalking you — he was haunting you, a figure that followed your every step, protecting you in ways you never asked for.

But on October 1, 2024, it all became clear. You had returned to your home after a very long shift. Your boss made you work a double only one break. You were soaked to the bone from the sudden down pour. As you stepped into your house, a wave of warm air and the scent of your favorite meal hit you. It was comforting at first, but then red alarms went off in your head. You lived alone. No family. No friends. No one to cook you a meal. Lightening flashed outside of the windows, casting a twisted shadows on the floor. On the stove sat a pot of chili, still warm, and beside it was a note.

“I know you had a hard day. I made you chili, don’t worry it’s safe to eat. Rest well, love. <3 – Yours Always.

A chill ran down your spine, and you checked every room in the house, but there was no sign of an intruder — no sign of forced entry either. Just the presence of something dark. You felt a pair of eyes on you the entire time, but no one was there.

What made you realize you probably needed psychological help though wasn’t because of fear. For some reason, you felt safe and comforted. You went to reach for your phone to call the police, but a message buzzed across your screen:

Unknown: Don’t call the cops. I won’t hurt you. I’m here because I care for you. I love you.

You: Who are you? What do you want from me?

Your hands trembled holding your phone, falling into a chair in the kitchen.

Unknown: Just a man in love with you, Someone who wants to protect you. I can’t reveal myself, once I do, you’ll never be free from me.

You: Reveal yourself.

No reply came that night, but the next day you woke up, something had shifted. You walked out of your bedroom after getting ready for work. You went to the kitchen to grab your keys but you froze. You found a bouquet of flowers on the counter, and inside the flowers was another note, and a black card. You know the card that has no limit? Yeah that was there and in it was engraved your name in gold lettering. You picked up the note and read it.

“Don’t worry about work. Your boss won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll take care of you from now on, my love.”

Fear swirled in the pit of your stomach, and you had a strong urge to turn on the news. So you rushed to your living room, and turned it on. The news headline scream: Local Man Found Dead in an Office Fire — Foul Play Suspected. Your phone buzzed again, and you shakily opened the message.

Unknown: Don’t be sad. I don’t mean to scare you, But he confessed that he was going to hurt you. Now, he can’t. I won’t let anyone harm you.

You took in a deep breath, you didn’t know how to respond. You just stared at the message, tears falling from your eyes. You looked back at the new, quickly turning it off unable to stomach such a thing knowing he died because of you. Your fingers finally moved across the screen.

You: Why? Why would you do this to my job? To my boss? You say he was gonna hurt me but… why?

Unknown: I can’t tell you exactly what he planned to do with you, just know I have access to the black market, and I saw something I didn’t like. No one will hurt the girl that I love. No one.

You dropped your phone, burying your face into your hands sobbing quietly. You were terrified even though deep down you felt safe around him, he still did something terrible what if one day he turns on you and severely hurt you?

You: How can you love someone you have never met before?

Unknown: We do know each other, we have known each other for a long time, since we were kids.

You: When…. can I meet you? I think I deserve who is doing all of these things.

Unknown: That’s not a good idea, you will never see me the same as you do. But if you really want too, I can reveal myself. But as I said before, you will be mine completely.

You: Can I atleast know your name?

Unknown: The rules are still the same… are you sure?

You hesitated, if he told you his name or revealed himself, that meant you would be his and only his. That terrified you, but you had to know.

You: Yes.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, it was comforting kind of. A cold breath hit the back of your neck. Slowly, you turned around, your heart was pounding in your chest. Standing directly behind your couch was Kakucho. You were raised in the same orphanage as him. Shadows stretched out on the floor, his dual color eyes stared at you one red and one white. He had a grin on his face it was sharp.

The house lights flickered off, all at once and a candle lit on its own. Your head snapped to the candle before going back to Kakucho.

His shadows wrapped around your ankles and you gasped as they brought you to him. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly. He buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath.

“You smell so good, you always did. Like caramel apples. Like… home.” He whispered against your skin.

“Kakucho?” You whispered. But he wasn’t the same person you knew, he wasn’t even human. He had horns on his head, and the shadows wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

He stepped further into the room, with you in his arms. The candle light flickered crossed his tanned skin, his clothes was streaked with blood. You could see the outline of something monstrous beneath his human form.

“You have always belonged to me, I was just simply making it seemed like you had a choice.” His voice was softer then the winds outside. “I have been watching you since we separated and I joined Bonten. It was the only way to protect you from a fate worse than you could imagine. From things that were worse then me.”

“You aren’t human anymore…”

“I was never human,” he said. Your breath hitched and his blood hands brushed against your cheek. His touch was freezing cold. You couldn’t help but flinch. “I killed him for you,” he said, referring to your boss. He leaned down, and pressed his lips against yours. “He was going to do terrible things to you… I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What are you, Kakucho?”

He gave you a small smile, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I am not alive or dead. Just a monster, that was sent to seek havoc on this world, but after meeting you when we were kids, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything to harm you. The closer we got, we became bound together. No matter where you go, where you hide, I will find you. We are stuck together, like the red string of fate. Except this is something much darker.

He pressed his lips against yours once more, and suddenly you felt exhausted. His cold lips lingered as you faded into a darkness and fell into his arms.

“I love you dear, you will be okay. I promise.”

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners.

#Kakucho Hitto #Kakucho x reader #Kakucho #Supernatural #Demon Kakucho #Kinktober 2024 #AngelsDevils

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crazymcwritesalot · 6 months ago

Note

Trick or treat!

Nice costume my child 🤶. Let's see what I could give you, something special...

Ha, here! What follows is the first idea I had for Elysandra's secret Santa last year. I toyed with the idea of an AU taking place in a dystopian Gothic town. Kate is a burglar, Helen a merciless assassin and Nikola a vampire. Here it goes, I hope you enjoy this weird draft (unedited) :

The night was perfect. Dark and foggy with a side of drizzle, which insured that no one would spot the shadow gliding effortlessly up the razzle-dazzle facade from the street below. The owner of the manor had gone all out with gargoyles and marble flourishes, which made it both outrageously tacky and a ridiculously easy target for a burglar of Kate Freelander’s caliber.

The windows of the three first floors of the building were burglar-proofed. However, the owner of the manor must have run out of money before the completion of the building, or -and Kate thought- lost the last thread of common sense. For, the last floor stood like an open invitation: big windows, no bars, easy climbing access thanks to the hideous adornments disfiguring what would have been a top notch facade, and at least one side of the building was slightly kept in the shadows from the city gas lamps.

Kate’s mission was to be easy and fast, and, as she was dragging herself up the window sill -one more sign the owner was an absolute idiot, window sill, in a city where nearly a quarter of inhabitants earned their living committing crime- she was dreaming about the pint of ale waiting for her at her usual late night drinking spot.

She did, however, think it odd to find the window open. Not open open, but pushed closed yet unlocked. That didn’t deflate her confidence in the slightest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”.

Kate tightened her grip on the bottle, ready to use it as a weapon should the intruder bear ill intent, and turned around, her hands held out in surrender.

In her line of work, crossing paths with the competition wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and things could go sour very quickly,

She surely did not expect to come face to face with an assassin.

“He’s had so many visitors of your kind that he resorted to leaving the window open to cut off on glass replacement costs.”

“Eddison sent you.”

“How d’you know?”

“You’re his type. Let me guess. He contracted you to steal Nikola’s blueprints, paid you twenty five percent of the total price in advance, securing the deal. I’ll save you time: you won’t find any schematic. They only exist in Tesla’s mind. Which is why your boss has not yet dared place a kill contract on his head.”

“Why would he pay me to steal documents that he knows don’t exist?”

#Sanctuary #drafts #teslen #helen magnus #nikola tesla #fanfic

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f-117-nighthawk · 2 years ago

Text

How about we trade? You receive: playlist update. I receive: plot

What is UP buttercups it’s pride month and along with a fic that’s been in my drafts for LITERAL YEARS I bring you….

Playlist update.

Under the cut, because as usual this be Long

Two side notes: since, for complicated and somewhat stupid but out of my control reasons, I cannot access Apple Music at work, some of you have been treated on Spotify to the in progress versions of the playlists that usually only I see, not just the versioned ones I keep active. Surprise?

Second, keep in mind if you see a repeated (or remixed) song, that means something. Sometimes it’s different than a simple “these take place at the same time” ;) you should also pay attention to similar lyrics, things about the same concept… there is a lot of thought put into these.

An organizational note: there’s seven playlists now! They’re sort of ordered here to what they’re most closely linked to: the main one and Dystopian Fiction, Through Apocalypse Skies and Endless War, Filaments and For Who I Could Have Been, and Design Your Universe is… mostly by itself, except the times it’s not.

Dark Matter

I am Dark Matter, your road to ruin…

Your World Will Fail and Dark Matter are what they’ve always been: the beginning. the end. Everything. Nothing.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

Things got shifted around a bit here to accommodate some things that fit better in another playlist, but No Remorse No Regrets is still the key one here. It is Haggar, and sort of Zarkon, but also not.

(It won’t remember so it won’t forget/It knows no justice or regrets for the blood it lets/Believing nothing, it knows no pain/And it feels no remorse when it enters your brain)

The End of the World and Apocalypse 1992 are the two halves of the Fall. More in that playlist :)

(Sold on a dream of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of the Fall from the Blue Lion’s perspective (yeah, I said Red Lion last time, but this makes more sense. Trust me)

(Now we sleep/for a thousand years/something is coming/coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between the Fall and present day. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuranial War has been long lost, and the Devourer reigns once again, searching after Its missing part and the Burning Star. Zarkon and Haggar, under the Devourer’s… guidance…, scour the universe, adding to Its power. Marzin and Galraasa rise the ranks as the left and right hands of the Empire, omens of destruction before the might of the Empire. The ‘holy half dead’ that shape the devouring of the universe.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

Ensheath is about Kolivan, placed here due to its relevance as he is forced into the role of Fourth General under the worst circumstances, and everything that almost causes him to follow Raelos in losing faith, were it not for the first of his ‘radiant knight’s. (Side note, if you play Arknights, guess who Margaret Nearl is here?)

(I once had the fight of a radiant knight/before I learned that justice may never exist)

Immutable is about Krolia. It’s her thoughts as she joins the Blade, as she leaves Earth and Keith behind, as she makes her way through a universe changed in the ten thousand decaphoebs she was asleep. It’s about the universe passing one by, and what she’ll do to keep her hope safe.

(She’ll risk it for the lives/She’s left behind/Hope’s on the rise/But she’s flying blind)

The Glory and the Scum is the reason Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Suffice to say, she isn’t happy with some of the fallout of the events that lead into Ensheath, and decides that if Kolivan isn’t going to listen to her, she’ll go save the universe somewhere else. She is, after all, a Paladin.

(Look at what we’ve done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We’re the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, and is the first of four fics connected to Closure by its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark), as well as its relation to MGHM. It’s half the source for the Pleiades symbolism that crops up throughout Dark Matter.

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here is the sad part, where they’ve separated by the launch of the SFSS Genesis and the things that were said. It’s also Shiro’s thoughts from the war as he watches Earth from ‘distant skies’.

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. Mostly the Red Lion, but also extendable to the others.

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here. It’s a declaration of protection for the Earth, but also a recognition that they may not be able to do it themselves. That is, of course, if they even get the message.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

It Has Begun is the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula (aka: Blackout)

(Even a well lit place, can hide salvation/A map to a one-man maze that never sees the sun/Where the lost are the heroes/And the thieves are left to drown…We will face the odds against us/And run into the fear we run from/It has begun)

And then it’s, of course, The End of the Beginning, it’s eponymous fic. And one of many, many connections to String Theory.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is, well, not so simple. Several ‘simple plan’s come together, from Lotor’s scheming, Haggar’s suspicions and own needs, Galraasa’s orders to go beyond, and Team Voltron struggling to fit into their new roles while also building the Coalition. And to top it all off, everyone needs one thing to make all this happen: marthuzitok.

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Crown of Mine is at the very end of A Simple Plan, but also woven together. It’s about a Black Paladin who doesn’t think he deserves the title, and his eventual desire to ‘burn this crown’ he never wanted. This also makes ASP the second of the Closure fics.

(I wish I could be the me that you see/But I’m too drawn to black and white/Don’t be confused, spare me the excuses/It’s not even worth the fight)

Outnumbered, Bringing it Down, and Wildfire are the Siege of Naxzela/Breaking of the Naxzela Line, the one major victory the Coalition manages to get before the Raid on Hell due to the success of Project Kuron. Oh, and remember that episode where Shiro tries to talk to Lance in the meld? Yeah that. Wildfire is specifically related to that one scene in String Theory where the real Shiro tries to help Voltron.

Why is it that songs from two different gachas ended up here with the same motif about breaking the clouds? I dunno, but it’s useful

(Outnumbered but we can’t back down/It’s us against the world, us against the world/Outnumbered but we can’t back down/Ten to one, on the run/We will still overcome)

(Devouring me/Devouring me alive/There’s something inside you that isn’t right/Something that haunts your dreams/There’s something that you have lost/And you’re bringing it down/You’re bringing it down, on top of us)

(Unsheath a sword to rend those clouds above the ground/wake up it’s time to gather now)

Shortly after is Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met, which Every Time Our Earth Shakes is the end of. Krolia content!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

(Surrounded by lonely, bruised, and broken love/I’ve seen it and I won’t be like everybody else/Wave after wave, no change in my faith/I’m here for you through high or low/And every time our Earth shakes, I’ll fight through the pain/I’ll die before I ever let you go)

Remember that line about dinosaurs in MGHM? Laser-shooting Dinosaur. I’ll leave it there.

(Here I come/drop your jaws to the floor/I’m riding on my mighty shooting dinosaur)

Then, the aftermath of MGHM and Laser Shooting Dinosaur is Brothers of Crail, where Allura finally makes contact with Oriand.

(A secret ancient brotherhood, with laser sword in hand/guardians of ancient technology from centuries gone by)

Legion features the Whispers, Voltron, a few mullets, the Druids making a dangerous mistake, and… does this thing count as a robeast?

(Fallen angels ripping through/The circuitry inside this suit/Of flesh and bone that’s overthrown/No matter how hard you try/They keep waring deep inside/Where there’s a star collapsing in your heart/There’s something in your eyes/That’s coming back to life)

And then, which you can finally read, TRIALS (reimagine), Wrathful Cerulean Flame, Fools of Damnation, String Theory, I Am the One, and Final Mission ~ Quantum Burst. Yes the last one is mostly here for the whole big fun mess in The Architect to Rule Your Fate :3

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I’m the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they’ll hear the violence/We’ll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(So follow me/And we’ll burn the clouds away/And we’ll burn the clouds away/Keep our demons all at bay/There will be an end someday/And I must lead the way)

(Fool, dance for me again/I am your destiny, mark my words/Don’t you ever disagree/Fool, kneel for me again/I am your agony, walk my way/I will never set you free)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the follow up to String Theory, dealing with the political fallout of having a spy in Voltron itself for decaphoebs, as well as the more personal struggles the Paladins go through in that fact’s wake.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade, which I'M POSTING RIGHT NOW! Is the klance shenanigans in the aftermath of House on Fire and finally resolving that little plot point about Lance’s reoccurring crush.

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. And Pidge. And Matt. And Zaivorg cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure inspired fic, and I cannot believe I have managed to give away so little of the plot so far so we’re gonna keep it that way. But it is, as all Closure fics, about Keith and his struggles with identity.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

Storm the Castle is very related to the next few, but wouldn’t have happened without Iron. It’s our Last Marmorait making a point. One that Zarkon isn’t happy with.

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown/But we will not abandon her/…Rise now, stand and fight/Take your freedom, claim your right/Rise now, stand and sing/Storm the castle, kill the king)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. The first two are about Lotor more than anything else, and the very high level target the Coalition is after. Firewall is the same event, but focused on a very… specific thing. The Devourer is not happy, and things learned in the framing story of Through Apocalypse Skies and String Theory swing back with a vengeance.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

And then… The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t fully come into effect until several months after Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. The Burning Star rampages through the universe, taking back what is rightfully Its, but the Devourer Star won’t take that lying down.

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here as a microcosm of everything that happens between Firewall and Soulbound as the Colation go after the warlords, culminating in Holding Out for a Hero as the Paladins, exhausted of war and going a little crazy from their string of victories, decide to have a little fun

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night/He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast/And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight)

Earthrise and But Tonight We Dance are the last Closure fic. They’re both very much klance songs, although BTWD is a little more than that. Earthrise is Lance mooning (hah), while BTWD is here to remind everyone that Keith is Very Aro. Also, Keith loses a fight with a rock.

Have I mentioned they need to stop having relationship milestones in a war zone?

(I still fall for you like suns do for skies/Cerulean pouring in from your eyes/Just a hollow moon that you colorize/So powerful, I feel so small but so alive/Like watching the Earthrise)

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we’ll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

Closure is placed here with the last of its fics. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development, coming to terms with his identity in many ways and accepting his place in the universe and amongst his family. So this last one is then bright light at the end of the chorus, with a ‘last goodbye’ meaning never having to say goodbye.

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Alchemy and Soulbound swing us back to universe level action. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall slam themselves into a Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity in Disappear.

(Synthesized and transformed/pathetic life form)

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

(Stone heart, paired with empty eyes/That stared right through mine)

Something Wicked is. Well. Too bad this song isn’t on the album Vessels.

(When all of the forces/Have been overrun/You’ll whisper, serpent tongue/What you fear you have become/Something wicked this way comes…)

Shortly after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster than Light. Haggar decides enough is enough and goes after the final piece of her puzzle with [something wicked], sending the Blade into chaos and the Coalition scrambling. And this leads directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds than These. Together they are the second of two revelations into the truth behind the Devoured Star and Burned Star.

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you’re just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting pieces of the gods.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Coldharbour, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. They also link directly to Soulbound, and are one hellish battle, which is a problem because they lead directly to…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(If you kill my flesh tomorrow/then I’ll take my final breath/it’ll turn into a last laugh/and I’ll lay in a silent death)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World on Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, Game Ender, The Wind that Shapes the Land, and Louder than Words. :3

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(We will rise as one/Stop what has begun/Bringing down the main offender/If you hear me now/Scream the words out loud/We will be our own defender)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

Of course, we can’t leave without the denouement. World with no Sun is Haggar’s final thoughts at the end of Louder Than Words, while Diving Bell is the Paladins’.

And a sequel hook. ;D

(I wish I could give it all back/But it’s tied to the moment that I took/I followed a most selfish path/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that wants no one/Waiting on a world with no sun)

(Wake me when the new day comes/Together we will ride the sun/The future is an empty gun/We fire onto them one-by-one)

Dystopian Fiction

The pages of our lives aren’t bulletproof…

Dark Matter is here as it always is, but it’s also about… something super spoilery.

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

Waiting on the Sky to Change is Akane’s song. It’s about ‘The Necromancer’ and her drive to fix Earth, how she’s tired of sitting around waiting. It’s time to do something.

(I’m done running towards the eyes of tornadoes/pretending this is hope)

The Human Condition is the advent of the Éshkayklos and Cascade, who oppose Project Necromancer and everything it and its champion stand for. Infected then is the slow, uhm, infection of the Sol Federation with their ideas and some of the results of that.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

(Here’s a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don’t know/So she’s got to go now)

A Place I Thought I Knew is Earth, but especially Adam, in that tumultuous time after the Genesis disappears.

(And here I remain/still crying out his name/I stand alone at the dawn of a new horizon)

Who Will Save You Now is Sam’s abrupt arrival back on Earth, and several things that follow from that.

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Tunnelvision is Team Earth going “no, fuck you Sanda and Torrent, we need to tell people about the impending alien invasion”. It helps, but…

(You took me for a fly/And fancied yourself a spider in a web of little lies/What a nice surprise/When the curtain’s pulled back, you can see the whole trap inside/And now the emperor has got no clothes/What a lovely show/When your cover’s blown, you’ll never know/'Cause you can’t see past your nose)

Codebreaker and Cross the Line are the Éshk’s final offensive before things really hit the fan in:

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Leaving Earth and Help is on the Way are the common populace dealing with the effects of the previous song. More specifically, they’re Adam’s parents, and all the horrors they never wanted to see. Dystopian Fiction, in contrast and as the title track, is the Garrison, specifically everyone left at Levitt Base, struggling against the same effects.

(We were told just to sit tight/cause somebody will soon arrive/help is on the way/but it never came)

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two songs of that big finale that make it over here, as they’re the ones that have bits that happen before This is a Call comes into full effect.

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Through Apocalypse Skies

Chaos will triumph this day!

TAS starts off setting the stage for everything. Not all of the five main members of the Daibaaltea-Taibderion Alliance have songs yet, but they will eventually. Holy Flaming Hammer of Unholy Cosmic Frost more sets the stage for everything broadly, about how the five of them fit together, and the trouble brewing under the surface. Hail to Crail is Altea, more specifically the Knights of Zhael. Questlords of Inverness, Ride to Galactic Fortress is the Dalteri, with focus on the flagship Invernes itself. Fellows of the Hammer is the Aberdéts, because, well, dwarves. And guess what’s back for the Galra: Remnants of Stars

The Taibdee will get one. Eventually.

(Behold the knights of Crail/atop the city walls/they swore a mighty oath to say/Dundee will never fall!)

(Here every day the warriors train/in the art of epic fights/riding on eagles, questing so true/a legion of powerful knights emblazoned cross the sky/hear the kingdom cry/hail to Crail!)

(Ride on the wind and hail to the king/when the questlords of Inverness ride)

(The new blood of the realm now/flows from the seven stars/and spoken by all of us/to be strong when the time comes/is the oath made by everyone)

(As children of space/with stardust in our veins/we will give in to know the truth/we are the remnants of stars)

Rigor Mortis is the Voltron Comet slamming into Daibazaal. The beginning of the end. Dark Matter rises from its open, frozen maw.

(Hydrate in violence/the darkness that you see/awaken the virus/to spread your disease)

(Bring me your soul, bring me your hate/in my name you will create/bring me your fear, bring me your pain/you will destroy in my name)

The Promise is exactly what it sounds like: the first of the Harbingers making a deal with the devil. Alchemy and No Remorse, No Regrets are her experiments in this context, echoed throughout the other playlists.

(It won’t cost you much, just a single drop of blood and I’ll hand you the things you have long been wishing for/ it’s an easy way to choose, what do you have to lose?)

(Drink me/you know I can guide you through oblivion/trust me/I know what’s inside you makes you bleed)

(Strange persuasion/clearing the way to the clearest path/dreams illuminating/parting the seas to take it back)

Summon the Choir is a success, from a certain point of view.

(First blood from cosmic wonders/a dark flood of power from under)

Can You Hear It? is… well. Remember the Sinkline Comet?

(Can you hear it?/the tolls of madness ringing/do you fear it?/an ancient choir is singing/all consuming/calling to me/in a dream, it’s a thorn I can’t dig out/can’t you hear it too?/if you listen close now)

Unfortunately, all that leads right into The End of the World, the end of Daibazaal. All is quiet for a moment, like the happy little whistle at the beginning of the next song.

(Sold on a dream, of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world?)

Then we record scratch into The Fall. She Will Weep is a dialogue between two siblings, unwilling to compromise on their ideals, even if they ultimately want the same thing: peace and stability for their recently displaced people. But the one who’s side god is on, who is crucified but still alive, escapes to Altea, bringing the horrors with her to the Battle of the Five Armies. (Yes, this is a LotR song, but also, guess what serves a very similar purpose to the arkenstone. I’ve been looking for a song explicitly about the arkenstone to stick in here, but haven’t found one. I’m surprised Wind Rose doesn’t have one tbh). Crack the Sky is… it’s not quite a literal crack in the sky, but it might as well be. All of this is Apocalypse 1992

(What used to be two loving hearts/what we felt at the start/somewhere down the barrel of a gun/it was all torn apart)

(Confounded, distracted/trapped by a stone of power/Ensorcelled, corrupted/await the final hour)

(I know that you hate me but I think that I can live with that/last man standing, last resort/I’d rather walk alone than save myself)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/fight for the world we must save/like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/chaos will triumph this day)

But again, we can’t leave it without the denouement. Silent Tears of Frozen Princess, Ashes, and Apex are all the perspectives of survivors of the Fall, waiting, watching. Voltron will rise again.

(Frozen princess in this land of fears/your mighty kingdom has fallen/I see the glitter of your silent tears/afar in the wuthering dark)

(What will we do when the world it is ending/and time it is halted for friend and for foe/try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Brother mountain, now we sleep/for a thousand years/I will see you again/something is coming/coming for me)

Endless War

‘Cause you’re fighting an endless war, hunting a miracle…

The beginning of Endless War is from one of the perspectives of She Will Weep, the other sibling than we follow during most of TAS. Dark Matter here intwines with I Am the One far, far earlier than the Paladins of the present time figure it out. That’s what happens when one stands directly next to two Harbingers throughout most of Apocalypse 1992.

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

Ashes is a needed perspective of one sibling on another, the beginning of the Fifth General questioning her orders. Meanwhile, remember how I said Alchemy was an experiment of the Witch’s?

(What will we do when the world it is ending/And time it is halted for friend and for foe?/Try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Take the poisoned cup/you cannot hide behind golden shrines/you can be the one in crisis, give into your greed)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is the birth of the Fifth General of the Blade of Marmora, although no one calls her that yet. Raise Your Banner is her newfound resolve and her first steps to creating what will become the Blade.

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Silver Moonlight is her ultimate goal, but not everyone agrees with it. Not everyone thinks it’s even possible, or that it still exists, or that this will be anything but an Endless War.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

Of course, the fact is that the Endless War does end. Alchemy’s effects are still strong, even as they fight Against the Tide. The Fifth General is betrayed on Holy Ground, with her final stand in I’d Rather Burn.

(I finally get what you’ve been saying/now that we’re knee deep side by side/the storm clouds are circling above us/as we struggle against the tide)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

But even that isn’t enough. Empty Eyes and The Departure are [beeeeeeeeeeep]

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see through/Right through my empty eyes)

Filaments

Filaments is intimately connected to both the main playlist and the following one, and I’m doing my best to explain some things, but some you’ll have to wait and see.

How long is the body beholden? How long ‘til we run out of road?

First Light is the dawn of something… a little different. Filaments is the title track, and I’m not going to say more than it’s connected to the same exact things First Light is.

(We can change our fate. We can change the future. We can change… the past)

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight and Carry Me Home are primarily adashi songs, but also follow the transition between the two playlists’ proper stories, as well as Shiro’s retirement from Voltron.

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

Prognosis is about record skips that only certain people can remember, and the decision that it’s time to back into The Breach.

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

(Follow me/Follow me now once more into the breach/Can you see?/Can you see how this is the way to destiny?)

This next part is supposed to act similarly to the beginning of TAS. there is an overarching story, but there’s more specific songs for specific… well, Other Worlds Than These. Right now the only song here is Masters of Destiny though, which is also sort of an overarching thing and also sort of a single world. We’ll get there. Of course, as these things sort themselves out, Something Wicked this way comes.

(In the end we cannot hide/there are other worlds than these)

(I used to be sure it’s me who sleeps/but can it be/somewhere there’s a life/that dreams of me?)

(And it clawed/Back in the world again/Here for a new revenge/An enemy I can’t condemn)

The Art of War is the beginning of the end, with Cascade finally showing his true colors, the Sol Federation not having a good time, and Voltron getting dragged into it. But the consequences…

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I’ve broken)

The Future is Now and Tresspasser sort of take place during The Art of War, sort of not. Team Voltron is trying to figure out where their Black Paladin is, why exactly all their sensors are so incredibly broken, and what’s up with Krolia. Meanwhile, Keith is in the middle of an argument with himself.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Where’s my heart?/I want to feel whole again or nothing at all/Where’s my soul?/Because I’m not myself)

Centigrade is Keith exposing a fraud, and Team Voltron [BEEEP], and Miserable Me is very related

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It’s time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future’s a lie from a past you cannot hide)

(history misunderstood this deity/miserable me!/oh why is the deep dark shored sea the only friend to me?)

This all leads into Unveiling the Architecture, Altas Obscura, Dark Matter, and A Theater of Dimensions. No I will not be explaining.

(All human history a sigh from their endless lungs)

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

Afterlife and For They Shall Inherit the Earth are a fitting denouement to everything. The Immortal has frequently been used in place of Voltron within the playlists, which given the parallels means it make sense to end on this note.

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honor and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

For Who I Could Have Been

Your world will fail my love, it’s far beyond repair…

Conflict is also connected to Filaments in ways I will not explain here. Something Wicked is almost the same thing it was in Filaments proper.

(Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster…)

(A prisoner of time and space/Construct we can’t escape/A fleeting moment alive)

(When all of the forces have been overrun/you’ll whisper, serpent tongue/what you fear you have become)

Rise and Fall serves a very similar purpose to the Art of War. It ends with The Art of Bargaining.

(You push my back against the wall/when I attack I’m taking all)

(I might be guilty but can a person change/I’ll say it like I mean it but believe it, that’s insane/You’re only making this harder/I’ll make you an offer/An offer you can’t refuse)

Widowmaker, Eon, and Reset Rewind are all about a single decision that changes the fate of the universe.

(Rise above the shadows putting forth your hands/God will shield his eyes in spite of all your prayers and he will not hear/Your hands, stained of blood/What have we become from a smoking gun?/What have we become)

(If time’s a song I won’t wait for it’s reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

(Erase bad times/create a timeline/with the pleasure/heavier than all the pain)

Frequency, Your World Will Fail, The Future is Now, and The End of the World are the fallout of that decision.

(And now the silence screams that you are gone/you’ve tuned me out, I’ve lost your frequency)

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail/If you are alive you must run for your life)

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Is everyone everywhere forsaking?/ or is there anybody else out there?)

So, in a way, is Dark Matter and A Theater of Dimensions.

(Tear down hollows/Take back eternity)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

It’s such a quiet thing, to fall. Far more terrible is to admit it, and to fix it. But that’s what the catalyst does in Redemption, Endlessness, and For They Shall Inherit the Earth.

(To know that your days are numbered/To know that your time is short/Death is what gives life meaning/So who will you be at the end of the road?)

(Soon, beyond the fields you’ve come to know/You will join the silent flow/Follow me, I am the spark/At the end of everything/Tip the reaper to ensure/The blade is sharp/As soon we’ll go/Follow me into the dark/To the birth of everything)

Design Your Universe

(this playlist is DM canon. But it’s not the DM canon we know and love. We will get to see at least part of it. Eventually.)

Who decides about what’s true or false?

Dark Matter, because it’s not DM without it

(So climb up and come clean/Move back the smoke screen/It’s all here, it’s all you/Get clear on the darker view)

Divide and Conquer explains where things changed from the DM canon we know and love. It’s about how a dictator, no matter their intentions, is never the correct choice.

(Seek the mastermind/The one who’s always right/We’re searching now and endlessly to set us free/Seek the mastermind (Seek the mastermind)/There’s no one you will find)

Martyr of the Free World is a very specific piece of that change from main canon, while Black Smoke Assimilation is what she leaves behind

(If you gun down the messenger/You guarantee that she will be made/Into a saint/A martyr of the free word)

(Out of reach/I planted you, the seed/You’re learning to believe/That you’re the one that changes everything, everything)

Cosmic Vertigo is here for the same reason as in the main playlist

(Just enjoy it while it lasts/Cling not to the broken past)

The Land of Unicorns is Gloryhammer finally making a comeback, and Team Voltron meeting up with, well, Team Voltron.

(Ride far away, cross the mighty River Tay/Over mountains into the unknown/Follow your heart, let it guide you through the dark/To the Land of Unicorns)

Legendary Enchanted Jetpack is a journey into the depths of the Altean Empire. Return to Me is another fight over the Black Lion, but the players aren’t who you think, which is the final goal of Storm the Castle

(Quest for Fife to end pain and strife/in search of the enchanted engine)

(Return what you have taken from me/Rightfully mine, I will not allow this, thief/Think you know this weapon in your hands?/You are a fool, I am his only command)

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown)

Unleashed is from the perspective of The Matriarch, for once, showing a little about how this version of her was not particularly willing

(Where was I meant to be?/I feel I’m lost in a dream/Long for the day I can be myself/Free)

Hootsforce and The Epic Rage of Furious Thunder are a final battle.

(Fight for the king, for the hammer and the ring/Fight for the ancient story)

(In the epic rage of furious thunder, legends create their tales/when the twilight calls and the dark lord falls our glory will prevail!)

Design Your Universe, as the title track of this one, is all about how a simple change can change the world. It’s also uh…. pretty literal

(We can’t undo what we have done/So show us now what we’ve become/Confront us with our viciousness/And our weakness/We can’t evade our destiny/So show responsibility/For we all surely have a sense/Of our consciousness)

#i am dark matter; your road to ruin #Dm playlists

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toomanydamnmuses · 1 year ago

Text

((Making this a pinned post for those on mobile who may have trouble accessing the rules & muse list))

RULES & ABOUT MUN

General

1. PG-13 level is preferred, but I am willing to go NSFW level at times, depending on the content.

2. Swear words will be few and far between, depending on the muse of course.

3. Considering the fandom, violence is to be expected.

4. Open to AUs, canon, crossovers if I know the fandom, etc.

5. If you do not specify a muse in asks, you are automatically going to get Urahara as a response (unless another muse feels inclined to answer, but it’s usually Urahara anyways)

6. Highly Selective and private. If we are not mutuals, I will not interact in threads or one-liners. You can send in asks, but that will not guarantee a response.

7. I do not interact with OCs, with a few exceptions: if we already know each other and have spoken for quite some time, and have had at least one semi-long thread together. Then, and only then, will I interact with your OC. Otherwise, please do not approach me.

Shipping

8.Multi-ship for any gender. But there has to be chemistry. Different muses have different sexualities as well, so make sure to discuss with me.

9.TO BE REPEATED FOR THE BACK: THERE MUST BE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN OUR MUSES FOR ANY AND ALL SHIPPING! There must also be chemistry between us muns, if I don’t feel as though we get along, then there won’t be a ship!

10. Any sexual or romantic relationships between muses where there is not chemistry are not ok with me! ALSO! Any/all ships of that sort where it may not necessarily be healthy, ie forced/hypnotism/etc are included amongst those that I am not comfortable with doing. One of the few exceptions is Gin/Izuru, and that is only because Izuru will be eagerly consenting.

11. No hypnotism interactions at all unless it is Aizen, and we have discussed beforehand. Not only that, but when I say hypnotism in regards to Aizen, I mean it in the context of what his zanpakuto does: changes your senses, but does not make you his slave.

12. If you are a minor, just leave. Close the tab, and get off of my blog. I will not interact with you. If your muse is a minor, we may have some discussion. In general, I am very uncomfortable with child muses. My definition of minor, for muns at the very least, is if you are BELOW THE AGE OF 21.

Courtesy

13. If we start interacting and at any point you decide to unfollow, I will not hunt you down to demand a response or anything like that. Once I notice that you have unfollowed, I will just quietly unfollow in return and go about my business. In return, I ask that you grant me the same courtesy if I choose to unfollow first for any reason.

14. If you are the type who likes to plot, that is fine. I myself am someone who sets the muses loose and see what happens, but I can plot too. I am flexible that way.

15. Please keep in mind that mun is a fulltime student, and also have health problems and other RL situations that can sometimes get in the way. Replies can take a while, so please be patient.

16. When you reply to something I have tagged you in, such as a thread, or if you have replied to one of my asks, I will sometimes, if not always like it. The like is my way of letting you know that I have seen it, and that I will be working on my own reply (or moving it to a thread in the case of asks) as soon as I am able. In other words: it’s your sign that it is now either in my drafts or queue. But I don’t always remember to like it, as my memory is fault at best. Please feel free to come and ask me if I’ve seen it!

17. Another thing to note is that most if not all of these muses have a tendency to interact with each other. I will try to tag things appropriately, and please let me know when there is a muse that you would not like to interact with so I can try to avoid letting them poke their noses into threads that they don’t belong in.

18. My memory is extremely fickle, because of a variety of things that I have been through over the years. I will not always remember to tag things, between how little triggers me and the fact that I forget more often than not, so please proceed with caution. If you need me to tag something, let me know. If it is down in writing (typed) in a chat or something where I can look over it again, there is a better chance of me remembering. But also remember that it is up to you to remind me if I mess up, especially since I am warning you now about my memory. Be polite and respectful, and I will grant the same in return. I am only human and I will do my best to accommodate you, but it is not my job to remember all of anyone’s triggers, it is up to you to remind me if needed, or have them somewhere that I can find easily.

19. I myself am not triggered by a whole lot, but I will ask you to please tag things like sexual assault. On a good day I can handle it just fine, on a bad day I cannot, and if I am caught off-guard by it (IE an ask sent that talks about it) without necessarily expecting to see it, that can and will trigger me. Most anything else is fair game, though you can always come and ask me.

Blocking

19. I will reserve the right to block you if at any point I begin to feel uncomfortable, if you break my rules despite multiple warnings, or if I find out that you are a minor and have lied about your age. I may not always let you know that you have been blocked.

20. I try to live with the “3 strikes” rule. Which is to say, I will give you two warnings if you break my rules, the third time and you will be blocked. Depending on the severity and what rule you broke or whatever reason I may have for wanting to block you, it may be either a softblock or a hardblock.

Mun

My name is Starry, she/her, and I am of age. As mentioned previously, I am a full-time student at a university. Beyond that, there isn’t much for you to know. Should we become close and I trust you, I might tell you more.

MAIN MUSES

Izuru Kira

Shuuhei Hisagi

Kisuke Urahara

SECONDARY MUSES

Renji Abarai

Ikkaku Madarame

Gin Ichimaru

Grimmjow Jeagerjaques

Akon (Squad 12)

Rikuu Togakushi

BY REQUEST ONLY MUSES

Tesla Lindocruz

Nnoitra Gilga

Ulquiorra Cifer

Shunsui Kyoraku

Sousuke Aizen

Szayelaporro Granz

Rangiku Matsumoto

Shinji Hirako

Uryuu Ishida

Kenpachi Zaraki

Coyote Starrk

Byakuya Kuchiki

Yumichika Ayasegawa

Juushiro Ukitake

Ichigo Kurosaki

Rukia Kuchiki

Kensei Muguruma

Rojuro (Rose) Otoribashi

Interest checker

#ooc #-.V rules #-.V muse list

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aperfectangelgirl · 3 months ago

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draft of a letter i may or may not send one day

[addressed to: (first name) (maiden name) (parents’ house)]

hey.

i am going to start by apologizing.

the last time we spoke, i sent you a screenshot of your husband viewing my profile on linkedin. i was not nice about it. i am sorry for the anger you received, especially because the anger i’ve felt since november 2023 was never for you. we all know from therapy that anger only masks other emotions. i’m sure i don’t have to spell out that i was hurt when you decided to stay with him. i was not surprised when you weren’t nice back. being reminded of a traumatic event does suck, and so does receiving an angry text when you’ve done nothing wrong in that instance.

it was almost satisfying, though, to receive your anger. your anger masks another emotion, too. it was nice to think it might be hurt over what happened. not that i want you to hurt. but i do want to believe i still mean something to you.

anyway, i want you to understand why i sent you that screenshot. and why i called you delusional. i stand by that, by the way. feel free to stop reading there. i won’t blame you. this whole communication is self-serving of me to begin with. you don’t need to read more than you feel able to.

the events of november 2023 - to refresh your memory, because i’m not sure what you’ve had to tell yourself or what he told you to minimize things - were that your husband had been closely monitoring my tumblr page for at least six months and downloading my (mostly clothed) lewd work pictures. he had to have been checking almost daily to catch those before i deleted them. he then anonymously messaged me on tumblr saying “it’s a shame there’s nothing of you getting fucked on your blog.” anonymously. i responded with my link, and he created an account (which requires entering a lot of info, email, card info, etc. it’s an intentional action with many opportunities to stop), paid for it, and then clicked through my content and had to download each and every photo and/or video you found saved on his desktop. (there’s no mass download, btw. it’s not meant for download. it’s illegal. most likely he had to screen cap and/or screen record, crop, title, save. once again, many opportunities to stop.).

after you told me about this, you said that paying for porn was a hard line in the sand for you (which clearly it is not). you said you were going to divorce him. i was relieved; i’d been telling you for so long that he was verbally and emotionally abusive. you agreed. you told me how he punched walls and desks and tables and we both know that is one step removed from punching you. i thought, at least the psychic damage i am about to take is worth it. she’ll be free.

after you took it back, and i told you i didn’t see a way to be friends anymore, things got real weird for me. i was sick - physically sick - for ~9 days. i couldn’t eat, sleep, or work. i was not only grappling with the complete and total loss of my longest relationship and one of my dearest friends - even if i hadn’t cut you off, we were ruined. how could you ever look at me and not want to blame me? how could you look at me and not remember what happened? i was also grappling with what he did. you didn’t like the word stalk, but what else would you have me call it? an obsession? a fascination?

anyway, have you ever been stalked before? closely followed? an object of fascination? this wasn’t necessarily my first rodeo, but certainly my most harrowing. the most personal. obviously i blocked him everywhere i could think to (except linkedin…) and i removed his family members from everything, too. i only soft blocked you at first; but i hard blocked you when i realized many abusive spouses force access to their partners’ socials. i didn’t know what accounts of yours he had access to. i couldn’t let him see me on his accounts, or yours, or any burner accounts. i shut all of my shit down. if it couldn’t be private, it was deleted. i didn’t want to block you. i can’t emphasize enough, this burning feeling of *i cannot let him see me.*

*i cannot let him see me.* this person who broke down someone i loved so much, this person who single-handedly ruined an 18 year relationship by being a fucking pervert, this person who verbally and emotionally abused my *sister* and would likely continue to do so with me out of the picture, no longer whispering in your ear about what he is…. no, *i cannot let him see me.* i can’t. i CAN’T.

so that, my dear e, is why i sent you that screenshot and my anger. you didn’t deserve my anger. i know you feel like you can’t live without him. sunk cost. stockholm syndrome. whatever. but the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion i felt at thinking i had all of my bases covered, that i was invisible, i was out of his reach, this person who destroyed something so important to me, only to realize he was finding one more way to peek over the proverbial fence? oh no, i couldn’t just let that go.

i was also, selfishly, hoping that showing you he was still looking at me would be your last straw, maybe. because why the fuck would he need to be checking on my linkedin? i’m serious, e. give me one good reason. he is not my friend. he is not in my industry. he has no business AT ALL seeing what i’m up to, after all of the bullshit. none. what did he tell you? did you believe him, or did you sweep it under the rug with the rest of the skeletons from his closet?

this is getting long winded. one more apology, then what i really wanted you to know, and then i’m done. i promise.

i am sorry i had to cut you off and leave you to process what happened without me. i don’t see how else things could’ve gone. i would have been a constant reminder of what happened if i’d hung around. what exactly was i supposed to say? “sorry your husband was a little obsessed with me”? and of course, you let his violation of my privacy (public link or not, he downloaded my shit. illegal.) and our relationship go completely unpunished. not to mention the itching, burning feeling of keeping him away from me. there was no way for us to proceed. but i really, truly am sorry that you had to go through that without me. i know it sucked to go through my part without you.

what i really wanted to say, now that i have overexplained myself and you’ve probably stopped reading.

i hope you find happiness. i hope you want better for yourself, someday. i hope you are healthy. i hope that you have someone to support you through the current state of our country. i hope you don’t think that i ever stopped loving you. i grieved you harder than i’ve ever grieved before in my life. the grief still comes and goes; i still think about you. i still wonder if we can ever reconnect. that’s not possible while you’re with him, of course. so we probably can’t.

i hope we can, and i hope you leave him someday. but i know better than that.

take care of yourself.

love,

#thoughts #grief

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vexinglyvague · 2 years ago

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Left my annual "games I’m excited for" list in my drafts back in January, so I’ve updated it. As of June 11, 2023, here’s the games I’ve enjoyed and the ones I’m looking forward to.

Enjoyed:

1. Star Wars Jedi: Survivor (sequel to Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order). Release date: April 28 for Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

2. Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (sequel to Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild). Release date: May 12 for Nintendo Switch.

Looking forward to:

3. Dordogne. Release date June 13, 2023. Will be available on Xbox Series X/S, PS 4/5, Steam, and Nintendo Switch. A narrative game from French studio Focus Entertainment, its watercolor style and soundtrack lend itself to a thoughtful exploration of childhood memories.

4. Starfield. Release date September 6, 2023. A Bethesda entry that surprised me given their seeming focus on Fallout 76 (don’t get me started on Fallout 76). Will be available on Xbox Series X/S and PC.

5. Marvel’s Spider-Man 2. Release date October 20, 2023. Unfortunately a PS5 only release, so I won’t be able to play it for a while, but for those of you with a PS5, you know it’ll be good. From Insomniac Games who made the original Marvel’s Spider-Man and Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales for the PS4 as well as Sunset Overdrive for the Xbox (not to mention Spyro and Ratchet & Clank).

6. Jusant. Release date fall 2023. From the studio who made Life is Strange, this meditative journey game looks right up my alley. It seems like it will have a vibe similar to The Last Campfire, and we need more games like that. Will be available on Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

7. South of Midnight — announcement trailer dropped June 2023, so likely a long wait. By Compulsion Studios who also did We Happy Few and Contrast, so it should be good. Probably an Xbox Series X/S and Microsoft exclusive.

8. Mineko’s Night Market. Releasing September 26, 2023, on Nintendo Switch and Steam. Releasing October 26, 2023, on Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PS4/PS5. This Humble Games release is a narrative focused game with adorable graphics that simulates a community night market (and what you do to prepare for it). It looks like a very cozy game.

9. The Wolf Among Us 2 (unknown 2024 release date. Pushed from 2023 in March to avoid crunch). Made by Telltale Games. While the studio has the same name as the one which made the original, let’s not forget that Telltale had a major studio closure in September 2018 and laid off 90% of its staff. I’m cautiously hopeful for this game, but I recognize it’s not the same team who made Telltale what it was. Currently planning a wide release on PS4/PS5, Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

10. Little Witch in the Woods (currently in early access. Full release planned for 2023). Made and published by Sunny Side Up, a South Korean Studio I hadn’t heard of until this gem entered early access on Xbox Game Pass as part of the Game Preview program. If you like Stardew Valley, this may be up your alley (I had to do it, forgive me). Currently available in early access for Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

11. Still Wakes the Deep. Releasing early 2024 from The Chinese Room, who made Dear Esther and Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs. Looks like the kind of game that could give you nightmares. Will be available on Xbox, PlayStation, and Steam (not sure of the specific consoles from the Xbox and PlayStation families yet, but likely just the X/S and PS5).

12. Little Kitty Big City (release date pushed to 2024. Was originally planned for a 2022 release). Will be available on PC and Nintendo Switch. LKBC will be the debut game for Double Dagger Studio, but you’ll recognize the creator of Double Dagger, Matt T Wood, who is a former Valve developer and part of the teams who made Portal 2, Half-Life 2, Left 4 Dead, Team Fortress 2, and CS:GO. This game looks cute and fun with an energetic team behind it.

13. Dungeons of Hinterberg. Releasing 2024 on Xbox Series S/X and Steam, this cel-shaded, action-adventure RPG is from Microbird Games. Not a studio I’m familiar with, but it looks like a refreshing entry into the 2024 lineup.

14. Metaphor: Re Fantazio. A 2024 Xbox Series X/S and Steam release by Atlus, including the Persona team. It reminds me of WebToons like The Lone Necromancer, I’m the Max Level Newbie, and Omniscient Reader. Gotta love a story where the power structure of the world is turned on its head.

15. Revenant Hill. Release date TBA, but likely sometime in 2024 or 2025. Will be available on PS4, PS5, and Steam. This is the debut game for The Glory Society, but your eyes did not deceive you with that trailer, RH is from some of the same team who made Night in the Woods. You play as a cat who becomes a witch’s familiar. If it isn’t obvious, games where you play a cat are some of my favorite games. I’m already hooked.

Potentially interested in, but don’t know enough about yet:

16. Gangs of Sherwood. Releases October 19, 2023, for Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

#games #video games #video games 2023 #xbox #xbox games #playstation #playstation games #nintendo switch #Nintendo Switch games #pc games #vex talking

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unnamedelement · 3 years ago

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Rings of Power ‘Review,’ featuring wood-elves and gender

I’m writing this for two reasons. Firstly, processing things in writing sometimes lets me stop obsessively thinking about them and actually get on with my life, which has been a major issue for me this past week. Second, people keep asking me what I think of the show and who I think The Stranger is (which I won’t actually be talking about here, but short answer is one of the Istari, probably Gandalf, which doesn’t make canonical/historical sense but does make narrative sense, though the Blue Wizards make historical/timeline sense, based on drafts/notes – phew!). Anyway, it is exhausting and anxiety-provoking to give the same thoughts to people across different parts of my life repeatedly, so I am putting it all in one place, though I would not count on this every week. So. Transitioning to the essay, which will be heavily footnoted, just like the Professor himself. I am not sorry.

Thoughts on Rings of Power: Episodes 1 and 2

Rings of Power (RoP) has proved to be a different story than most of us could have guessed, given the scant scaffolding provided on the First and Second Ages in the The Hobbit (TH), The Lord of the Rings (LotR), and the LotR Appendices, those sources show-creators actually have access to directly use. (Admittedly, info on the Second Age anywhere is sparse, per not only Tolkien’s own admission in Letters but fans’ own scouring of the texts and drafts for scraps of lore.) In this post, I want to talk about some of the things I loved and did not love about the first two episodes of this particular adaptation. I will try not to get super into the weeds with lore here, because most people who follow me in these spaces already understand how this adaptation changed major plot, character history, and historical points. Instead, I want to talk about (a) my personal experiences with RoP, including (i) pre-watching anxieties and beliefs and (ii) watching- and fandom-related joys; and (b) my ongoing and developing thoughts about (i) Silvan and Nandorin representation in the context of intra-elven relations in the larger legendarium and (ii) concepts of gender reflected in RoP design choices.

Personal Experience

First, I want to talk about how I prepared for this adaptation, which is that I acknowledged it, ignored it, and then went feral with excitement (and debilitating anxiety) about it, all within the course of a one-year period. Anyone who knows me in fandom probably knows that–when I have enough energy to consistently engage–I try very hard to make the Tolkien world a welcoming place for people. As someone who was a child/teen in online Tolkien fandom as Peter Jackson’s adaptations were coming out (yes, I discovered fanfiction perhaps way too early), I was quite traumatized by some older, lore-heavy fans who vehemently corrected–and sometimes even subtly mocked–me as I was working my way through the appendices, the Silmarillion, and Unfinished Tales. I am therefore very passionate about civility (within reason–I draw the line at supremacist nonsense) in fandom spaces. Ultimately, I never want rejection or belittling–subtle or outright–to be how people experience Tolkien fandom, or even scholarship: gatekeeping helps no one. (Insert boost for the new blog @tolkienfandomagainstgatekeeping!).

Still, while I did preach kindness and encouraged welcoming behavior in the year preceding the release, I nevertheless experienced a lot of change-related anxiety as a neurodivergent person preparing for the potential fandom-related change bound to happen in online Tolkien communities as we processed the new show; dealt with some people’s real (and, admittedly, sometimes scary) rage regarding–and therefore their disingenuous attempts to derail the success of the show due to–race and white supremacy; and, finally, prepared for the influx of fans to the open system of online fandom. I had to take a break from actively engaging with fandom because I could not handle the constant RoP-related emotional stimulus from all sides. However, when I saw the final RoP trailer, their sweeping vision of Middle-earth blew me away–my anxiety morphed into excitement by the end of those three minutes. I did not sleep the night before it came out, and I had to take off work the days after to emotionally recover from it.[1] (I unfortunately do not make the rules for how, when, and why my brain is overstimulated.)

Appreciated Moments

At this point, I will transition to a few things that I absolutely loved. This section is less critical and lore-heavy than the following ones, but we will start with a pseudo-lore moment I loved: the symbolism of the opening scene with Galadriel and the other children. While the show cannot talk about the Kinslayings–which is hugely problematic to me from an elven relations and politics perspective (more on that later)–this scene is very clearly an allusion to the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and the burning of the Telerin swan boats.[2] Whether these children who are harassing Galadriel are actually her Feanorian cousins or not, we cannot guess for certain, as we don’t have a clear birthdate for most of the younger Finweans.[3] (Further, if we think about it too hard, things get complicated and confusing very quickly.)[4] Still, it was a nice little homage to the parts of history the show is not allowed to talk about–I teared up due to the beauty of the setting combined with the lore it evoked, which is a very near and dear part of the legendarium to me. That being said, I think that opening scene made some of the lore choices that followed hurt all the more for those of us who did immediately understand the reference, as it alluded to an imminent complexity and nuance that, for me, the show ultimately did not–and, frankly, cannot–deliver. Still, I liked it. Mostly.

Next, I appreciated moments of the dwarven representation, and every single moment of the dwarven design. Having been introduced to LotR prior to Peter Jackson’s (PJ’s) adaptation, I latched onto a few characters at a young age and, for me–for some reason–that was Legolas and Gimli. Gimli in the books is rational yet passionate but, more than anything, he is silvertongued and poetic. As much as I love John Rhys-Davies’ performance in the PJ films, the writers made some mistakes in their choices regarding his role as, almost entirely, comic relief. The representation in the dwarves of Khazad-dum/Moria in this adaptation goes some way in repairing the lasting image of dwarves that took hold in fan communities following the PJ films. I found the opening scene–in which the dwarves challenged Elrond to a…show of strength?–a little hard to follow and a bit strange and othering given the show is told almost entirely from an elven point of view thus far, but I was overall pleased. I found Durin III and Disa likable, and the scene at the kitchen table went a long way to endearing Elrond’s character in this adaptation to me, while cementing Disa as an excellent original character in her own right. Overall, the design team blew me away with their conception of Khazad-dum. The ferns hanging off the side of the cliff inside the entrance illogically moved me to tears, and the dwarven ingenuity represented by the pulley-based elevator system felt very true to how I have always imagined dwarves. My only hope is that Celebrimbor and Narvi have some screentime. Elrond can't have everything.

Finally, like almost everyone, I enjoyed the Harfoots. [5] While I have heard a lot of commentary about how “hobbits weren’t supposed to be involved in the major events of the Second Age!!”, I also think it’s worth reminding the world that (a) hobbit-like folk were living in the Vales of Anduin by the Third Age, and it would be absolutely bonkers to think they never interacted with or minorly influenced characters who do have a “documented” role if they had been out and about earlier; (b) almost everything Tolkien wrote about history is written “within” his Secondary World, i.e., by one of the characters he imagined kept historical records and, thus, there is likely inherent narrative bias to what we do “know” about the Second Age; and (c) wood-elves were mostly only mentioned in the context of the Second Age in relation to Sindarin and Noldorin migration and expansion, but no one is complaining about Arondir. (Okay, they are, but they’re complaining about him for racist reasons, not simply because wood-elves exist in this telling.)

Oh, and the music! I am not the right person to talk about the music, but that–combined with the gorgeous design and setting–will keep me coming back for the rest of the season, regardless of what happens.

Nandorin-Silvan Elves, Intra-elven Relations, and the Related Significance of Omitted Elven History

Now, on to the critique. Let me start by saying: this section is heavily influenced by the utter bewilderment I have felt over the past year trying to understand how a show can be set in the Second Age without rights to most of the material of the First. What is the point in making a show when you cannot actually adapt the material realistically? While that is not the point of this section, it is hard for me to disentangle, so it feels only right to mention it.

Since I started writing this review, I came across @itariilles own excellent review on elves in the first two episodes of RoP. I recommend reading her piece as I will not be rehashing the points she made here regarding Galadriel’s character and motivation(s) or the complexity of casting an actor of color as a Silvan elf, with particular attention to her sections “Galadriel’s Motivations” and “Fantasy Racism Against Elves.” To understand more where some of the frustrations expressed by Itariiles, myself, and many other fans come from, I would further, and selfishly perhaps, recommend reading the section Consequences of Resettlement: The “Sindarizing” of the “Wild,” “Lesser” Elves by the Sindarin Princes and Noldorin Exiles of Beleriand in my linked paper here. Because I cannot write this section without at least mentioning elven ethnicity and lore, I do suggest refreshing your brain if you are not familiar with elven cultural groups across the Ages; and then proceed while keeping in mind the following: “Within Tolkien’s elven worlds, these [elven] hierarchies are governed by (a) proximity to Aman and the Valar and, within Middle-earth, (b) proximity to the Noldor, with the Nandor and then the Avari being most distant. Characteristic phrases used to describe the Silvan and Avari are ‘lesser Elves,’ ‘lesser Silvan race,’ ‘wild,’ ‘savage,’ ‘rude and rustic,’ and ‘more dangerous, less wise’” (...me, 2021). [6]

Itariiiles’ does an excellent job outlining why it is odd Silvan elves would be reporting to the High King Gil-galad at this point in Second Age history. She additionally reviews the complexity of the showrunners placing the Tirharad (the human people we see in the Southlands parts of the episode) under Elven dominion. She notes, “A line said by a Silvan soldier reasoning their station over the men of Tirharad as ‘descendants of those who served Morgoth' is uncomfortable as it plays into the established trope of South/Eastern men being inherently evil which links into Orientalist ideas of the East being perceived as fundamentally Other.” This is something I want to take a step further. In this adapted world in which, presumably, Silvan elves answer to the “higher” Noldor, what does it mean that the Silvan folk are being used to carry out what essentially amounts to Noldorin occupation of Mannish lands?

I have a few issues with this, and it has taken me a while to really pinpoint why, and I’m still not quite there on expressing it and do not expect to be until I have more data from the show. Still, the first thing that bothers me about this setup is that–in this adapted universe–the Silvans reporting to the High Noldor creates unique issues across multiple contexts:

If we are fans of the traditional legendarium, this choice in the adaptation puts the Silvan in an even more more subservient context that Tolkien’s explicit and implicit language originally placed them (which is highly impressive); and

It tells us that within the adapted universe, the Noldor use another ethnic group–one traditionally ranked less highly–to carry out suppression and oversight of a third ethnic group.

This approach has not been uncommon in colonial and neocolonial history and, certainly, utilizing another group of people to establish and maintain strategic governmental and military control is part and parcel of imperialism. While all elves–in the ethnic hierarchy of Middle-earth–may be ranked higher than Men (due to being valued as firstborn by Illuvatar) and, thus, this oppression is not exactly lateral, it is still using one group of people to manage another, while the person in charge essentially handles war, decisions, and paperwork elsewhere.

Of course, all of this whining and speculating could be blown out of the water by something I could never have expected in this RoP universe as the episodes progress–in that they go “on record” changing the history of these ethnic and racial groups, or they reveal that the Noldor are already integrated with the Silvan at this point–but my hopes are not high. Itariiiles’ point–one also made by a speaker on the RoP reaction panel at Oxonmoot, as well (@fernstrike)–still is not insignificant: What does it mean that the only actor of color cast as an elf thus far is a Silvan reporting to the Noldor, while all the Noldor we have seen–in the first two episodes, at least–are white? We cannot escape the potential impact, as choices in the Secondary World/in-universe are inherently consumed by those of us in this Primary World we share.

My next issue with the flattening of elven history and culture centers on the Sindar, part of the Teleri group to which the Silvan also belong. As @skyeventide asked in her reaction thread (featuring my highly articulate response):

So then: where are the Sindar at this time? And the “Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves”? Given the fact that Durin III is alive and Eregion and Celebrimbor aren’t wasted or strung up, respectively, we can guess a timeframe of a few hundred years for the show, during which the Sindar are certainly out and about, depending on the draft/source (Celeborn in Lindon, Oropher & co. already settling with the Silvan across the mountains). And it is not as if the Sindar are forbidden by copyright to be discussed: Though Doriath is destroyed by the Second Age, it and Thingol are still discussed in the LotR appendices; there is a paragraph exclusively dedicated to how the Sindar migrated and integrated with Silvans in the woods during the time Gil-galad is High King [7]; and Nimrodel’s story and associated Sindarin and Noldorin woes are mentioned in LotR. Certainly it is not unreasonable that this is a storyline that will emerge throughout the season (or the next four, which could ostensibly cover thousands of years), but considering the placement of Silvans beneath Gil-galad at this time, I am wary. Should Thranduil emerge (as Oropher is not mentioned in LotR or the Appendices)–or Amroth or Celeborn (who all also have messy histories across various versions and drafts)–what shall happen? Will the Sindar be placed under the High King’s jurisdiction? Will the Silvans who are not already, apparently, ruled by Gil-galad be lumped in with them, under the High elves, as well?[8]

I can only hope there will be some thoughtful delineation of groups and meaningful and realistic group dynamics based on Elven history and–gasp–even informed by modern political science, social psychology, sociology, or migration studies. Even if the “why” is not immediately apparent in the show, interested viewers can easily look up the backstory and, thus, the show avoids unintentionally rewriting cultural histories (which, real history or not, is tiresome), a constant risk in stories with colonial and neocolonial settings/actors. Ultimately, my biggest concern as a person who thinks way too much about Elven ethnic hierarchy and social stratification is that instead of using the actual history of elven migration, conflict, and the long-lasting effects of the Kinslayings to explain the creation of differing elven realms, the very same effect will be attempted in another manner, i.e., by pinning a split from the Noldor as a personal flaw or choice of some yet unknown Telerin leader, or by having Silvans rebel against Gil-galad’s leadership and thereafter align themselves with certain Noldorin-type leaders (e.g., Galadriel and Celeborn) or Sindarin leaders with skeptical attitudes toward all things High Elven (e.g., Oropher Thranduil).[9] I can see these approaches making narrative sense based on some things that have already been set up in the first two episodes. However, I am still giving myself permission to be skeptical about it and to also just… not particularly like it.

Now, of course, all of this relates to that omitted Elven history, one genre of omission more glaring than all the rest: the flight of the Noldor, the Oath of Fëanor, and the three Kinslayings that followed. The inability of showrunners to incorporate, or even really reference, these events surrounding the Silmarils is disappointing. War is complicated and, to most sides, generally unjust for one reason or another, which is certainly something viewers can relate to. Furthermore, flawed characters are interesting, even if they are flawed because they participated in or failed to actively oppose actions most would now consider unthinkable. Still, the political intrigue and narrative arcs that facilitate this kind of in-universe justification of atrocity in fictional worlds has long been a compelling storyline in myth, religion, and fiction alike. Even Galadriel’s character could be complicated by acknowledging this complex history, or–given copyright limitations–at least creating some alternative scenario that evokes the same historical complexity that the entirety of the First Age embodies, pitting elf against elf against man against elf, all of which barely pales in comparison to The War of Wrath. Galadriel’s behavior in “The Noldor in Beleriand” chapter of the Silmarillion during her conversation with Melian of Doriath (about why the Noldor returned from Aman) lays the groundwork for the type of high political drama this show could evoke, regardless of copyright.[10]

Ultimately, while Tolkien is well-loved by many due to his skill–intentional or not–in creating morally ambiguous characters, perhaps the showrunners are not prepared to address such complexity on screen. As those of us in the Silmarillion fandom know, discussing the human–elf?–rights violations at Alqualondë, Doriath, and Sirion can be tetchy [11], and inviting such tension to a show in the midst of the political uproar surrounding its very existence may have been too much to expect. However, because so much of elven history and hierarchy is situated within splits and migrations directly associated with the story of the Silmarils, it does feel that we are being cheated–especially fans of the Telerin Sindar and Silvan–of the complex story the elves deserve.

This Section Was Supposed to Be: Gender in the Primary and Secondary Worlds of the Original Legendarium and the RoP Adaptation

In this section, I meant to define Primary and Secondary Worlds according to Tolkien’s definitions in “On Fairy Stories,” weave a pretty little tale, and then right-left-punch you with the historical, modern, and in-universe implications of the weird decisions the show made about women.[12] While there is a lot to be said about the racial and ethnic implications of costuming decisions, this post was going to specifically focus on gender, clothing, and gender-related roles in those first two episodes.[13] I was also going to discuss gender-related costuming and cultural-cult-religious implications in some of the other imagery here. (Rest assured, I am certain I am not the first person who did a double-take at that boat scene.) However…. I am tired, I have a project for my research supervisor due tomorrow, and I am not going to let something I love (Tolkien) give me a mental breakdown once again, so I am abandoning that original plan. Instead of a well-crafted section, allow me to ramble at you about gender and, canonically, why I think the elven women in Lindon are ridiculously designed.

Now.

Tolkien and his legendarium were never the height of gender equality and progressivism, but they were also not exactly the worst, if we ignore the fact that he didn’t particularly care for short-haired women wearing pants (Letters) and also that he thought–at least at one point–that elven woman would be pregnant (and thus secluded from larger society??) for 100 years (Nature of Middle-earth, 2021). (Yeah, that’s absolutely bonkers, I know.) However, the text most fans have relied on for years–and which is not directly contradicted in NoME–is “Laws and Customs of the Eldar,” or LaCE in fan parlance.[14] LaCE fairly explicitly describes the similarities and differences between elven men (neri in Quenya) and women (nissi in Quenya), as reported by an unknown Mannish loremaster. Tolkien (said loremaster) writes:

In all such things, not concerned with the bringing forth of children, the neri and nissi (that is, the men and women) of the Eldar are equal - unless it be in this (as they themselves say) that for the nissi the making of things new is for the most part shown in the forming of their children, so that invention and change is otherwise mostly brought about by the neri. There are, however, no matters which among the Eldar only a ner can think or do, or others with which only a nis is concerned. There are indeed some differences between the natural inclinations of neri and nissi, and other differences that have been established by custom (varying in place and in time, and in the several races of the Eldar). For instance, the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among all the Eldar most practised by the nissi; whereas it was the elven-men who bore arms at need. And the Eldar deemed that the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing, and that the virtue of the nissi in this matter was due rather to their abstaining from hunting or war than to any special power that went with their womanhood. Indeed in dire straits or desperate defence, the nissi fought valiantly, and there was less difference in strength and speed between elven-men and elven-women that had not borne child than is seen among mortals. On the other hand many elven-men were great healers and skilled in the lore of living bodies, though such men abstained from hunting, and went not to war until the last need.

As for other matters, we may speak of the customs of the Noldor (of whom most is known in Middle-earth). Among the Noldor it may be seen that the making of bread is done mostly by women; and the making of the lembas is by ancient law reserved to them. Yet the cooking and preparing of other food is generally a task and pleasure of men. The nissi are more often skilled in the tending of fields and gardens, in playing upon instruments of music, and in the spinning, weaving, fashioning, and adornment of all threads and cloths; and in matters of lore they love most the histories of the Eldar and of the houses of the Noldor; and all matters of kinship and descent are held by them in memory. But the neri are more skilled as smiths and wrights, as carvers of wood and stone, and as jewellers. It is they for the most part who compose musics and make the instruments, or devise new ones; they are the chief poets and students of languages and inventors of words. Many of them delight in forestry and in the lore of the wild, seeking the friendship of all things that grow or live there in freedom. But all these things, and other matters of labour and play, or of deeper knowledge concerning being and the life of the World, may at different times be pursued by any among the Noldor, be they neri or nissi.

(Morgoth’s Ring, HoME 10).

So then, why does elven gender in RoP weird me out a little bit, Galadriel–and her complicated characterization–notwithstanding? (And, yes, it was necessary to include the full quote to only point out how much more ridiculous what follows is.)

This:

Why are all the attendants female? And why are they all dressed like this in the background? Where are the rest of the women? Are they locked away, pregnant? Did we take NoME that seriously?

Bizarre.

Conclusion

In the big scheme of things, I suppose I was mostly pleasantly surprised. It was entertaining to watch for the scenery, settings, and music; and I was moved to tears by some of the beautiful cinematography–I’ll continue to be giddy about the scenery and design whether I want to be or not. I also think it is very important that BIPOC were included in casting. However, I am not going to hold out on feeling the story of the Second Age was done justice. I will–forever and always–always be hung up on Silvan representation.[15] But, unless something truly egregious happens, for now I am okay with a mediocre and mildly frustrating storyline.

FOOTNOTES

I have still not recovered, so this will be a long 1.5 months.

Not to mention the boats she will one day have in her own realm, in Lothlorien.

As Sky Eventide notes in her reaction thread on Twitter, the scene even includes one red-headed child, which may be harkening to Maedhros, though Amrod or Amras might be more realistic given I would expect Maedhros to be the ringleader of the band, were the red-headed child meant to be him.

See Itariilles’ piece and my own linked paper for more on this. It is confusing to think about in the show context because while Galadriel thinks the kinslaying are unfortunate and does not take an oath like Feanor and colleagues, she doesn’t think her Feanorian cousins are crazy for wanting to return to Middle-earth, though her motivations to return are different (yay colonialism). Again, see links.

Though an Irish Times article provides an interesting critique that, as an American many generations removed from Ireland, I would never have noticed. As someone who often complains about fandom’s jokes about wood-elf and Silvan culture/language as a stand-in for less cultured “hick” accents and cultures, the linked article really moved me and put these European-based English choices into perspective for me. And it also spoke to the odd feeling I got as I noticed that while watching, once again, an adaptation used different accents that are cultural- and class-marked in the ‘real world’ to sort of delineate place in Middle-earth.

And yes, some of this quoted language comes from material the show has explicit access to.

Keep in mind, this is only ONE version of Sindarin migration. Tolkien wrote more on this across his lifetime that is not reflected in the Appendices as published. See my linked paper for more on this.

Dare I even ask if the show plans to somehow reference a group of elves like the Avari, given the showrunners’ interest in the Southlands thus far? I don’t know if my poor heart could handle the stress…

Which conveniently echoes Oropher’s choice during part of the Last Alliance that left his people wildly diminished…

A political intrigue which we have seen snippets of, perhaps, with Elrond’s character–it’s just not a tension and positioning I can, yet, easily follow. I don’t ‘get’ this world well enough yet to do so.

I, too, have been guilty of this, as someone who spends way too much time thinking about the Sindar. While I am still very much opposed to atrocity crimes in our real world–obviously, it’s literally my job–I have come to see the issues of the Silmarils as more complex than I once did, taking into account cultural and political motivations for character behavior. (Though that has not stopped me from writing Sindarin accounts of the Kinslaying at Sirion to balance things out, “victors write history” and all that.) I have some patient acquaintances to thank for helping me develop a more complex view on Feanorian behavior in the First Age.

Do not judge me. I know nothing about boxing terms and I made that up.

Again, please read Itariiles’ piece (specifically the section “Neoclassical Aesthetic Given to the Noldor and its Unfortunate Implications”).

And, if you want to get really particular, one of the two drafts of LaCE is titled: “OF THE LAWS AND CUSTOMS AMONG THE ELDAR PERTAINING TO MARRIAGE AND OTHER MATTERS RELATED THERETO: TOGETHER WITH THE STATUTE OF FINWE AND MIRIEL AND THE DEBATE OF THE VALAR AT ITS MAKING”...

And yes. I have lived through PJ’s TH. I will survive it again.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to my acquaintances from the Silmarillion Writers’ Guild/Dreamwidth for encouraging me to finish writing this after I became discouraged. And thanks to my new acquaintances at Alliance of Arda for being interested in what I have to say. I would have just stewed in my anxiety without outside prompting to write this silly little thing that I actually really wanted to write.

#rings of power #long post #tolkien #lord of the rings #silmarillion #commentary and analysis

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dancingazaleas · 4 years ago

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eren yeager, mikasa ackerman, jean kirstein | obedience (smut)

PLEASE THIS TRIO CAN RUN A TRAIN ON ME IDC

also thank u to these sexy whores for supporting the idea and inspiring me😫: @kuroosperiodictable @tsukkeishimaa @izukine @shisoaya @erimins @rintarouss @x6nji @txzierbaby @piscesfairies @ikigaitooru (even though u don’t watch aot LMAO)

edit: this has been in my drafts for weeks so i apologize if it’s horrible i just want it out😭

warnings/notes: cursing, smut, nsfw, foursome, daddy kink, switch!mikasa, f!reader, softdom!jean, dom!eren, polyamory, fxf, mxm if u squint, impact play, spit kink, double penetration, oral sex, fingering, anal, dumbification, and aftercare

mikasa’s skin feels cool against your’s as she gathers you into her strong arms. her chest is flush against your back, a bashful pink reaching down to her neck as she stares at you and then back up.

before the two of you stand your beautiful boyfriends, jean and eren, one looking more intimidating than the other. both had rid themselves of their shirts and their pants, leaving them in their plaid and plain boxers.

mikasa’s hands spread your legs open, leaving your pussy on display to eren and jean.

“can you show them how wet you are,” mikasa whispers in your ear, rubbing circles on your inner thighs.

you oblige without complaint, using your index and middle finger to spread your lips open for view. you shifted uncomfortably at eren and jean’s intense gazes, finally using your voice for the first time you’ve been put in this situation.

“are you gonna do something or are you gonna just gawk,” you try to nudge a foot in their direction, but your thigh being held by the ever-so obedient mikasa.

“watch your tone,” eren tells you, placing his knees on the edge of the bed and leaning towards you.

“listen to us,” jean says softly, joining eren on the bed.

you roll your eyes but let out a whimper whenever eren blows cold air onto your clit, toes curling while your hips jerk. mikasa’s hands rest on your tits due to eren’s hands replacing her own. jean’s kissing mikasa on the lips gently, pulling away with a soft and approving smile.

“wanna kiss, baby,” he asks you, watching how your bite your lip at the feeling of eren’s wet tongue licking strips into your cunt and circles into your clit.

“n...no,” you pant and turn your head away.

“(name),” mikasa says quietly when she realizes the soft pouting of jean, “give jean a kiss. he’s sad.”

you choke out a moan while your hips buck into eren’s face. you manage to turn to jean, who kisses you just as gentle as he kissed mikasa moments ago.

eren sucks on your clit in the middle of your kiss, hoping to cockblock jean just a bit longer.

and it works, seeing as you pull away from the kiss with a moan, “cumming, cumming!”

mikasa nips at your shoulder and gropes your chest, eyes staring into eren and jean’s to check for permission. jean encourages the orgasm while eren looks frustrated.

“hold on a little longer,” she mumbles as a compromise, “you’ll be allowed to come soon.”

“yes... yes ma’am,” you pant, shutting your eyes.

“good girl,” jean smiles while he pats mikasa on the head.

“eren, give mikasa a little treat. she’s so good for us,” jean praises.

“you come do it since you’re askin’,” eren scoffs and pulls away, now laying down in the spot next to mikasa and lazily palming his cock through his boxers.

jean hums in agreement, but you know that he’s a little annoyed at eren’s laziness. you shimmy your body a little, trying to make mikasa’s cunt more accessible for jean. mikasa whimpers in your ear while jean starts to eats her out, staring intently at mikasa’s flushed face.

“mikasa,” eren calls while shuffling his pants off of him, “go ahead and touch (name).”

mikasa struggles to answer, but thankfully eren’s feeling just a bit merciful today—or maybe it was cause he was taking off his boxers. you watch excitedly as mikasa’s dainty hand trails down your body and to your clit.

“can i finger her,” mikasa bites her lip, trying to ignore the attention jean is giving to her cunt.

eren nods while he spits on the palm of his hand, slowly stroking his cock with lazy movements.

“please, ma’am,” you turn to look at mikasa, who’s struggling just as much as you are.

mikasa inserts two of her fingers inside of you, accidentally bucking her hips and moaning from jean’s fingers slipping inside of her. it has her fingers thrusting deeper then they were meant to, a small mewl falling from your lips.

sloppily, mikasa starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you as she cries out jean’s title.

“‘s okay. you can come, baby,” he smiles up at mikasa, “eren can decide for our little princess there.”

mikasa turns her head to eren, who fists his cock with one hand and the other resting at the back of his head. it’s almost like he’s bored and not watching his three partners fuck one another some way or another.

eren’s teal eyes drift down to your needy face, hips desperately trying to get mikasa’s fingers to thrust into you faster and deeper.

“fuck her with your fingers like the slut she is,” eren hums with half lidded eyes.

mikasa nods and before she can even move her hand, she throwing her head back against the pillows. she’s moaning out jean’s name as she hits her orgasm, pulling her fingers out of you to grip the sheets below her.

“thank you, thank you,” she whimpers when jean pulls away wiping his mouth.

“such a good girl,” eren smirks, “unlike your little princess there.”

mikasa breathes heavily when she looks at your face. her hand is shakily until she slips her fingers back inside of you and curling her fingers. you try bucking your hips upwards, only to be held down by mikasa’s stronger hand.

“patient,” she sighs, fingering you more speedily.

you nod your head and grip onto the hand that’s on your hip. the sight almost has eren and jean in awe as they can barely manage to get you to listen on their own.

“please,” you pant and try to hold down your hips.

“you can come,” mikasa slips her hand from your’s and uses it to start rubbing tight circles into your clit.

you arch your back against mikasa’s skin while calling out her name. mikasa let’s out a deep sigh as she continues her gentle rubbing, helping you ride out your first orgasm of the night. when she pulls her hands away your hips chase after them along with a whine.

jean helps you off of mikasa’s body, now laying next to her. you cuddle into her side while rubbing your thighs together, tugging on her muscular arm in need.

“(name),” eren calls and you turn your head, “daddy’s gonna take care of you next, alright?”

before you can even react, mikasa agrees for you. jean smiles and holds your thighs apart while he watches you reach for mikasa’s hand.

“‘s okay, princess. he won’t hurt you,” eren mumbles lazily and guides your other hand to his cock, “and if he does, you probably deserve it.”

jean slowly thrusts himself into you, shuddering as he throws his head back. mikasa puts her free hand onto your tummy, humming at the small bulge that she feels under her palm.

“how’s it feel, baby,” mikasa whispers into your ear.

“‘s full, ‘m so full,” you whine, looking to jean with your bottom lip jutted out.

“can you tell me who’s filling you right now,” jean rolls his hips while eren pants quietly.

“go on, tell him,” eren grunts while you fuck his cock with your fist.

“daddy,” you whimper whenever his thrusts become more powerful, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, “full of daddy’s cock.”

eren groans at your whimper, throwing his forearm over his eyes. you buck your hips whenever jean thrusts harshly against you, the tip of his cock pecking at your cervix. he grunts and places his hand on your neck and the other next to your head, jackhammering greedily.

“pl-please...!” you cry and accidentally tighten your grip on eren’s cock, not enough to hurt, but enough to have him shooting his load onto your hand.

his groans slip into soft moans as he rides through it by grinding his hips smoothly into your hand. you can’t even stare at your messy hand if you wanted to, jean’s thrusting is too fast and intense for you to see clearly.

“clean her hand up, baby,” you hear eren say to mikasa, who jumps at the opportunity. you shudder at the feeling of her tongue against your fingers.

you throw your head back and feel tears prick at your eyes.

“‘m gonna cum! please... lemme cum ‘kasa,” you’re almost sobbing and the sight has eren laughing.

“go ahead, cum all over your daddy’s cock,” eren gripes at your tit while he nuzzles his nose into your hair.

“you can come, love,” mikasa’s voice grants you permission, “can you beg for him too as well?”

“daddy! pl-please make me cum, please,” your hips start to buck almost wildly even whenever mikasa throws an arm around them.

jean squeezes your neck a little, taking your breath away as your eyes roll into the back of your head. you moan almost obnoxiously but it makes your lovers smile nonetheless.

“fuck,” jean groans at the feeling of your pussy hugging his cock.

“look at that princess, he’s about to come in you,” eren grabs your jaw with rough fingers, shaking your head back and forth, “gonna milk all of daddy’s cock, huh?”

“you’re taking it so well, love. taking jeany’s cock so well,” mikasa kisses your neck.

mikasa’s words have jean hitting his peak with a breathy groan. his eyes flutter as he pulls himself out, watching at how his seed starts to dribble out of you.

jean scoops the sticky liquid with his fingers and shoves it back inside of you along with his fingers. you yelp from both overstimulation and surprise.

“we’re not done, baby,” you feel mikasa smile against your school as you give a confused hum.

mikasa stands from the bed, rummaging through a drawer on your dresser. mikasa pulls a strap along with some lube, tossing it to jean while he shuffles his body to lay under your’s. he catches it easily and then hands it to eren, who’s admiring the view of your almost fucked out cunt.

“prep her for me,” jean huffs while mikasa helps jean shimmy the strap onto your almost limp body.

hissing, you curl your toes at eren’s index finger covered in lube slowly entering your ass. mikasa settles herself on top of you, hovering over the strap. you’re 100% sure that jean’s losing feeling in his legs or stomach.

the feeling of eren’s finger in your ass is foreign and slightly uncomfortable, especially whenever mikasa lowers herself down on the strap with a shaky sigh. the pressure of mikasa’s body on top of your’s makes you groan due to the way it makes eren’s fingers so much more intense.

you squeeze onto the hands mikasa’s presented you with whenever eren adds another finger. you hiss at the small sting you get as eren manages to scissor his fingers.

“it’s okay, princess, eren’s takin’ care of you,” jean’s voice is laced with reassurance that has you relaxing.

you’re about to reply but are interrupted by your moan as eren starts to pump his fingers inside of you. sighing shakily, you bury your face into jean’s neck.

“does it feel good,” mikasa flutters her eyelashes while subtly rocking her hips.

“not yet,” jean scolds whenever his hand comes down on her hips.

eren laughs breathlessly at the exchange, slipping another slick finger inside of your ass. you yelp and let go of one mikasa’s hands to cover your mouth. you bite down whenever eren curls his fingers inside of you, squeezing your eyes shut while tears fell from them.

mikasa pulls your hand away from your mouth, intertwining your fingers once more, “no covering your mouth.”

you only nod wearily at her command, too focused on how eren’s fingers fuck into your ass with fervor. and after one last stretch of his fingers, he pulls them out of you while telling jean that you should be ready enough.

eren coats jean’s cock with lube, a teasing smile set on his face while jean grunts. once eren’s had his fill of taunting, he helps jean’s cock slip inside of your ass.

you would moan if it weren’t for the feeling of jean being in your throat instead of your ass. jean, however, is groaning with no abandon at just how snug your ass is around his cock.

“fucking shit,” he pants while gritting his pearly white teeth.

“feel good,” eren snickers, starting to line himself up with your slit.

eren brushes off how jean’s ignored him, now slipping his cock inside of your cunt after he’s spit on his cock. you groan loudly at eren slipping inside of you with jean following along.

“fuck, eren, i can feel you,” jean sighs and throws his head back against the pillow it rests upon.

eren’s in the same condition, completely still as his hips are flush against your pelvis.

“can we move,” mikasa rolls her hips once more, transferring more and more pressure onto your tummy.

you’re completely gone at this point, the combined feeling of jean and eren inside of you at the same time with the added pressure of mikasa is the only thing you manage to think of.

it just gets worse whenever all three of them start to move. it’s overwhelming, so much to the point of you already creaming on eren’s cock with a high pitched whine.

“barely done anything and she’s already cummin’,” eren pants, continuing to thrust wildly into you.

you can’t reply, can’t think. the only thing you can do is moan and cum over and over again.

mikasa guides your hand to her puffy clit, your muscle memory automatically rubbing circles into the nub. she whimpers and keens slightly, firm hands planted on your torso. she bounces up and down on the silicone dick that she’s strapped onto your body.

you back your hips by accident, slamming right into mikasa’s sweet spot. she moans loudly, mixing in with your own and the panting of jean and eren. you can barely move your hips, so you decide to make up for it by fastening the pace of your fingers on her clit.

she throws her head back with a whine, hips jerking back and forth sloppily as she comes closer and closer to her orgasm.

luckily, a particularly hard thrust from jean has you bucking up into mikasa harshly. it manages to make her come with pretty tears sliding down her cheeks and onto your chest.

when she’s done riding through her orgasm, she’s flopping on the bed next to jean and watching contently.

you sob at eren’s almost inhuman speed, arching your back against jean’s body. jean grunts at how you subconsciously clench around him, broken grunts and moans echoing in your ear.

“i’m close,” he pants and pistons himself in and out of you with greed.

“me too,” eren bites his lip, while you feeling yourself starting to orgasm again.

your moan is basically a wall as your hips convulse between eren and jean’s bodies.

your tightening around the both of them has them hitting their own peak, throaty grunts spilling from their lips as them pump their seed inside of you.

they pull out once they’re done riding out their highs, gently setting you down and laying you between all of them.

“you with us, love,” mikasa asks with a hand placed on your cheek while eren runs to get a warm rag.

you only blink at her words, slowly followed along with a hum. she kisses at your tear stained cheeks.

“did so well for us,” eren showers your face with smooches and you shiver at the warm rag wiping away the cum away from your body. jean hands the rag to eren when he’s done wiping off the cum off of his own body.

“such a good girl,” jean praises as he starts to massage your tense thighs.

you grunt again, eyes starting to flutter close. eren throws the now dirty rag across the room—after mikasa’s cleaned herself as well—cuddling into you after he’s pulled his hair from its bun.

“she’s gonna fall asleep, jean,” mikasa says while beckoning everyone under the covers.

jean scurries to spoon eren, kissing him on his cheek before getting himself comfortable.

and you do exactly that, bathing in the heat that all of your lovers shower you in.

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