#eight titles with four more implied

[idratherdreamofjune]

To Read 2023

We’re dialing it back this year, not aiming for a list of ten but instead just the titles that keep coming to mind.

- Foundling (D.M. Cornish), and the two sequels hopefully - American Nightingale (Bob Welch), on the recommendation of Valia - The Perilous Gard (Elizabeth Marie Pope), a long overdue reread - Howl’s Moving Castle (Diana Wynne Jones), ditto - While Still We Live (Helen MacInnes), ditto again - Spring Tide (Mary Ray), necessitating a reread of two others first - Brat Farrar (Josephine Tey), if the mood strikes - The Blackout Book Club (Amy Lynn Green), inspired by @fictionadventurer

[buckets-and-trees]

The Only Way of Knowing You [Nick Fowler x Reader]

Title: The Only Way of Knowing You Characters/Pairings: leshy!Nick Fowler x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: When you visit a cabin, you're drawn more and more to the forest, the flora and fauna, and a handsome stranger you cross paths with in the woods.

Content Warnings: explicit smut - nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, initial consent to questionable/dubious consent ending, kidnapping, intimidation, implied stalking and explicit stalking, human to monster transformation, monster fucking

Logistical Notes: Very belated, but this is my addition to the Enchanted Birthday Fest and my humble gift to all of you who come around and read what I write. Incorporating Mania (obsessive love - stalking) for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. Thank you @goldylions and @sgt-seabass for blasting this with your beta energy. It certainly benefitted from your poking, prodding, and polishing.

Narrative Notes: There's a lot of leshy lore that's evolved over time since differing versions existed across Europe and you've got modern media takes. I took pieces that stuck out to me as I combed through. The most significant trait I adopted was that a leshy king could shape shift into human or animal and would adopt disguise to hide, adapt, or even lure people into the forest.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You gasped and stopped on the trail.

“A dog,” you whispered to no one but yourself, a grin splitting across your face.

The wilderness of the forest around you rose into a small, banked ridge on the left. You had only just heard the rustle of leaves that drew your attention over to that side to see the creature. You couldn’t tell the breed for sure – all dark fur, pointed ears, looking something between a husky and a wolf – but with him being so calm and willing to come this close to the path when he’d undoubtedly heard you walking, you assumed he couldn’t be too wild or feral. He had piercing blue eyes that locked with yours.

You were so tempted to try to call him over, but if he was wild, it was probably better not to, and if he belonged to someone, you didn’t want to lead him away from where he needed to go.

So, after another beat, you continued along your path.

After the four hour drive to your destination with some of the team from your office, as soon as you had unloaded and eaten lunch, you had been eager to get away to stretch your legs and to have some time away from everyone else, and you had some time before the rest of the team arrived for the work retreat your boss had put together. You had six days of training, strategizing, and team bonding ahead of you with a professional consultant and facilitator flown in who had built the agenda. There were breaks built throughout the day, and as you set off for this first walk, you imagined both the physical movement and the time away from the group would help keep you focused, energized, and from actually strangling your co-worker Rachel who regularly burst into song during casual conversation. 

You saw the dog again as you took the same path the next day when your group took a mid-morning break. This time, he walked alongside your path, keeping his distance off to the side, but only kept pace with you for about five minutes before wandering off.

You were hopeful to see him when you headed out in the afternoon.

But instead of the dog, you encountered a man in almost the same area, approaching you on the path.

The man was dressed in sturdy hiking boots, dark jeans, a dark green flannel over a white shirt, and a tan jacket over that. He was tall, well-built, with short brown hair, and entirely too handsome a person to encounter in real life, especially with his devastatingly blue eyes – eyes that were the same color as the dog.

You groaned internally for comparing his eyes to the dog’s.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at you a few paces before you were about to pass each other.

“Hello,” you managed to return – it was mostly automatic, but the intensity of his gaze almost prevented you from the customary politeness of fellow trailwalkers.

After he passed, you shook your head. No need to be flustered by the momentary passing of a stranger.

You looked back over your shoulder, and then your heart thudded to discover that he was looking back at you, too. He smirked, turned, and kept along his way.

You shook your head at yourself and then kept on your way.

The walking path through the forest was narrow in parts, wider in others, and rambled on for a mile or so before it split, allowing its travelers to eventually circle clockwise or counter-clockwise around a still, blue body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite large enough to be classified as a lake. The trees ran right down to the water in many areas, and the path, as it circled, sometimes came very close to its edges, and in other places only came within ten or fifteen meters of the shore.

On day three, you saw the man in the morning, and the dog in the afternoon.

The man, the same you saw before, came towards you after he'd done a circle around the lake. You reached the two forks before having to directly pass him, to which he waved and said hello, the same casual niceties. 

In the afternoon, the dog approached you slowly but directly, and you knelt happily and held out your hand to encourage him to close the gap. He did, and after a quick sniff, let you pet him and scratch his ears.

“No collar?” you asked as you pet and admired his smooth, shiny coat.

After a minute, you stood and said, “You seem pretty familiar with this forest, well-fed, and so friendly. I don’t need to worry about you, do I?”

He circled you quickly, wagged his tail, and you laughed. “You want to join me for my walk this time?”

He trotted ahead a few steps, then looked back at you and waited.

You laughed. “I guess I’ll join you for this walk then.”

The two of you kept pace with each other all the way around the small lake, and then shortly after you got back to the main forest length, he trotted off the path into the forest again with only a small look back and a happy bark before bounding away.

That evening, because you had gone on so many walks, the rest of the group at the cabin decided to take an evening stroll around the lake. The planked wooden path made an adventure after dark doable enough. You didn’t see either of the strangers – dog or man – but there were a few times you had the keen sense you were being watched. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but the feeling came and went.

The next morning, you made your way down the deep forest path without encountering anyone and took the right fork to make your way around the lake.

At nearly the same place the dog had approached you the afternoon before, the man came striding your way from off the path.

“Hello,” he greeted as soon as he’d stepped out of the trees.

It was evident he intended to speak to you.

“Hello,” you said, trying to be friendly, but unsure how this would unfold, and a little nervous over engaging with the stranger.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer he got, but not because he was still a stranger, but because you were reminded he was altogether too handsome of a stranger. This was made even more obvious than your brief passings the previous two days, as now you could only stand still and watch as he approached you.

You remembered he was tall, but today he seemed taller. Those blue eyes had you rooted to the spot where you stood, and his face had a small but easy smile. You tried in vain to keep your heart from racing the closer he got.

“I’m Nick,” he offered, once he was close enough for conversation.

You gave your name in response.

“Nice to actually meet you,” he said as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. “You’re not from around here. Staying in one of the vacation cabins?” he guessed.

You nodded. “And you are from around here?” you surmised. “Do you live here? Work here? Both?”

“I suppose you could say both.” A calm but crips breeze swept through the trees around you, rustling through the leaves. 

“Oh, are you the caretaker?”

“Guardian, caretaker, king of the forest,” he joked.

You laughed, and it was an easy laugh.

He echoed your laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course, I do,” you said.

“If you let me join you, maybe I can prove my place here in the forest, share some of the history of the land, and some of my expert knowledge.” He raised his brow in a questioning look.

You were torn equally between hesitance and intrigue, but you were more unsure of how to decline, nor did you actually want to, so you nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. He swept his arm to the side, gesturing at the path, and as you started walking, he fell right in step with you.

“So, what brought you to the forest?” he asked.

You explained how your boss had booked the large corporate retreat cabin for your team, planning many days of bonding and strategy conversations and leadership workshops with the consultant flown in from New York City.

As you walked together, he made good on his promise to tell you more about the forest and the lake. He pointed out some of the flora and fauna, showing his care and consideration for the wildlife and growth of the wilderness.

“It must be nice living out here.”

“You would like it.”

You looked over at him, finding he was already watching you, and then turned your head back to the path. “I think I might. Being out here the past few days has me contemplating quitting my job, selling off most of my stuff, and just finding a small cabin in the woods and writing or something.”

“You should.”His concentrated attention both unnerved you and put you at ease at the same time. It was a strange feeling. There was something within you that wanted more time with him like this, but it was silly to want. This was only your first conversation with him. You wouldn’t be spending day after day stumbling into walks with him any more than you would be abandoning your city life to embrace a secluded existence in a cabin in the forest.

But it might be nice, you thought.

“If only,” you finally sighed.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “When are you supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He hummed in thought. “That seems like an awfully long cabin retreat for a team of colleagues.”

You laughed. “It certainly is. My boss has too much money and got very excited. It’s mostly a good office of people, and there are about ten of us here, but I definitely like my time away from the group – we’ve been encouraged to spend our breaks however we need.”

“And you took to your walks in the woods.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed and smiled softly. “Oh, actually, do you know about the black dog running around out here? I’ve seen him every other day, but not yet today.”

“He caught your heart, didn’t he?”

You grinned and nodded. “Does he have owners out here, or is he wild? He doesn’t have a collar.”

“No owners.”

“Not unlike you?”

“Oh, have I caught your heart, too?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you tried not to let your pace falter. “I–”

He gave a chuckle, but he also let his fingers brush against yours as you continued to walk side by side. “Don’t worry, if I didn’t want to see you, I would know how to go unnoticed by you in this forest.”

“Oh.” It was a small response, especially compared to the burst of warmth that bloomed in your heart, but you weren’t quite sure how to respond. You were flattered with the flirting and his insinuation that he did want to see you. A whisper in the back of your mind wondered how many years he must have walked these woods to know its secrets and be so confident that he could wander it undetected, but he gestured for you to listen to the faint call of a pair of birds nearby. He identified them as veery thrushes, and  then you were carried along into learning about them and some of the other animals that inhabited this area of the forest during the rest of your short morning walk. 

Nick came across you walking again in the afternoon. He told you more about the forest and its history, but more and more he started to ask more questions about you.

You liked that he asked about you.

It seemed impossible that this unbelievably tall (was he even taller than he was before? Surely he wasn’t), dark, handsome man was so keen on your company, but you couldn’t help but take to him, and to the warmth of the attention he shined on you like the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees to bathe the rest of the flora in the forest.

It may have been silly to dream about him that night when you went to sleep, but you had no real control over that, and although this whole excursion was for work, a small, inconsequential crush on someone you would never see again when you went home was fine.

The next morning, you didn’t run into him during your walk, but you were happy to run into your furry companion again, and he stayed right at your side while you took the loop around the lake. You were only a little sad there was no sign of Nick, but even though he clearly spent a lot of time there, you couldn’t expect him to always be in the woods.

So, when you were just starting along the path for your walk and hear footsteps coming up behind you, you eagerly looked over your shoulder, only to see two men walking some twenty to thirty yards behind you. You sighed and kept walking. You hadn’t seen a great deal of people on the trail over the past few days, but these weren’t the first strangers, as it was an area with enough scattered cabins throughout the forest to merit the establishment of the sturdy planked path in the first place.

But as you continued on, the men seemed to keep pace with you, speeding up when you did, and slowing down and maintaining some of the distance when you tested it, and that made you nervous. You would feel better even just to see the wild dog so you could call him to you. You were sure he would deter the men. But there was no sign of him either.

As you approached the fork that created the lake loop for the path, you didn’t know which to hope for – that they would take the other path and you would have to potentially pass them, or take the same one as you and you could hope that they would keep their distance.

They went the same way as you.

And they started to close the distance.

You thought you were imagining it at first, but when you increased your pace, theirs quickened even more, and there was no more of the hum of talking between them.

You didn’t want to panic and run. They both had a height advantage with longer legs, and if you could simply continue to walk more quickly, you could at least stave off the need to run until there was no more choice – because you were sure the second you ran, they would follow suit, and you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Especially now that your heart was already racing.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of them called out.

You focused on keeping your quick pace and didn’t look back.

“Nice day for a walk,” the same gruff voice added.

Still you refused to engage. You expected this now and then in the city, but it wasn’t supposed to happen out here. You didn’t have a phone to suddenly get on and call someone or keys in your pocket to thread through your fingers for makeshift protection. 

“Nice day for more than a walk, don’t you think?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, maybe a little afternoon delight.”

Your skin crawled. 

“A little fucking,” the second one jeered.

Maybe you did need to run. 

And then suddenly at a bend in the path, you turned and there he was.

Nick.

Your heart leapt in relief, and you rushed to him.

He had to have instantly seen the panic in your eyes as his own blue eyes changed immediately into a dark storm, and he looked beyond you as he quickly strode forward to meet you. He saw the men immediately as they, too, turned around the bend, and you heard their footsteps slow immediately.

Nick pulled you into his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Afternoon,” one of the men said, both of them nodding, trying to pass off casual greetings as if they hadn’t been closing in on you, making their intentions clear.

“Turn around, pack up, and leave this forest,” Nick said, voice flat and threatening.

“Hey! Look, man,” the other started, but Nick cut him off.

“Turn around, pack up,” he repeated, enunciating each word with more fury, “never come back.”

They stopped walking, putting them only ten yards away.

“Now,” Nick growled.

A ripple of fear shot through you at his tone, and it wasn’t directed at you. There was a sudden groaning and crashing of trees in the distance that only added to the tension of the moment, and then the two men turned around and retreated.

“I know where you’re staying. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my directions are idle or that I won’t check to make sure you’re gone,” he spoke loudly enough for them to hear as they got further away.

With them no longer in sight, Nick turned his full attention to you, taking both your hands in his. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath in then let it out to release the tension from the fear-driven adrenaline and nodded.

He murmured your name, pressing in concern, ducking slightly to gaze directly into your eyes.

You smiled softly at his worry, the seeds that bloomed earlier in your heart coming to life and blooming a bit more. “I’m fine now,” you reassured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” you promised. “Not the first intimidating creeps I’ve ever encountered.”

“Okay.” His face relaxed, but only a fraction, and you had the impression it was only to help ease your tension. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded. 

He dropped your hands, and you reminded yourself not to let your face drop as he did.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you earlier, I-“

You cut him off, “I wasn’t expecting you to meet up with me, and I don’t always get to steal away for these walks at the same time.”

He nodded. “I know. But I want to show you why time got away from me.”

“Okay.”

His face split into a bright smile. “Follow me,” he said, turning around and trekking into the trees. 

You trailed behind him as the ground gently sloped toward the lake. The trees and underbrush were abundant yet thin enough to allow the two of you to pass through. The wooden path varied in how close it was to the lake as it wound around, and here it was less than a minute before you could see the water’s edge. Nick abruptly stopped and put his arm out for you to also stop.

Since he’d been walking so quickly, you did bump right up against his arm with a small mumbled, “sorry,” and he turned his head to smile. Then he turned to look ahead and pointed to a cluster of rocks right at the shoreline.

You squinted to study them, and then you gasped when two little furry heads popped up over the top of the rocks.

“Otters!” you whispered.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed. “Freshwater river otters. I think we’ve got a clan of at least four that have only appeared today in the lake. Probably migrated down the river from the lake further up. They’ve been getting a bigger tourist draw up there, and I imagine they don’t want to be constantly disturbed by humans encroaching on their habitat.”

He took slow, measured, unassuming steps closer, and you tentatively followed. The two otters both perched up higher on the rocks, giving tiny yelps.

Nick motioned for you to kneel as he did. He held out his hand toward the pair of mammals.

“They’re a curious and friendly species,” he said, and even as he said the words, the two darted up and over the rocks, coming closer by a few feet before pausing. The slightly larger one gave a little trill and took a couple more hops forward. Its companion sauntered right up next to it, but then took a few more steps forward, bopped its nose against Nick’s hand, huffed and turned away, darting right down the bank and into the water, gliding smoothly away. The other came forward, gave Nick’s outstretched hand a little more of a sniff, then turned its head to you, and edged your way. You quickly but carefully stretched your hand out, received a couple of sniffs, and then this otter also snorted and trotted away and into the water, trilling as it slipped into the clear water.

“No fish, no interest,” Nick said, and the two of you laughed.

He moved to sit on the ground, and you sat next to him. The pair of otters re-emerged, swam up to shore, and dove back in and out of the water frequently as the two of you watched and talked.

You only stayed there for a short space of time, and then Nick seemed to sense without you needing to prompt him that it was time to get back to your walk. He stood and gave you a hand up. He held onto your fingers for just an extra moment, looking at your hands together, before letting go and brushing himself off. You did the same, and then fell into step with him, heading back to the path.

Easy conversation, just like the day before, continued to flow between you. He appeared to have endless questions about you, and again his rapt attention was its own warm, addictive rush, and that thing in your heart continued to grow, vines starting to sneak out of your heart and around your chest.

Suddenly he stopped, and you stopped another step ahead and turned to look back at him. “What is it?”

“We’re at the spot that leads up to the cabin your group is staying in,” he answered, a broad smirk on his face.

“Oh,” your cheeks heated, and you ducked your head to laugh. “Oops.”

You didn’t want your last walk with him to suddenly be over.

“You’re quite taken with all of this, aren’t you? The forest calls to you.”

You let out a wistful sigh and looked back up at him. Damn those impossibly deep blue eyes. You were overcome with a terrible ache that radiated from the base of your throat and the top of your chest, and you desperately tried to tamp down the thick emotion.

“But I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Come walk with me tonight.”

You bit your lip.

“Come on,” he urged you. “It’s your last night, and it’s a full moon. You have to see the forest bathed in the full moon's light. Come with me.”

“Yes,” you heard the word tumble out of your mouth, unable to deny him.

His eyes darkened and sparkled. “I promise you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”

Though Nick wasn’t far from your thoughts, you focused well enough on your last evening with the group, engaging in dinner and the evening’s bonding activities. Wine and mocktails were poured for a final night looking up at the stars around a fire in the firepit on the balcony, and you made sure to enjoy that time, too. You had liked some of your coworkers before the retreat, but now you had a better understanding and appreciation for all of them.

However, once it got closer to ten, you anxiously started taking stock of the minutes passing away further into the night. Two of your group said goodnight at ten, but that was too early. You determined you would do well to stay with the balcony group until at least half-ten so you didn’t get too anxious about seeing Nick later.

At ten-thirty, a few more peeled off from the group, and so you retired to your room so that your timely departure didn’t seem unnatural to anyone.

You showered and messed with your hair for a bit but didn’t bother with makeup since it was after dark. You put on your favorite pair of joggers, a crewneck, and good walking shoes. You certainly hadn’t anticipated taking to the forest with so many walks each day, it wasn’t anything like how you were at home – busy with work and taking care of your life in the city – but it had been so natural to take to the outdoors while you were here. This final walk before your party went home in the morning wasn’t going to be like any of the others. You tried not to feel foolish for indulging in a walk at midnight with the hulking man with the most captivating blue eyes you’d ever seen who could easily take your breath away and whisk you off your feet.

But you had said yes because when else would you ever do something like this?

The answer was never.

And there was no harm in taking a handsome man up on his offer for a midnight stroll in the moonlight.

You put on the watch your grandmother had given you and the simple necklace you typically wore. They weren’t much, and you told yourself you didn’t need to dress up anyway, but they were small touches all the same.

Looking briefly in the mirror, you smoothed your hand down over the front of your shirt and took a deep breath. It’s fine, you thought. He’s seen you plenty before now, and it’s going to be dark, and it’s only a walk anyway. You checked your watch, and it was just a few minutes before eleven-thirty, which is when Nick had said to meet him.

You slipped quietly out of your room, down the stairs, and out the back door. The full moon was bright out here so far away from any city lights, illuminating the familiar path from the cabin that would take you down to the main boardwalk trail.

So many times Nick had simply appeared in the forest, but he was waiting for you right at the end of the path. Your heart raced just a little as his lips turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“You came.”

He studied your face intently. You were unsure what he was looking for and simply focused on returning your gaze as unassuming as possible, telling your heart to settle and stop beating so fast. Yes, he made you feel things, but one of those things over the past few days had also been a sense of calm and safety in his presence, and you concentrated on that.

After another moment, finally, you responded with a simple, “I said I would.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then let’s go.”

You fell easily into step with him, the trail so familiar now, though it had been less than a week, and knowing this ramble down to the lake and back, your chest started to feel thick in anticipation of missing it already. As you walked and talked, you thought you were keeping pace with Nick, but maybe you were more tired than you thought because it seemed like you were working to stay in stride with him as you hadn’t had to before. Either that or his legs were longer than before, but that – of course – was an impossible thought.

You shook your head.

Nick paused and turned. “What are you shaking your head at?” he asked. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” His tone was soft and teasing.

“Sorry, I got distracted, and my imagination got a little carried away with impossibilities.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Maybe more is possible in this forest than you might think.” His eyes danced with a hint of mystery.

“Is that so?” You played into his mischief.

He leaned closer. “This is an old forest, and it’s a full moon. Anything could happen on a night like tonight.”

Your body seemed drawn into him, leaning closer as well. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to your lips.

The moment hung between you. You tilted your head up, and your eyes fluttered closed. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

And then he tugged on your hand, yanking you out of the moment. “Come on, pretty girl, we’re almost there.”

You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

But with how tightly his hand held yours as he led you off the boardwalk and into the trees, you didn’t feel too disappointed.

He was quiet now, but he also kept you close as he led you through this part of the forest. The trees were more thickly woven together here, with girthier trunks, and you couldn’t help but feel how they were older the further you wandered in. There was no trace of a path now, but Nick kept a confident pace, clearly knowing each inch of the forest intimately, and his surety allowed you to let yourself be swept away further and further along.

His steps were swift but nearly silent, and you tried to walk as quietly as possible. The sounds of the forest at night were soft but present – soft wind whistling through the trees, the song of nocturnal birds, and the chirping of crickets. The light filtering through the branches was minimal, and it had to be tricking you because you knew he was tall, but it felt like he was somehow taller tonight. It had to be the nature of how you were keeping so close just behind him, focused on the square of his shoulder and the gentle pull of his arm leading you.

He wasn’t taller now than he was earlier today, was he?

“Just up ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you, one of the easy smiles that made your heart sigh painted on his face.

His pace quickened, and your anticipation built as you hurried to keep up.

Seconds before the tree line broke, you heard the rippling sounds of water before emerging into a glade. Nick stopped a few steps into the clearing, and you came to stand right next to him. The first thing to draw your eye was a stream running into a small pool. The meadow on the side of the stream where you stood sloped gently down to the water, and it was covered in blankets of wood anemone, reaching right down to the bank and springing up and sprawling away again on the other side. The trees surrounding the glade were certainly some of the tallest you’d seen in the forest, and they rose as giant sentinels toward the inky black sky, which was studded with stars around the bright full moon.

As you looked up and around, the coupling of the simplicity and the majesty of it all had you enraptured, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Nick brought your hand up to his face, pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You turned to look at him. His eyes almost appeared to glow an even brighter blue.

“I said it earlier, but this forest calls to you, doesn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You did.

He dropped your hand, and you let it fall to your side.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You inhaled slowly, letting the breath fill your belly and lungs, fresh, clean, and calm. You tipped your head back, your face craving the moonlight in that moment.

Although you didn’t hear him move, suddenly you felt the warmth of Nick standing behind you. “Now, listen and feel,” he murmured softly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You shivered but remained rooted to the spot. His fingers brushed along the backs of your hands and began to trail slowly up your arms. Your whole body was humming at his touch.

He pressed one soft kiss to your neck, and you sighed and let your neck fall to the side. When his hands landed on your shoulders, he pressed another soft kiss at the bottom of your neck, then turned you to face him.

“You should stay with me.”

Before you could respond, he took your head in both his hands, cradling your jaw. He searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but you knew you couldn’t summon any, nor did you want to. Instead, you pushed up on your toes, seeking his lips, and he met you halfway, claiming your lips with his.

Your hands came up to clutch at his wrists as he held your face, and you leaned in, longing to feel your body close to his. His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, allowing the kiss to deepen, to sear into your very soul. His left hand moved, quickly coming to press at the small of your back, drawing you flush against him. One of your arms wound around his broad chest, and the other came up to mirror how he was cupping your cheek, feeling the trace of stubble along his jaw with your fingers. You stroked his tongue with yours, moaning into the kiss, and he reciprocated stroke for stroke. You quickly became so consumed by his kiss, feeling lightheaded but not sure if it was him or a lack of air, because you couldn’t tell if you were still breathing. It was a fevered kiss driven by something you’d never felt so strongly before, and you needed more.

Nick sank to his knees, and you went naturally down with him. He sat back on his heels, and you followed, perching in his lap. He held you there, your core over his groin, for a delicious moment, and then suddenly he lifted you up and laid you softly but swiftly onto the soft flowery bed of the meadow, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped and giggled against his mouth.

“What a lovely sound,” he said tenderly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a satisfied grin on his face.

Whether it was smug or sweet, you weren’t sure, and you felt your cheeks growing warm under his hungry gaze and his soft praise.

“I wonder what other lovely sounds I can draw from you,” he added as both of his hands moved to your hips. He began kissing you again, having only given you a moment of reprieve, then his hands slid slowly up your waist, skimming up over your ribs, pushing up the fabric of your sweatshirt. When his thumbs brushed up against the underswell of your breasts, he pressed back and forth a few times, teasing you, drawing a little whimper, before he let his thumbs run up and over your nipples. They were both peaked, and you shivered in pleasure, the teasing through the fabric of your bra its own unique sensation, but you were eager for more, so you moved your hands to begin quickly unbuttoning his flannel. He took the hint, helping you by shrugging off his jacket, and when he leaned up for a moment to pull off his flannel and remove the t-shirt he had on beneath it, so you shifted beneath him to pull off your sweatshirt and reach for the clasp of your bra, tossing that to the side as well.

You hadn’t hesitated to rid yourself of your clothes, but you were hit with the rush of baring your chest to him now as – with his own clothing discarded – he froze and looked down at you from above. You flushed with heat, but as you moved one hand to tentatively cover yourself, he grabbed it in his, drew it up to his mouth, and kissed your palm.

You were aware of every imperfection as his eyes roved over your body, but when he looked into your eyes and said, “gorgeous,” his face was so serious, so hungry, you didn’t question that he meant it.

He lowered himself back down over you, supporting himself by planting one forearm on the ground next to your side, and this time his lips sought your chest. He kissed down your sternum, then took one breast in his mouth, and palmed the other with his free hand. You moaned as he sucked one nipple and rolled and teased the other with his fingers. You arched beneath him, your body responsive to his diligent ministrations. He switched to the other breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before lapping and sucking at it. You hadn’t cum before from nipple play alone, but he had you wondering if you might as the pleasure mounted.

You trembled and whimpered beneath him, and as you began to writhe more desperately, he took his mouth off your breast with an audible pop. He moved back up your body, and his hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, urging you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tell me you never thought about it, about staying here with me after I left you earlier today,” he said.

You were already breathless, or else the powerful drive in his deep blue eyes would have stolen your breath once again.

“You must let me have you,” he implored.

You couldn’t answer, but only because you were overcome by the desire in his eyes. For you.

Your name fell from his lips, and his voice was soft, deep, and controlled, but you could still feel the edge of the desperate plea as he uttered your name.

“Yes,” you keened, and you rocked your hips up against his.

“Say the words,” he said. “Say my name and tell me I can have you.”

He slipped his hand down, hooked two fingers into your waistband, and pulled teasingly along the edge from your hip to just below your navel. The torturous movement along your soft skin only drove the hunger that was building for more.

He had to know how he was mounting and playing with the anticipation. But if he needed you to say it, you’d say anything to get what you wanted right now under the light of the full moon from this inimitable figure of a man, nearly unreal in his beauty.

“Nick, you can have me!” You cried.

He wasted no time in pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You tried to kick off your shoes, but slightly struggling to do so, his hands helped remove your shoes and socks more deftly, and he was able to more easily toss it all away. And as your legs settled back down on either side of him as he knelt above you, you realized he was suddenly somehow as naked as you – though you didn’t know how he managed that so quickly, so quickly it felt like magic. Everything about tonight felt illusory, and yet it was all tangible and indisputable, and you gave yourself over to it. When else would you ever find yourself in such an enchanted set of circumstances like this ever again?

So what if it felt like a dream?

You took a deep breath and let your fingers tangle in the grass and the stems of the wood anemone. Your eyes traveled up his thighs to a cock so thick and long and hard for you, then up further, over his hips, defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders, and you whined. Every inch of him ignited heat through your body, and when your eyes met his again, your pulse stuttered.

You could dream like this for one night.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Nick settled back on his haunches and pulled your thighs up over his, drawing you up over him, angling your lower half up as an offering, and his piercing cerulean gaze moved to your core, fully on display. His fingers brushed over your lower stomach, the touch so light it tickled, and you jerked, but his other hand held your hip firmly in place. His fingers parted your folds without hesitation, and he licked his lips.

“Such a pretty, wet cunt, my little nymph,” he said, and you felt both shy being so exposed to him, and desperate for him.

“Nymph?” you couldn’t help but question, surprised by the pet name. 

“Mhmm,” Nick hummed. He traced your wet folds with one finger, in no rush. “You belong to this forest.” He spread your wetness along those lips with the attention of an artist to his canvas. Then he slipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, and your eyes fluttered closed.

He pushed them all the way in, then gave a few slow, shallow thrusts in and out.

You never wanted to wake up from this, but you needed more.

“Nick, please!”

He withdrew his fingers and then pressed them to your lips. “Taste your sweet nectar, nymph.”

The digits easily slipped into your mouth, and the urge to suck was a near primal reaction. He applied gentle pressure on your tongue as you sucked, and it only drove the craving in your core further. You were entirely lucid, and yet you felt thoroughly intoxicated by him, by everything around you.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and you did.

You swore he could see into your soul when he looked at you so intensely, but rather than fear, it soothed your nerves. It also more deeply stoked your desire for him, and as much as you wanted to linger in this moment, there was an undeniable pull you couldn’t ignore.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

He shifted to lean down over you, remaining rooted between your thighs but shifting forward so you were nearly chest to chest. He bore his weight on his forearms, caging you in. As he settled, lips only a breath away from you, you felt the weight of his large, thick cock rest on your stomach. You lifted your head to pull him into the kiss you wanted. You ached for him to fill you up, but you also wanted to give everything just to this kiss for a few beats longer.

It was like he was drinking you in. One of your arms came up around his back, the other brushed up along the side of his arm, seeking and ultimately finding his hand, and your fingers instinctively entwined together.

He moved his other hand down briefly to guide the head of his cock to your weeping hole, and you gave a little moan into his mouth as his head entered you.

As he seated his cock fully inside of you, the tip nudging your cervix, you had to break off your kiss to concentrate on breathing. Nick dropped his forehead to yours, seemingly unable to refuse some form of intimate closeness as he rocked into you again. “You can feel it,” he spoke, the warmth of his breath still close to your mouth.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs wrapped around his torso. He resumed thrusting, slow, deep thrusts.

“I can feel it, too,” he murmured along your jaw. “You’re answering the call of the forest.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, hardly focused on what he was saying, but the deep warmth of his voice made the words swell through your mind.

He continued his unhurried thrusts, almost methodical in nature, and after a few more minutes, his cock began to swell inside you. And it continued to grow.

You moaned – or groaned – you couldn’t decipher if what you were feeling was real and whether it was painful or pure ecstasy. Your hand clasped his more tightly, and his answering squeeze was accompanied by tendrils of vines sprouting and circling around your hand and down around your wrist.

“What?” Your eyes flew open, and then you gasped. “Nick!”

He was transforming before your eyes. His face remained familiar, but a crown of horns appeared around his head, and emerald moss and glossy leaves intermingled and sprouted throughout his dark hair. Two enormous, magnificent antlers had emerged from his temple and were still slowly growing, just as he was still slowly growing inside you as he continued his steady thrusts. His shoulders broadened, and you knew he was growing in stature. 

You trembled beneath him, tears springing to your eyes, in danger of spilling over.

“I told you, my little nymph: I’m the king and guardian of this forest – it speaks to me like it wants to speak to you. You’re answering the call, and I can’t,” he paused to groan, and with a shiver, you felt the ridge of his spine shift from skin to a supple tree bark. “It’s midnight, and with you giving yourself to me and the forest, I can’t hold back my true form.”

He began to thrust more quickly in and out of your cunt, a few of the strokes a little erratic. You whimpered, overwhelmed, and a few tears spilled over your cheeks.

“No, none of that,” he scolded, but kissed away the tears. “You didn’t want to leave, and now you don’t have to, nor can you.”

His free hand moved between you and found your pulsing, puffy clit, applying immediate, furious little circles that refused to let you feel anything but pleasure in response to his ministrations. His lips reclaimed yours once again, and as your body continued to tremble, his thrusts sped up even more, your channel never more full, making the mounting wave of pain and pleasure so exquisite as the waves grew that you let out a sob as your orgasm crashed over you.

Unrelenting, as your cunt contracted around him, Nick more demandingly sought his own release. He moved both hands to grip your ribs below your wrists and railed into you with abandon, punching the air from your lungs over and over, and ultimately pushing you into a rushed second orgasm only seconds before he roared his own ecstasy, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep loads of his seed inside of you, a warmth you could feel permeating you.

And then Nick petted your face, showering kisses softly over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids before ultimately resting his forehead on yours, and gently caressing your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, for this, and now you're mine forever.”

If you enjoyed this at all, read the other two fics from the Enchanted Birthday Fest by the wonderful @witchywithwhiskey and @biteofcherry! They're both exquisite stories!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[thelightsandtheroses]

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. However, when a ghost from your past surfaces and threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Overarching Series Warnings - 18+ blog - minors do not interact, unexpected friendship, developing relationship, idiots in love, flangst, typical TLOU content, references to cults, references to past manipulation, references to past violence, references to PTSD, single parent reader (child is a teenager), age range implied but try to avoid specifics, some secondary original characters, etc. No use of Y/N, any further warnings to be added as appropriate.

Title from the Explosions in the Sky song of the same name.

One: I was just coasting till we met (2.5k) 11th Sep Drabble: You're face to face with the man who sold the world (1.1k) 23rd Sep Two: there goes the fear again (4.3k) 26th Sep Three: I found it hard to find someone like you (4.4k) 12th Oct Drabble: and my soul has changed, and my heart (1.2k) 12th Nov Four: rumours about my hips and thighs and whispered sighs (4k) 25th Nov Five: we’d only die of lonely secrets (3.4k) 27th Dec Six even the iron still fears the rot (4.4k) 27th Jan Seven: me and the devil, walking side by side (5.4k) 25th Mar Eight: don't let this darkness fool you Nine: Ten Epilogue

If you would like to be added to to the taglist please let me know. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs.

Moodboards and other things Moodboard #1

[sunkissedchld]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the new jeans CD, pile two is NCT, and so on and so forth.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 💿

𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒:

this PAC includes mentions of specific celebrities! this is in an attempt to describe the energy of each pile.

in one pile's moodboard example, i use a tweet from stan twitter to visualize how one's fandom might be. i don't necessarily agree with the example tweet, but it was a good example of the pile's energy, so i used it. it doesn't imply or show my true feelings about that fandom or artist.

additionally, sections of this PAC make reference to adult topics such as sex, drugs, alcohol, addiction, and more. please use your discretion when reading your or each pile.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Cards:

Queen of Swords, The Fool, Four of Wands, Two of Coins

King of Wands (Rx), Ten of Cups, Eight of Cups (Rx), The Devil, Four of Coins, Nine of Coins

Page of Coins, The Emperor

Knight of Swords (Rx), Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Page of Cups

The Star

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be soloists. 

the music you make would be hard-hitting and active! tons of choreography would be involved, and you'd make people want to learn your dances even if they weren't professional dancers! a significant amount of your songs might even go viral on platforms like tiktok. your music would be a fresh breath into the music industry; you would probably write your own songs and not be afraid to venture into a variety of music genres. you might do surprise releases (like beyoncé did with her self-titled album)! you'd gain tons of success with your works, so much so that you'd end up throwing celebration parties often due to it! you might find it hard to keep up with so much work (you're probably booked and busy with interviews, concerts, promotions, etc.), but you also love the lifestyle, and that energy shows through the music you make. 

in your musical career, you may come off as some sort of diva who knows how to talk their way to success. you come off as someone who has a great personal and professional life. you would have the type of career and life others' dream of having. you may stay in a healthy relationship. again, most of your songs would be upbeat and about happiness - which may be a breath of fresh air in relation to more emotional, heavy music. as you continue throughout your career, you may lean towards that emotional music because of depression or life struggles. you may be worried about the future of your career after your "prime". this might be after a period of time of years of hard work and seemingly little rest; you might fall into addictions to materialism, drugs, or alcohol. you will be protected though! people will be looking out for you and steer you back onto the right path which will keep you from going downhill. 

your fans would look up to you a lot. it's giving "these are my kids" energy. you may pay off their student loans or even party with some of them on a night out if you see them. you might appeal to a younger crowd - teens, college, and early adults. your fans see you as fair and as a pillar of authority. they look to you to determine how to move and act as a fandom. you act as the compass for order in their eyes. whatever you say to do, they will do. want to win a specific award? your fans will make sure they buy enough albums and vote enough for you to win it. want to collab with a specific artist? your fans will flood that person's timeline to make sure you two interact. it's almost like they fulfill your wishes! it reminds me of the saying ARMYs have about "anything yoongi wants, yoongi gets". 

the general public may have some conflict with you. some people may be prejudiced towards you (maybe because of race, gender, sexuality). some of the public will be hasty to judge you and bash you. this feeling will change fairly quickly. the public will realize they were wrong to judge you and feel horrible about what they did. some people may pray for your downfall and instead bring their own because it's like negativity towards you is reflected back on those who want to harm you; this goes back to you being heavily protected. in the end, the general public will see you as trustworthy and fair. some will think you're very innovative and great at executing your creative ideas. you could become a county's favorite artist. kind of like how Girls Generation is seen as the "Nation's Girl Group'' in South Korea - that would be your title as a soloist. the general public would end up doting over you and loving you. 

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Cards:

Knight of Swords, The Devil, Four of Wands (Rx), The Hermit

Four of Coins, Five of Cups, King of Wands

The Moon (Rx), The Sun 

Page of Coins, The Emperor (Rx)

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be the main rapper in this group. your group's music would be fast-paced and energetic. tons of choreography and you all would do major concept changes often. you all would also travel often or experiment with different cultural music. your sound would be bold - you might talk about taboo topics (ie. addiction, sex, violence, obsessions, death). your music might get spoiled before release. there may also be some times when the album is expected to debut on a certain day, and it isn't released until later - maybe because of music clearances or lack of preparation. your music would force people to confront difficult life topics instead of ignoring them. you all would also help people with mental health issues because they relate to the music so well. 

your group would achieve a ton, but i still think your company would be a little tight on finances. your company may be cutting it close to making payments on time, but you and the other members would be financially stable. the company would stay afloat, but it's like they struggle with money management maybe? you also would have a strong fanbase and a strong personal group sound (even while exploring so many genres). i feel like your company's struggles would impact the group and bring down morale. you all would have good successes but it's like your company takes you one step forward and three steps back. regardless, you all pushing through would just create more inspiration for music which in turn makes your fans appreciate and relate to you all more. 

i feel like fans would feel very protective and proud of you. the mismanagement of funds happening within the company would be revealed to the fans and public, but your fandom still has fierce loyalty to you all. they outwardly call out the mismanagement and want better for you all. you might have a lot of sasaengs because of fans' fierce loyalty to you. specific to you, fans may feel like you're very masculine or heavily into you masculine energy. you may be seen as the "sunshine" of the group. people look to you for happiness; there may be tons of compilations of your funny moments. you're like a light to a room to your fans and others. 

the general public learns a lot from you all. that sounds nice, but i think they mostly learn how not to run a company. you all definitely start important societal conversations on taboo topics like explained before, but that really gets overshadowed by company misadventures. people may see your company as young and maybe ignorant of how to be run? they'll feel like your company is abusing their power. you all may not get tons of promotion, so you may only be known to the public for your company's failures.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

Cards:

Six of Swords, Nine of Wands (Rx), Three of Coins (Rx), Page of Swords

Knight of Wands (Rx), King of Cups, Page of Cups (Rx), Three of Cups, Nine of Coins (Rx)

Five of Swords (Rx), Five of Coins, Five of Cups (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx)

The Hierophant, Three of Wands (Rx), Six of Cups (Rx)

The Wheel of Fortune

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be a vocalist. your music would have a theme all throughout your discography. it would be very consistent, and the albums would play beautifully altogether. each song would fade into the other and almost seem like a movie with just music. people may think you steal songs or there might be plagiarism controversies. someone from the group might be ousted, and that may be talked about in the music or hang over the group for a long time. this might be connected to the music you make in that your group isn't afraid to talk about being left behind and having to forge your own journey. someone in the group may be lazy. 

i think your group might break up, and you become a soloist? then, you'd be left to prove your worth in the music industry. you would come out on top, and let people know that you have a message that you're getting out regardless of the struggles you have to go through in order for it to be heard. i think ultimately you'll be left to work behind the scenes in the music industry - maybe as a songwriter or producer. it'll be the situation of people wanting to hear your words and you wanting to get them out, but it only materializes when it's told through someone else if that makes sense. 

your group career would be very messy. again, some members would be lazy; others would have bad attitudes and either be jealous and even violent. there's tons of in-fighting between members, and it's a major mess for everyone involved. you personally will not be like that though! you'd be the member others feel like they can trust and confide in. you're insightful and might even protect your members who are being bullied or on the receiving end of jealousy. similarly to pile two, your group's album would experience delays - due to plagiarism, samples not being cleared, lazy members, etc. 

your group produces music that's similar to what you all would be experiencing - troubled and emotional youth, manipulation, moodiness, immaturity, and unrequited love. despite all the in-group issues, you all would experience success for a time! ultimately, it will go away due to company mismanagement and all the group issues coming to light. 

fans might not like you because of what messy group members say about you. they'll say you're attention seeking and manipulative even though it's other members doing those exact things and NOT you. you might feel isolated because of the hate you receive. you may think no one likes you, and you might stare off during interviews because you're being ignored. you'd feel really lonely. as you keep going, you will gain strength and feel confident enough in the fact that you know you're a good person despite others believing the opposite. you'll know your truth is more grounding that others' lies. i think this is what will ultimately lead to you preferring to be behind the scenes rather than in the light of the music industry. 

i don't think the general public will hate you as much as fans seem to. the general public would be way more understanding of circumstances and would be willing to hear your side of the story rather than blindly believing you members. you'd have a major impact on the collective, and you might even become an expert in whatever you do behind the scenes. i think people will see that you were used by the machine called the music industry and would feel for you. i also think the public would pick up on the fact that you eventually feel unsure about your musical abilities. they'll see you as disorganized because of how the industry left you. your past would be at the forefront of the general public's mind, so it would be best for you to work behind the scenes, so the music can speak for itself rather than you speaking for the music.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦

Cards:

Five of Swords (Rx), Queen of Coins (Rx), Six of Wands, Strength

Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands (Rx), The Magician, The Hanged Man (Rx)

Page of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Wands

The Star (Rx), Seven of Cups

Four of Cups

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be a main dancer and a vocalist (but not a main vocal). your group's music would be shocking. it would deal with topics like manipulation, gossip, paranoia, and the theme might revolve around uncovering secrets and overcoming those who want to harm you. almost like a horror concept! i'm slightly reminded of xdinary heroes or even rage against the machine. your music would seek to uncover immorality in the world and put it in the face of society instead of trying to hide it like we've been taught to. super unique concept! your listeners get the feeling that they can uncover and fight through anything after listening to your music. the music is very strong (maybe even in the rock genre for some of you), and there's a confidence in the music (including sexual confidence). 

there's strong sexual themes in your music. femme fatale and dominatrix vibes are present. this group would be filled with strong female figures who are confident in who they are. in some instances, you all want to be seen as arrogant in order to provide a view of women that's not often seen in the music scene - at least not in a way where women are in control of their own power. this group would play off of gender stereotypes and archetypes in order to make a point to society. again, super creative concepts, and it might even include the occult! like divination tools might be seen in the background of some of your music videos. the point is to show young women that they can be powerful and also know when to hold back in order to show all sides of that power. 

your fans might be on the younger side - teens and young adults. they will like giving you handmade messages and gifts. it's almost giving you being the older sibling, and your fans are the younger sibling who looks up to you. they learn a lot about themselves from you, and see you as this intellectual that has great creative ideas. they also see you as just and fair and might come to you for advice. they may see their future selves in you and look up to you because of that. both of you have tons of love for one another (it's so cute!). 

the general public may not really like you. you may disappoint them because there's this societal view they have of how gender roles should be enforced or how your group should behave, and you all totally go against that. it's like they're thinking "that group would help themselves out if they just followed with the standards. they make it hard on themselves". they see you all as immoral and a bad influence on the younger society. they also see you all as delusional. 

reader's note: do not think of the general public's view as a bad thing! personally, it's important to remember that change only comes when society is forced to confront irrational and prejudicial thinking. if anything, the general public viewing you as this is a compliment in my opinion. 

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕

Cards:

The Lovers, Eight of Swords, The Emperor, Queen of Coins, The Star

The High Priestess, Ten of Cups, Knight of Swords

Five of Cups, Six of Wands, The Hermit

The Chariot 

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd be the face of the group/the center - maybe a visual position? your group focuses on love songs and relationships. you all would talk about all the ups and downs of creating, maintaining, and losing relationships. i feel like on the outside, the concepts of each title track might be visually very different, but the major theme of relationships would always be present. for example, there would be a very rosy and cheery song about how in love you all are in a romantic relationship (like a Twice title track), and then your next comeback would be more solemn and serious about how you lost a loved family member or something like that (like what's mentioned in DaBaby's "Gucci Peacoat"). you all would have long lasting careers and be seen as good senior musicians. you all would probably be very personally involved in the music making process. your music would be very comforting and relatable for whoever listens to it. i think you'd give many people hope when it comes to handling relationships. 

i feel like the group's music heavily focuses on emotional connections - so much so that spiritual and occult elements might be present in the process or music videos and things of that nature. your group might be seen as mysterious outside of the music you all make. it's like you all are only focused on the music aspect in the public eye and don't really reveal a ton about your deep personal lives (like siblings or TMIs or things like that). you all really want to emphasize the music! you and your group members would be very close in personal and professional life! you all may feel more like family members rather than friends which will translate into the music. it's like you all will recognize that you'd achieved your dreams all together and you would cherish one another greatly for that. you all may be internationally famous or gather fame quickly - maybe as soon as you debut! it also may be super easy for you all to make and release music. 

i get very despondent energy from your fans for some reason? they may frequently feel disappointed with you all - maybe because of how different title tracks and aesthetics can change for you all? it could also be that they're the type of fans that are always focused on how much bigger you all could be, so they never stop to appreciate how far you all have come and therefore they seem ungrateful. they will eventually get over this though! so maybe in the beginning they feel disappointed about how little known and unappreciated you all are, but when you blow up they feel very proud of your successes and feel like all of yours and their effort has paid off. your fans will look to you for guidance and support when it comes to mental health issues and gain personal strength from you. they may like how withdrawn you and your group can be when it comes to disclosing personal information. 

i didn't get any cards when shuffling to ask how the general public would view you. i only got the bottom of the deck energy which was The Chariot. i feel like this means your success will be so widespread it's hard to contain how the public views you to a couple tarot cards that may give a more in-depth explanation. they'll see you and your group as having great drive and ambition that leads you all to great success despite a long, uphill battle that comes with pursuing a musical career. i feel like they'd be especially impressed because you all come from a small company? it's like you all started from the absolute bottom to become major stars, and the public finds that admirable.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐲

Cards:

Nine of Cups, The Emperor, Four of Cups, Five of Wands, Six of Wands, The Empress

The Sun, The Fool, Five of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins, Four of Swords, Knight of Cups

Three of Cups (Rx), Strength, Page of Coins

The High Priestess (Rx), Five of Swords, The Star, Six of Swords

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

off bat, you'd be super successful! i get the feeling you'd always be happy, and that might translate into your music. you may encourage listeners to be happy and invite abundance and gratefulness into their own lives the way you welcomed it into yours. i think you'd be very hands-on with your music, and you'd take the reins in everything you do - i'm almost reminded of beyoncé and how people view her as a perfectionist about her work. despite your perfectionist tendencies, you'd definitely be open to others' ideas, and you'd be nice to work with. people wouldn't have a bad word to say about you in that aspect. you'd be super hypnotic as a celebrity, so people would totally be drawn to you. i think you'd be open about all the "goods" and "bads" of fame. you'd talk about how financial abundance and overflowing love from people is very enticing, but isn't all it's cracked up to be. you'd be open about your struggles, and people would find that refreshing and admire you for your honesty. i think your spirit guides would be guiding you to and throughout fame because you were destined for it. you'd be spiritually protected. 

you'd exude energy and success in your music. you might even make perfect manifestation music! your music would be very original, and i believe you'd write music directly from your heart. you wouldn't worry about being "too vulnerable" because you want to be because it's like that's the essence of music for you. you take setbacks from your life and still find hope in them in order to take good from the indecipherable bad. i think that's what would make your music most unique. you'd treat music as your past, present, and future and because of how close you hold it to your heart, it becomes obvious in your music. the point of your music is to show personal growth, and people would connect with that immediately. i also think relationships and romance would be important in your music since your emotions would always be in your songwriting. your breakups, makeups, and new connections would always be written and released to the public - i'm reminded of Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande. 

fans (or maybe more so the general public?) may see you like the two artists i just mentioned are viewed - promiscuous, always in a relationship, and maybe even excessive and overindulgent in life and financial endeavors. others will say that you're confident in yourself and your sexuality and find that empowering. they see you as someone who is secure in themself and doesn't need public approval to do whatever you want. there's a subtle, grand confidence in you that people see. your fans may want to be like you and be students of you, writing your every word down. you might be popular with teens and young adults. 

the general public will see you as someone who is secretive and doing shady things behind the scenes. they'll feel like your energy and personality is too good to be true. they'll say you're immoral and maybe even involved with the illuminati or something like that. some might even say you're misusing spirituality or witchcraft to get your fame. people would want to speak negatively on you and cause you distress; they might often engage in smear campaigns to lower your credibility. for others, you give them hope. overall, people's negative intentions will not matter because, as said before, you'd be heavily spiritually protected. you'll be able to brush off smear campaigns and negative, false publicity very easily. your foundation is too strong to be broken by bullies and those who are so miserable in their own lives they push it onto others.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Cards:

Knight of Swords, King of Coins, The High Priestess (Rx), Three of Cups (Rx)

Ten of Swords, Nine of Swords (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins

Queen of Cups, Ten of Cups (Rx), The Fool, Page of Cups

Five of Cups, Five of Wands, King of Wands (Rx)

Judgment

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

you'd be very involved in the musical process. you'd likely write most (if not, all) of your music. anything you make is sure to be a hit. you're ambitious with your ideas, and you're quick to create and hop onto new trends. i get the feeling you wouldn't trust your musical abilities despite how they always seem to work out for you. maybe you need a ton of outside support to finally decide "okay, this is a good idea". you might even be older than expected when you become a musical artist. you might feel unfulfilled in life in general and especially in the music industry despite your successes. you might spend way more money than you have, or you might just flaunt your wealth excessively. you might rely on drugs, alcohol, or sexual adventures as an escape from your feelings of loneliness. it seems you'd be successful but unhappy. 

your music may include information about the traumas you have. whatever is causing you to turn to your addictions will be explicitly mentioned in the music you put out. a lot of your music may mention themes like grief, depression, and hardship. it's like your music allows for you to constantly relive your traumatic experiences and that makes it hard for you to heal or create different thematic content if that makes sense. i think once you gained success you thought you would be happy, but it only made it worse because you realized fame and money does not automatically bring happiness. ultimately, i think those around you will urge you to gain confidence and help you to know you're on the right path. you'd slowly but surely become more emotionally stable and start traveling more and feeling more happiness. 

your fans would see you as very in tune with your intuition and femininity or feminine energy. they'd see you as caring, sensitive, and emotional. i think that's because those are the elements you use to make your music. they also see you as wildly artistic and creative. they might feel like you come up with music and ideas that no one else would even think of. they'd see you as an innovator. i also think they'd see you as broken or coming from traumatic and undesirable circumstances. i think they'd recognize and feel your pain. they'd view your life in the music industry and your fame as a new beginning for you and would see it as a chance for you to be free from what's hurt you. they might like writing out their love for you through social media campaigns or through giving you handwritten letters. they'd see you as someone who is constantly growing and learning, and they'd feel happy seeing you happy. 

the general public may have wishy-washy feelings towards you. they might find out about your addictions and feel disappointed with you. some people will feel empathetic and recognize how your misfortunes affect you and may have the view of "oh, it's horrible that they went through that. i hope they no longer do that and start feeling better and happier". others will feel like you're selfish and didn't appreciate what you were given if you engaged in your addictions while you were successful. they might think "they gained all that money and fame, so why even go down the route of addiction? they were just wallowing in their sadness". very different points of view, so the general public would feel split on their feelings towards you overall.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬; 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Cards:

Ten of Coins, King of Wands, Five of Wands, Temperance, Four of Wands

Nine of Swords (Rx), The Emperor (Rx), Five of Swords, Three of Cups

The Devil (Rx), King of Coins, Six of Cups

Ten of Wands, The Hanged Man

Knight of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

you might be discovered purely by "chance". maybe you posted a song cover on YouTube or became popular on TikTok, and a label decided to pick you up. your music may have to do with your personal life like your family, how you gained your fame, your life history, and things of that nature. your music would be very motivational and strong. you may be very specific about your aesthetic and visuals because you want to stand out among the artist-filled industry. you would be super competitive when it came to the music game. you might be a rapper? i feel like you'd focus a ton on things like word-play. you also might like making society and listeners think about life, society, and spirituality/their life purpose. i'm reminded of artists like Jhene Aiko and J. Cole. you'd benefit a lot from your fame. 

you may be a perfectionist about your craft. you might miss out on healthy sleeping and eating patterns while working on an album. you may love the idea of working yourself until you can't work anymore. you see the struggle of work as a labor of birthing these creative ideas and appreciate each time you can create something new. i know i mentioned earlier that a record label may have wanted to pick you up, but i think you might prefer to be an independent artist. you wouldn't want to be confined to company standards and expectations; you would want to focus on the music. people and companies may want you to fail because of this. they may intentionally block your music from being played on the radio or from being nominated for awards. despite this, you would still gain success from you giving to others and others finding your energy welcoming. a strong group (could be your fans or the collective) would ensure your success. 

your fans would see you as someone that breaks free from the societal mold. they'd see you as someone that knows how to think for themselves even if the group wants them to think differently. they also see you as someone that knows how to keep going and growing when shit hits the fan. you'd be seen as someone that doesn't allow for life circumstances to bring them down. they'd see you as a successful business person who has the perfect ear for music and eyes for aesthetics. they may also see you as someone that is very guided spiritually. they can tell someone is watching over you to be sure you succeed in the industry. 

the general public would see you as someone who made something from nothing. they may not view you as this huge, international superstar, but you would be somewhat known. some parts of the population would be able to recognize you from a photo or from the mention of your name. some of the public may feel like you're delusional in what you're trying to achieve (especially if you're an independent artist going against big companies). i think the general public would also be able to tell that you're spiritually guided and protected. parts of the public will like that you give a fresh perspective to them and the rest of society. you could begin an idea shift in the collective.

Playlist:

[whiterosesforher]

dark moon pantheon series ; iii

warnings. implied nudity, mentions of war

genre. (dark) fantasy, au, romance, drama, action, fanfiction, historical, royalty

word count. 2,358 words

chapter synopsis. a war has finally been formally declared in the celestial realm, the sisters however are more calm than they should be given the fact that they already saw this coming because of the wrongdoings of their father. the eldest sister on the other hand, met a vampire during on one of her visits in earth.

a/n. this is an oc (named reader) x enhypen fanfiction based off of enhypen's current lore as vampires, there are some parts of the story where it's accurate to the greek mythology but there are also some that are just purely fiction. i apologize for updating only after a month. again, english is not my first language so bear with me.

this is only the backstory. the real start of the plot/story has not begun yet.

masterlist.

Zeus had his mind reeling non stop from the confrontation with his siblings, he walked into the dining room with a tense jaw and an angry heart.

Earlier today, his siblings, Poseidon, Hades, and Athena, marched to his throne to speak to him.

They're finally starting a war against him and the beings devoted to him.The war will start on the second full moon from now.

His eyes scanned the room, falling upon his wife, Hera, seated gracefully at the head of the other side of the table opposite to the chair reserved for him. Her gaze met his, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but she said nothing, allowing him to take his place opposite to her.

Arrayed along the table were their eight daughters, four on each side and each one of them has already been bestowed their titles and powers that comes with great responsibility. His eyes moved from one to the next, taking in their faces, this is actually the only time where he paid attention to his daughters.

Venus, the eldest, she is the god of beauty, conviviality, emotion, and love. Her presence alone can bring a sense of lovingness and emotional support and Zeus could see the natural leadership in her eyes, though he knows that she also has her own worries about the family since she's the oldest and most mature.

Next to her was Thana, the god of war, justice, balance, and death. Thana's eyes were sharp, her demeanor confident and strong. She has always exuded a strength and determination that spoke of her readiness to fight for what she believed in, a true warrior at heart. She kind of reminds Zeus of his sister, Athena.

Artaemia sat beside Thana, her bold aura a testament to her being the god of nature, wildlife, and disasters. She looks like nature itself and that is both awe-inspiring and intimidating.

Hali, the fourth in line, sat quietly, as the god of elements, knowledge, mind, and logic, Hali was often described as omnipotent, a title that made her both revered and envied by everyone in the Heaven. Her power, so unexpected in someone so far down the birth order, this posed a potential threat to Venus' position as the heir to the crown.

Harmonia, the god of harmony, peace, and comfort, sat all calm and composed. She held the bridges connecting all realms, a vital role that linked the earth, the heavens, the afterlife, and the abyss. Her presence was soothing as well as her personality.

Liwa, the god of sun, light, and healing, glowed with inner radiance. She is one with the sun, controlling it and bringing light and warmth to the world. Her power is life giving.

Lunar, the god of moon, hunting, and night sky, was a mysterious figure. Her physical appearance showcases her title as she is as beautiful as the night sky. Like her older sister, she owns the moon, her influence felt in the quiet, reflective hours of the night. Her power was subtle but profound, a counterbalance to Liwa's bright blinding energy.

Finally, there was Nikola, the youngest, the god of women, children, fertility, and life. Though her powers were considered less formidable than those of her older sisters as she's already so far down the birth rank, there was a gentle power in her, a nurturing spirit that was essential to the balance of their world.

As they began to eat, the clinking of silverware and the hum of quiet conversation filled the room. Zeus remained silent, his mind full of thoughts. He watched his daughters interact, their faint laughter the only thing filling the room.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "My daughters," he began, "I have come to dine with you tonight because there is something important I must discuss with all of you."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Zeus. Hera looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern, while the girls waited expectantly.

"The realm is in a state of unrest, as always." Zeus continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are those who believe that my rule has brought imbalance and suffering. They have tried to negotiate, but I will never let my pride down no matter what. Now, they invoked war."

A ripple of shock and unease passed through the daughters. Venus, always the voice, spoke first. "Father, what can we do to help? How can we prevent this war?"

Zeus sighed, the weight of his decisions heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't even know how all of this would end, if him and his family will survive. While true that gods and demigods are immortal, but they can certainly die if killed by another god.

"I do not know if it can be prevented. But I know I have always done what I believed was best."

Hera smiled at her husband, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "We will get through this." she said softly, assuring every single one of them.

The palace was quiet as the blue hour descended, the time when day melted into night. Venus sought some sort of peace after their early dinner with her family. She approached her sisters, hoping one of them would join her to come down the earth realm and relax at the sea.

"Will anyone come down with me to visit earth?" Venus asked, her voice hopeful.

Thana shook her head, her eyes tired. "I'm exhausted, Venus. Perhaps another time."

Artaemia, engrossed in her latest project involving the wild creatures of the forests, waved a distracted hand. "I'm busy, Venus. Next time, I promise."

Harmonia, Liwa, and Lunar were similarly occupied, and Nikola, the youngest, was already dozing off in her chair.

Finally, Halimede looked up from her books, her eyes warm with understanding. "I’m sorry, Venus. I'm swamped with studies and duties. But I promise, next time I’ll come with you. We'll visit the earth realm together, okay?"

Venus smiled at her sister, grateful for the reassurance. "Thank you, Hali."

With that, Venus slipped out of the palace. She navigated the familiar path to the earth realm, her steps light on the soft white sand as she approached the cave that housed the hidden blue lagoon. This place was a sanctuary for her and her sisters, a refuge from the celestial chaos above.

As she entered the cave, the air grew cooler, the sound of dripping water echoing softly around her. The deeper she ventured, the more she felt the cool air of the place envelop her. The lagoon lay ahead, its crystal-clear waters shimmering with a faint blue glow, surrounded by glittering crystals embedded in the cave walls.

But tonight, there was something different. A melodic, relaxing male voice reached her ears, his voice echoed in the cave, singing a tune that was both enchanting and unfamiliar. She followed the sound, her curiosity piqued, and soon found herself hiding behind a large stone, peering into the lagoon.

There, in the water, was a dark red-haired male, his back turned to her as he sang. His naked form completely submerged in the water with only his bare chest visible up the surface.

Venus observed him, trying to decipher his identity. He was not a siren, nor a mere mortal human; she could sense his immortality. As he sang, she noticed something peculiar about him. When he opened his mouth, she saw the gleam of sharp fangs.

A vampire, she realized, involuntarily gasping.

Her gasp did not go unnoticed, and the man snapped his head in her direction, their eyes locking. His eyes glowed, and she felt a force trying to invade her mind. But it met with resistance, unable to penetrate her divine barriers. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Venus finally stepped out from behind the rock, her voice calm and steady. "You cannot do that to me. I am not a human."

The vampire’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, the glow fading as he regarded her with curiosity and wariness. "My telepathic ability can also penetrate any another immortal's mind. So who and what are you?" he asked, his voice still carrying the melodic undertone that had drawn her in.

"That's because I'm not a simple immortal. I'm Venus, daughter of Zeus and Hera, god of beauty, conviviality, emotion, and love," she replied, standing tall and composed but also elegant and calm.

The vampire’s expression softened, his tension easing. "God of beauty and love huh, I did not expect to meet a god here in this hidden lagoon."

"And I did not expect to find a vampire," Venus countered, her eyes studying him. "What brings you here?"

He hesitated for a moment before responding. "I come here to find peace, away from the chaos of the mortal world. This place... it’s my peace of mind."

Venus nodded in understanding, her own reasons for being there mirroring his. "We share that sentiment. This lagoon has been a refuge for my sisters and me."

The vampire smiled faintly, the initial tension between them dissipating. "Then perhaps we can share this place, even if only for a little while."

Venus returned his smile, feeling a sense of comfort with this unexpected stranger. "Perhaps we can. What is your name?"

"Heeseung," he replied, his voice softening. "And I promise, Venus, I mean you no harm."

With that, She dipped into the cold water beside him. They settled into a peaceful but not awkward silence. Heeseung did not feel any intimidation nor nervousness from the god beside him as he should have, her presence was just so comfortable for him.

After a long silence, with only their breaths and heavy sighs let out here and there, Heeseung finally broke out the silence.

"So, Zeus and Hera's daughter? The Queen and King of the Heavens. You're not just a normal god then, you are a royalty."

His statement earned a chuckle from the girl, "I guess you can say that."

"It almost feels rude for me to talk to you so casually knowing who you are."

"Oh please, don't be. It's tiring to get treated differently whenever someone knows who I am, they always get intimidated and scared. I'm just me." She shrugged casually as she soothed the skin of her arms with the cold water.

Heeseung hummed in agreement before asking her another question, "How old are you then?"

She glanced at him before focusing back on the waters again, "I'm a young god, only 23. How about you?"

She takes a look at him again, waiting for his answer. He almost giggled, his bambi eyes staring at her, "We're the same age!" He exclaims, like a cute excited kid.

"Really?" she also giggled alongside him before continuing, "I guess we'll grow really old together then."

The corner of Heeseung's lips tugged up as he teasingly raised a brow at what she just said. When she glanced at him, that's when Venus started to realize what she just said.

"Oh no no, what I meant was that we're the same age and that we'll grow old together because we're both immortals and will probably live so many years in here and–" she started to ramble, nervously explaining herself before Heeseung's laugh cut her off.

"Okay okay, I get it, Venus." he said while holding his stomach, still laughing. He was totally amused by her reaction, rambling with her cheeks tinted pink.

They laughed together, Venus secretly releasing a sigh of relief for getting out of the awkward embarrassment.

The sense of time totally flew off Venus' head as she enjoyed every moment with this newly met vampire. It's eventually late at night, her sisters up the celestial realm worried about her because their mother will soon check in on them for dinner and would definitely notice the missing eldest.

"Where on earth and heavens is she?!" The second eldest exclaimed, while Artaemia guarded the door, on the look out for when their mother will come.

Stepping down the earth has been strictly prohibited, it is a rule among gods. Especially young gods like themselves.

"Thana, lower your voice, we don't want to alarm any servants to come in and check on us." Nikola explained, her tone a slight warning to her impatient and easily triggered sister.

Thana could only roll her eyes in frustration while Liwa beside her kept on biting her nails anxiously.

With a sigh, Hali finally thought of something to both calm her anxious sisters and also to call up the currently missing Venus.

"Harmonia, bridge to her and call her to come up immediately." Hali stated, with Lunar butting in after she finished speaking, "Yeah we have to make sure she's safe, she don't usually take this long."

Artaemia snorted, "Yeah, if anybody among us is always late and gets into trouble that would be Lunar, not Venus." Thana and Nikola laughed which made Lunar throw a glare at their direction.

"It's true tho," Nikola mouthed to her with a shrug.

Harmonia nodded, with her ability to bridge and communicate all realms, ran straight to her room where a small fountain is located. Her sisters followed her inside not long after, peeking over her shoulder to watch what she's about to do.

She lightly touched the calm water with her index finger before swirling it gently, the water swirled for a few moments before it completely stilled.

It showed an image focused on Venus, emerging from the lagoon with her soaked dress. Through the bridge ability that Harmonia possesses, she whispered to the water "Come home," and her whispers soon reached Venus' ears.

"Heeseung, I need to head back home," she said with such urgency in her voice that made heeseung look at her with worry "It was nice meeting you, let's see each other again soon."

The image of their sister in the water disappeared shortly after that, "There, that should urge her to come back home."

Venus on the other hand internally panicked as she realized she had lost track of time, and Harmonia calling up to her means it's something serious.

He nodded before she quickly turned to walk away, but Heeseung was quick to snatch her hand, placing a kiss on it. His own way of saying goodbye to her before she departs back to where she rightfully belongs.

[wheels-of-despair]

Eric (A Quiet Place: Day One) Masterlist

This one goes out to everyone who saw the wet puppy with the big brown eyes and thought, "I need to hold him and love him and tell him it's gonna be okay." Don't worry, Eric. We've got you.

The words poured out of me over the two weeks it took me to write this story, but when it came time to post the series intro and summary… I drew a blank. I have no idea how to summarize this series without ruining everything. So I'm gonna throw a few things at you, and if they stick and you want to proceed, please do. If not... that's ok.

You are Eric's sister-in-law. You are married to his brother, Evan, and you love him. This is not going to be a cheaty-fic.

You are implied to be older than Eric, but no ages are stated.

This probably would've worked better as an OC fic, but I'm not adapting it. Congrats on getting hitched to a great guy!

There will be mentions of sexuality, but nothing is labeled or categorized. No, I will not be elaborating. Roll with it, or scroll on.

There will be mentions of alcohol, blood, wounds, characters not wanting to exist, and talk of monster-related carnage.

Eric's attempt to off himself is part of this story. I'll slap a warning on those chapters just in case, but it's necessary to the plot.

This is going to an emotional roller coaster for both You and Eric.

Many things will be left open to interpretation.

The title comes from the Queen/David Bowie song.

No taglist, but you can follow "Eric Is Under Pressure" for updates.

There will be a happy ending, and possibly blurbs set in a post-Pressure world.

Chapter One: Through Gritted Teeth Chapter Two: The First Thanksgiving Chapter Three: It's A Christmas Miracle Chapter Four: The Birthday Boy Chapter Five: Hang In There, Baby Chapter Six: Told You I'd Come Back Chapter Seven: Please Don't Leave Me Chapter Eight: Deleted Scenes Chapter Nine: Dumbest People Left Alive Chapter Ten: No More Suffering Chapter Eleven: Some Kind of Hope Chapter Twelve: This Could Be Our Only Chance

"This is a series from the heart, not the dick." -my wife

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and  loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door. 

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—” 

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.” 

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize. 

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

[slavghoul]

Big news for Ghost this week, with the release of their brand new EP of covers, Phantomime, this Friday May 19th, and two days later, the launch of an eight-date French tour. Frontman Tobias Forge tells us more about the creation of this record, as well as his future projects and the few unforeseen events that have come his way...

I guess you must be very busy with the promotion of Ghost these last few days here in Paris, but have you planned any time for yourself, like a vinyl shopping session for example?

Yes, I have, but it's really just a hobby for me: whenever I go somewhere I go to record shops, it's kind of my own relaxation. As far as promotion goes, these few days are indeed quite productive with a busy schedule, but it's actually quite nice to sit here, watching what's going on around me, at least it's more pleasant than doing a day of interviews locked up in four walls. I'm more of a stimulus kind of person, so when I have a phone call with someone I play Playstation at the same time, so I can concentrate on something while I'm talking. My whole life has always been a bit like that, listening to a record at home with the TV on.

You're releasing an EP of five covers on which you cover Television, The Stranglers, Genesis, Iron Maiden and even Tina Turner. How do you choose the songs for the covers on your EPs? Are they songs that meant a lot to you, that you listened to a lot when you were young, or are you looking for lyrics or a theme corresponding to the Ghost universe with references to religion for example?

It's a little bit of all of that at the same time! But the main criterion, what counts the most for me, is really the lyrics. From the rhymes used to the existential, philosophical or biblical themes. Of course, we could have fun covering "Disco Inferno" and try to put our own spin on it, but I think we need to be able to add a little something to it. I actually like to take songs that are written in a different way to my own, so I'm always trying to find songs that I couldn't have written myself. If I opened a restaurant tomorrow, I would have to find different dishes to enrich and diversify my menu. It's also a way for me to learn, to experiment. Besides, the exercise of reworking is always interesting, and sometimes it works, other times it doesn't.

Does this mean that you have considered other covers than these five titles?

Yes, I did. And the covers that didn't work just don't appear on this record! My original idea was to do a whole album of covers. And I had to take half of the songs off, because five of them didn't really fit with what we wanted to do with them, or they didn't sound like they were finished.

For example, I recorded a Rush track, but I felt I wasn't adding anything to the song. Not to say that other bands are flawed, but I just think that Rush's music is too perfect. There is nothing to improve, nothing to emphasize or accentuate, no nuance to add this or that contrast to. I felt like I was playing Rush just like a lot of teenage boys do, and nothing more. I'm not implying that girls don't like Rush, of course, but you know, there's that old joke that Rush is a teenage boys band. In any case, I felt that my version was going to be a bit too redundant to the original song.

Then there were other songs that made it to the quarter finals, if I may say so [laughs], that we dropped because there was too much to improve on, or the overall quality was not good. I can have a really good idea on paper, and then listen to the piece and think it doesn't work very well, or it's not entertaining enough.

How did the recording of the EP go?

The demos of all these covers were made at the same time as the recording of Impera. The producer of the album told us that he didn't want to deal with covers. That's fine, and it's true that it doesn't pay to do covers. We had just come out of the Impera recording session and we were exhausted. It was very hard, after all it's often said that the fifth album is particularly difficult. We had quite a lot of ambitions for this record, it took a lot of time and energy, and when it was finished, my engineer Martin and I went back to the studio, with the idea of recording another album.

But once we'd recorded those demos, I realised that there were some things that weren't quite right and that we had to take out. We kept those five songs. Five rock songs, full stop. Keeping things simple, easy, and even for the recording: it was good to remember that not everything is as difficult as the album we just finished. This EP is ultimately something spontaneous, simple, and having the demos already made it easier for us. Anyway, I had a lot of fun making it, from the recording to the mix, the atmosphere was quite happy.

You can feel this on the EP, this lightness and a feeling of fluidity. Without it being too basic, because there is a serious work on the arrangements and the atmospheres, which sound very Ghost by the way.

I'm glad to hear that, because that's exactly what I was looking for: to convey that lightness without the final product sounding half-baked, if I can say that! What I mean is that when you go into the studio for an album, you're 110%, whereas for an EP, with only covers, it's normal to be 100%. But I didn't want the difference to be felt between the two, like between the first Star Wars and the 1978 Star Wars Christmas Special! [Laughs]

It's been a year to the day since the Impera album was released. How do you look back on this fifth album, which marked a turning point in Ghost's rise?

In a way I feel relief, because this album has fulfilled its mission, the one it was supposed to fulfill. I don't want to fool the fans into thinking that it's all about magic and believing in it and so on. You have to be pragmatic and think about the results you got with the album. Of course, with every new album you are convinced that it is the best, but after the release you have to see what it does on stage. It's only by seeing how well that performance worked that you can tell if that album is good or not, in the end. Today, one year after the release, I can say that Impera holds up well. What has distorted our perception a little bit is what happened on the side.

You mean what happened with "Mary On A Cross", a track released on a 2-track EP in 2019 but which went viral last year on TikTok?

Yeah, when it came out, it kind of messed up our album cycle. It wasn't a problem per se, but it's just that we didn't plan for it at all, it kind of got in the way. And the label panicked and said "What are we going to do?!" I told them we weren't going to do anything. It was already out of our control, already naturally present on TikTok, what could we do? As we didn't want to damage the Impera promo, but we didn't want to lose the song "Mary On A Cross" either, we did the bare minimum, but our priority was really to get back to what we wanted to do as soon as possible at that point, which was to focus on our Impera. And then, from a pragmatic and slightly cynical point of view, we didn't want our historical fans to think that we were going to stop everything to please these newcomers who discovered the band via TikTok.

As far as Impera is concerned, I only realised today that it was an anniversary. Looking back, I can see that the cycle that started with this album, from its release to the tours, has been one of the most important in the history of Ghost, and that's really great. Now we're preparing for the next tour, which will start at your place [the Re-Imperatour kicks off this Sunday, May 21st in Rouen], and there are future projects that we're trying to work on. It's been a year since the record came out, but really it's been two years since the recording, and now it's time to move on to the next thing... things will start moving in the autumn, I hope.

Are you talking about the sixth Ghost album?

Yes, that famous sixth album, as difficult to make as the fifth! I've already started working on it, and after the tours this year it will be time to go into the studio for that.

So for me, the goal is to manage all these things at the same time without losing sight of these goals and next steps. So of course I'm happy that there are lots of new fans coming through TikTok. And I also welcome those who don't like the TikTok track but discover the rest of our discography and join us. But the most important thing is really to stay on our trajectory, and not to stray from the path we've set for ourselves. We have to make sure that we don't forget our mission, just because someone says they like fucking gnocchi better when we serve sushi. [Laughs]

What you're saying here is a bit like what you were telling us earlier, when you were talking about your care in planning things and having a vision for the band.

Exactly, it's very important for me. Being an artist is not just about aesthetics, it's about many other things. I've always been interested in the holistic approach, in this more global vision of things. To use the image of the restaurant business that I used earlier: I like to cook, but I also like books, people, interior design. In fact it's a collection of many things, and they're all important, almost in equal measure. Some rock or pop artists, or even actors, have been able to break through almost by accident, but that's not usually how it works. You have to work a lot, but above all you have to make a lot of decisions yourself, otherwise others will make them for you, and it will be done in an unthinking way, without a long term vision. It's impossible for me, as a control freak, to consider that! [Laughs]

[sunkissedchldrecon]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the new jeans CD, pile two is NCT, and so on and so forth.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 💿

𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒:

this PAC includes mentions of specific celebrities! this is in an attempt to describe the energy of each pile.

in one pile's moodboard example, i use a tweet from stan twitter to visualize how one's fandom might be. i don't necessarily agree with the example tweet, but it was a good example of the pile's energy, so i used it. it doesn't imply or show my true feelings about that fandom or artist.

additionally, sections of this PAC make reference to adult topics such as sex, drugs, alcohol, addiction, and more. please use your discretion when reading your or each pile.

𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards: 

Queen of Swords, The Fool, Four of Wands, Two of Coins

King of Wands (Rx), Ten of Cups, Eight of Cups (Rx), The Devil, Four of Coins, Nine of Coins

Page of Coins, The Emperor

Knight of Swords (Rx), Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Page of Cups

The Star

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be soloists. 

the music you make would be hard-hitting and active! tons of choreography would be involved, and you'd make people want to learn your dances even if they weren't professional dancers! a significant amount of your songs might even go viral on platforms like tiktok. your music would be a fresh breath into the music industry; you would probably write your own songs and not be afraid to venture into a variety of music genres. you might do surprise releases (like beyoncé did with her self-titled album)! you'd gain tons of success with your works, so much so that you'd end up throwing celebration parties often due to it! you might find it hard to keep up with so much work (you're probably booked and busy with interviews, concerts, promotions, etc.), but you also love the lifestyle, and that energy shows through the music you make. 

in your musical career, you may come off as some sort of diva who knows how to talk their way to success. you come off as someone who has a great personal and professional life. you would have the type of career and life others' dream of having. you may stay in a healthy relationship. again, most of your songs would be upbeat and about happiness - which may be a breath of fresh air in relation to more emotional, heavy music. as you continue throughout your career, you may lean towards that emotional music because of depression or life struggles. you may be worried about the future of your career after your "prime". this might be after a period of time of years of hard work and seemingly little rest; you might fall into addictions to materialism, drugs, or alcohol. you will be protected though! people will be looking out for you and steer you back onto the right path which will keep you from going downhill. 

your fans would look up to you a lot. it's giving "these are my kids" energy. you may pay off their student loans or even party with some of them on a night out if you see them. you might appeal to a younger crowd - teens, college, and early adults. your fans see you as fair and as a pillar of authority. they look to you to determine how to move and act as a fandom. you act as the compass for order in their eyes. whatever you say to do, they will do. want to win a specific award? your fans will make sure they buy enough albums and vote enough for you to win it. want to collab with a specific artist? your fans will flood that person's timeline to make sure you two interact. it's almost like they fulfill your wishes! it reminds me of the saying ARMYs have about "anything yoongi wants, yoongi gets". 

the general public may have some conflict with you. some people may be prejudiced towards you (maybe because of race, gender, sexuality). some of the public will be hasty to judge you and bash you. this feeling will change fairly quickly. the public will realize they were wrong to judge you and feel horrible about what they did. some people may pray for your downfall and instead bring their own because it's like negativity towards you is reflected back on those who want to harm you; this goes back to you being heavily protected. in the end, the general public will see you as trustworthy and fair. some will think you're very innovative and great at executing your creative ideas. you could become a county's favorite artist. kind of like how Girls Generation is seen as the "Nation's Girl Group'' in South Korea - that would be your title as a soloist. the general public would end up doting over you and loving you. 

𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards: 

Knight of Swords, The Devil, Four of Wands (Rx), The Hermit

Four of Coins, Five of Cups, King of Wands

The Moon (Rx), The Sun 

Page of Coins, The Emperor (Rx)

Ace of Coins

Reading: 

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be the main rapper in this group. your group's music would be fast-paced and energetic. tons of choreography and you all would do major concept changes often. you all would also travel often or experiment with different cultural music. your sound would be bold - you might talk about taboo topics (ie. addiction, sex, violence, obsessions, death). your music might get spoiled before release. there may also be some times when the album is expected to debut on a certain day, and it isn't released until later - maybe because of music clearances or lack of preparation. your music would force people to confront difficult life topics instead of ignoring them. you all would also help people with mental health issues because they relate to the music so well. 

your group would achieve a ton, but i still think your company would be a little tight on finances. your company may be cutting it close to making payments on time, but you and the other members would be financially stable. the company would stay afloat, but it's like they struggle with money management maybe? you also would have a strong fanbase and a strong personal group sound (even while exploring so many genres). i feel like your company's struggles would impact the group and bring down morale. you all would have good successes but it's like your company takes you one step forward and three steps back. regardless, you all pushing through would just create more inspiration for music which in turn makes your fans appreciate and relate to you all more. 

i feel like fans would feel very protective and proud of you. the mismanagement of funds happening within the company would be revealed to the fans and public, but your fandom still has fierce loyalty to you all. they outwardly call out the mismanagement and want better for you all. you might have a lot of sasaengs because of fans' fierce loyalty to you. specific to you, fans may feel like you're very masculine or heavily into you masculine energy. you may be seen as the "sunshine" of the group. people look to you for happiness; there may be tons of compilations of your funny moments. you're like a light to a room to your fans and others. 

the general public learns a lot from you all. that sounds nice, but i think they mostly learn how not to run a company. you all definitely start important societal conversations on taboo topics like explained before, but that really gets overshadowed by company misadventures. people may see your company as young and maybe ignorant of how to be run? they'll feel like your company is abusing their power. you all may not get tons of promotion, so you may only be known to the public for your company's failures.

𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Six of Swords, Nine of Wands (Rx), Three of Coins (Rx), Page of Swords

Knight of Wands (Rx), King of Cups, Page of Cups (Rx), Three of Cups, Nine of Coins (Rx)

Five of Swords (Rx), Five of Coins, Five of Cups (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx)

The Hierophant, Three of Wands (Rx), Six of Cups (Rx)

The Wheel of Fortune

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be a vocalist. your music would have a theme all throughout your discography. it would be very consistent, and the albums would play beautifully altogether. each song would fade into the other and almost seem like a movie with just music. people may think you steal songs or there might be plagiarism controversies. someone from the group might be ousted, and that may be talked about in the music or hang over the group for a long time. this might be connected to the music you make in that your group isn't afraid to talk about being left behind and having to forge your own journey. someone in the group may be lazy. 

i think your group might break up, and you become a soloist? then, you'd be left to prove your worth in the music industry. you would come out on top, and let people know that you have a message that you're getting out regardless of the struggles you have to go through in order for it to be heard. i think ultimately you'll be left to work behind the scenes in the music industry - maybe as a songwriter or producer. it'll be the situation of people wanting to hear your words and you wanting to get them out, but it only materializes when it's told through someone else if that makes sense. 

your group career would be very messy. again, some members would be lazy; others would have bad attitudes and either be jealous and even violent. there's tons of in-fighting between members, and it's a major mess for everyone involved. you personally will not be like that though! you'd be the member others feel like they can trust and confide in. you're insightful and might even protect your members who are being bullied or on the receiving end of jealousy. similarly to pile two, your group's album would experience delays - due to plagiarism, samples not being cleared, lazy members, etc. 

your group produces music that's similar to what you all would be experiencing - troubled and emotional youth, manipulation, moodiness, immaturity, and unrequited love. despite all the in-group issues, you all would experience success for a time! ultimately, it will go away due to company mismanagement and all the group issues coming to light. 

fans might not like you because of what messy group members say about you. they'll say you're attention seeking and manipulative even though it's other members doing those exact things and NOT you. you might feel isolated because of the hate you receive. you may think no one likes you, and you might stare off during interviews because you're being ignored. you'd feel really lonely. as you keep going, you will gain strength and feel confident enough in the fact that you know you're a good person despite others believing the opposite. you'll know your truth is more grounding that others' lies. i think this is what will ultimately lead to you preferring to be behind the scenes rather than in the light of the music industry. 

i don't think the general public will hate you as much as fans seem to. the general public would be way more understanding of circumstances and would be willing to hear your side of the story rather than blindly believing you members. you'd have a major impact on the collective, and you might even become an expert in whatever you do behind the scenes. i think people will see that you were used by the machine called the music industry and would feel for you. i also think the public would pick up on the fact that you eventually feel unsure about your musical abilities. they'll see you as disorganized because of how the industry left you. your past would be at the forefront of the general public's mind, so it would be best for you to work behind the scenes, so the music can speak for itself rather than you speaking for the music.

𝐈𝐕

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Five of Swords (Rx), Queen of Coins (Rx), Six of Wands, Strength

Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands (Rx), The Magician, The Hanged Man (Rx)

Page of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Wands

The Star (Rx), Seven of Cups

Four of Cups

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd probably be a main dancer and a vocalist (but not a main vocal). your group's music would be shocking. it would deal with topics like manipulation, gossip, paranoia, and the theme might revolve around uncovering secrets and overcoming those who want to harm you. almost like a horror concept! i'm slightly reminded of xdinary heroes or even rage against the machine. your music would seek to uncover immorality in the world and put it in the face of society instead of trying to hide it like we've been taught to. super unique concept! your listeners get the feeling that they can uncover and fight through anything after listening to your music. the music is very strong (maybe even in the rock genre for some of you), and there's a confidence in the music (including sexual confidence). 

there's strong sexual themes in your music. femme fatale and dominatrix vibes are present. this group would be filled with strong female figures who are confident in who they are. in some instances, you all want to be seen as arrogant in order to provide a view of women that's not often seen in the music scene - at least not in a way where women are in control of their own power. this group would play off of gender stereotypes and archetypes in order to make a point to society. again, super creative concepts, and it might even include the occult! like divination tools might be seen in the background of some of your music videos. the point is to show young women that they can be powerful and also know when to hold back in order to show all sides of that power. 

your fans might be on the younger side - teens and young adults. they will like giving you handmade messages and gifts. it's almost giving you being the older sibling, and your fans are the younger sibling who looks up to you. they learn a lot about themselves from you, and see you as this intellectual that has great creative ideas. they also see you as just and fair and might come to you for advice. they may see their future selves in you and look up to you because of that. both of you have tons of love for one another (it's so cute!). 

the general public may not really like you. you may disappoint them because there's this societal view they have of how gender roles should be enforced or how your group should behave, and you all totally go against that. it's like they're thinking "that group would help themselves out if they just followed with the standards. they make it hard on themselves". they see you all as immoral and a bad influence on the younger society. they also see you all as delusional. 

reader's note: do not think of the general public's view as a bad thing! personally, it's important to remember that change only comes when society is forced to confront irrational and prejudicial thinking. if anything, the general public viewing you as this is a compliment in my opinion. 

𝐕

Your Playlist: 

Cards: 

The Lovers, Eight of Swords, The Emperor, Queen of Coins, The Star

The High Priestess, Ten of Cups, Knight of Swords

Five of Cups, Six of Wands, The Hermit

The Chariot 

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group. 

you'd be the face of the group/the center - maybe a visual position? your group focuses on love songs and relationships. you all would talk about all the ups and downs of creating, maintaining, and losing relationships. i feel like on the outside, the concepts of each title track might be visually very different, but the major theme of relationships would always be present. for example, there would be a very rosy and cheery song about how in love you all are in a romantic relationship (like a Twice title track), and then your next comeback would be more solemn and serious about how you lost a loved family member or something like that (like what's mentioned in DaBaby's "Gucci Peacoat"). you all would have long lasting careers and be seen as good senior musicians. you all would probably be very personally involved in the music making process. your music would be very comforting and relatable for whoever listens to it. i think you'd give many people hope when it comes to handling relationships. 

i feel like the group's music heavily focuses on emotional connections - so much so that spiritual and occult elements might be present in the process or music videos and things of that nature. your group might be seen as mysterious outside of the music you all make. it's like you all are only focused on the music aspect in the public eye and don't really reveal a ton about your deep personal lives (like siblings or TMIs or things like that). you all really want to emphasize the music! you and your group members would be very close in personal and professional life! you all may feel more like family members rather than friends which will translate into the music. it's like you all will recognize that you'd achieved your dreams all together and you would cherish one another greatly for that. you all may be internationally famous or gather fame quickly - maybe as soon as you debut! it also may be super easy for you all to make and release music. 

i get very despondent energy from your fans for some reason? they may frequently feel disappointed with you all - maybe because of how different title tracks and aesthetics can change for you all? it could also be that they're the type of fans that are always focused on how much bigger you all could be, so they never stop to appreciate how far you all have come and therefore they seem ungrateful. they will eventually get over this though! so maybe in the beginning they feel disappointed about how little known and unappreciated you all are, but when you blow up they feel very proud of your successes and feel like all of yours and their effort has paid off. your fans will look to you for guidance and support when it comes to mental health issues and gain personal strength from you. they may like how withdrawn you and your group can be when it comes to disclosing personal information. 

i didn't get any cards when shuffling to ask how the general public would view you. i only got the bottom of the deck energy which was The Chariot. i feel like this means your success will be so widespread it's hard to contain how the public views you to a couple tarot cards that may give a more in-depth explanation. they'll see you and your group as having great drive and ambition that leads you all to great success despite a long, uphill battle that comes with pursuing a musical career. i feel like they'd be especially impressed because you all come from a small company? it's like you all started from the absolute bottom to become major stars, and the public finds that admirable.

𝐕𝐈

Your Playlist: 

Cards: 

Nine of Cups, The Emperor, Four of Cups, Five of Wands, Six of Wands, The Empress

The Sun, The Fool, Five of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins, Four of Swords, Knight of Cups

Three of Cups (Rx), Strength, Page of Coins

The High Priestess (Rx), Five of Swords, The Star, Six of Swords

Ace of Coins

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐲

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

off bat, you'd be super successful! i get the feeling you'd always be happy, and that might translate into your music. you may encourage listeners to be happy and invite abundance and gratefulness into their own lives the way you welcomed it into yours. i think you'd be very hands-on with your music, and you'd take the reins in everything you do - i'm almost reminded of beyoncé and how people view her as a perfectionist about her work. despite your perfectionist tendencies, you'd definitely be open to others' ideas, and you'd be nice to work with. people wouldn't have a bad word to say about you in that aspect. you'd be super hypnotic as a celebrity, so people would totally be drawn to you. i think you'd be open about all the "goods" and "bads" of fame. you'd talk about how financial abundance and overflowing love from people is very enticing, but isn't all it's cracked up to be. you'd be open about your struggles, and people would find that refreshing and admire you for your honesty. i think your spirit guides would be guiding you to and throughout fame because you were destined for it. you'd be spiritually protected. 

you'd exude energy and success in your music. you might even make perfect manifestation music! your music would be very original, and i believe you'd write music directly from your heart. you wouldn't worry about being "too vulnerable" because you want to be because it's like that's the essence of music for you. you take setbacks from your life and still find hope in them in order to take good from the indecipherable bad. i think that's what would make your music most unique. you'd treat music as your past, present, and future and because of how close you hold it to your heart, it becomes obvious in your music. the point of your music is to show personal growth, and people would connect with that immediately. i also think relationships and romance would be important in your music since your emotions would always be in your songwriting. your breakups, makeups, and new connections would always be written and released to the public - i'm reminded of Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande. 

fans (or maybe more so the general public?) may see you like the two artists i just mentioned are viewed - promiscuous, always in a relationship, and maybe even excessive and overindulgent in life and financial endeavors. others will say that you're confident in yourself and your sexuality and find that empowering. they see you as someone who is secure in themself and doesn't need public approval to do whatever you want. there's a subtle, grand confidence in you that people see. your fans may want to be like you and be students of you, writing your every word down. you might be popular with teens and young adults. 

the general public will see you as someone who is secretive and doing shady things behind the scenes. they'll feel like your energy and personality is too good to be true. they'll say you're immoral and maybe even involved with the illuminati or something like that. some might even say you're misusing spirituality or witchcraft to get your fame. people would want to speak negatively on you and cause you distress; they might often engage in smear campaigns to lower your credibility. for others, you give them hope. overall, people's negative intentions will not matter because, as said before, you'd be heavily spiritually protected. you'll be able to brush off smear campaigns and negative, false publicity very easily. your foundation is too strong to be broken by bullies and those who are so miserable in their own lives they push it onto others.

𝐕𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist: 

Cards: 

Knight of Swords, King of Coins, The High Priestess (Rx), Three of Cups (Rx)

Ten of Swords, Nine of Swords (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins

Queen of Cups, Ten of Cups (Rx), The Fool, Page of Cups

Five of Cups, Five of Wands, King of Wands (Rx)

Judgment

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

you'd be very involved in the musical process. you'd likely write most (if not, all) of your music. anything you make is sure to be a hit. you're ambitious with your ideas, and you're quick to create and hop onto new trends. i get the feeling you wouldn't trust your musical abilities despite how they always seem to work out for you. maybe you need a ton of outside support to finally decide "okay, this is a good idea". you might even be older than expected when you become a musical artist. you might feel unfulfilled in life in general and especially in the music industry despite your successes. you might spend way more money than you have, or you might just flaunt your wealth excessively. you might rely on drugs, alcohol, or sexual adventures as an escape from your feelings of loneliness. it seems you'd be successful but unhappy. 

your music may include information about the traumas you have. whatever is causing you to turn to your addictions will be explicitly mentioned in the music you put out. a lot of your music may mention themes like grief, depression, and hardship. it's like your music allows for you to constantly relive your traumatic experiences and that makes it hard for you to heal or create different thematic content if that makes sense. i think once you gained success you thought you would be happy, but it only made it worse because you realized fame and money does not automatically bring happiness. ultimately, i think those around you will urge you to gain confidence and help you to know you're on the right path. you'd slowly but surely become more emotionally stable and start traveling more and feeling more happiness. 

your fans would see you as very in tune with your intuition and femininity or feminine energy. they'd see you as caring, sensitive, and emotional. i think that's because those are the elements you use to make your music. they also see you as wildly artistic and creative. they might feel like you come up with music and ideas that no one else would even think of. they'd see you as an innovator. i also think they'd see you as broken or coming from traumatic and undesirable circumstances. i think they'd recognize and feel your pain. they'd view your life in the music industry and your fame as a new beginning for you and would see it as a chance for you to be free from what's hurt you. they might like writing out their love for you through social media campaigns or through giving you handwritten letters. they'd see you as someone who is constantly growing and learning, and they'd feel happy seeing you happy. 

the general public may have wishy-washy feelings towards you. they might find out about your addictions and feel disappointed with you. some people will feel empathetic and recognize how your misfortunes affect you and may have the view of "oh, it's horrible that they went through that. i hope they no longer do that and start feeling better and happier". others will feel like you're selfish and didn't appreciate what you were given if you engaged in your addictions while you were successful. they might think "they gained all that money and fame, so why even go down the route of addiction? they were just wallowing in their sadness". very different points of view, so the general public would feel split on their feelings towards you overall.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist: 

Cards: 

Ten of Coins, King of Wands, Five of Wands, Temperance, Four of Wands

Nine of Swords (Rx), The Emperor (Rx), Five of Swords, Three of Cups

The Devil (Rx), King of Coins, Six of Cups

Ten of Wands, The Hanged Man

Knight of Coins

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬; 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist. 

you might be discovered purely by "chance". maybe you posted a song cover on YouTube or became popular on TikTok, and a label decided to pick you up. your music may have to do with your personal life like your family, how you gained your fame, your life history, and things of that nature. your music would be very motivational and strong. you may be very specific about your aesthetic and visuals because you want to stand out among the artist-filled industry. you would be super competitive when it came to the music game. you might be a rapper? i feel like you'd focus a ton on things like word-play. you also might like making society and listeners think about life, society, and spirituality/their life purpose. i'm reminded of artists like Jhene Aiko and J. Cole. you'd benefit a lot from your fame. 

you may be a perfectionist about your craft. you might miss out on healthy sleeping and eating patterns while working on an album. you may love the idea of working yourself until you can't work anymore. you see the struggle of work as a labor of birthing these creative ideas and appreciate each time you can create something new. i know i mentioned earlier that a record label may have wanted to pick you up, but i think you might prefer to be an independent artist. you wouldn't want to be confined to company standards and expectations; you would want to focus on the music. people and companies may want you to fail because of this. they may intentionally block your music from being played on the radio or from being nominated for awards. despite this, you would still gain success from you giving to others and others finding your energy welcoming. a strong group (could be your fans or the collective) would ensure your success. 

your fans would see you as someone that breaks free from the societal mold. they'd see you as someone that knows how to think for themselves even if the group wants them to think differently. they also see you as someone that knows how to keep going and growing when shit hits the fan. you'd be seen as someone that doesn't allow for life circumstances to bring them down. they'd see you as a successful business person who has the perfect ear for music and eyes for aesthetics. they may also see you as someone that is very guided spiritually. they can tell someone is watching over you to be sure you succeed in the industry. 

the general public would see you as someone who made something from nothing. they may not view you as this huge, international superstar, but you would be somewhat known. some parts of the population would be able to recognize you from a photo or from the mention of your name. some of the public may feel like you're delusional in what you're trying to achieve (especially if you're an independent artist going against big companies). i think the general public would also be able to tell that you're spiritually guided and protected. parts of the public will like that you give a fresh perspective to them and the rest of society. you could begin an idea shift in the collective.

[ahfucknuggets567]

Hey Kid, you want a Digimon Frontier theory?

You know how different Digimon Frontier was with its evolution. Unified/Hyper Spirit evolution being of them. Consisting of ten spirits or five sets of spirits combining together into one body known as a unified/hyper spirit. The two unified/hyper spirits: EmperorGreymon/KaiserGreymon and MagnaGarurumon are clearly only made for a single set of spirits, fire and light. That means that there are eight other combinations resulting from the eight other sets of spirits.

Now the question is how do you figure out what combinations are used for a spirit’s unified/hyper form and what design qualities are made to be a part of the spirit? This leads me to my theory known as Unified Partners Theory. The theory states that each element has another one that they partner up with during their unified/hyper spirit evolution. This is a shoddy explanation but it's the best I’ve come up with. Looking at how unified/hyper spirits are formed, Takuya and Kouji use half of the spirits in order to achieve the evolution. That is noteworthy and I know what the simplest answer is. It's Digimon Frontier, the show with the most protag and lancer favoritism and they didn't want the others to factor anymore in the fights with their beloved Bois. But in lore is what is truly interesting. What is needed for the two hyper spirits is odd, at first. Ice is used for Fire, and Darkness is for Light. Of course, the two wielders for each pair are like brothers. But there’s also Earth in Fire and Water in Iight. Earth, I get. But water in the light unified evolution?? There's also the fact that Junpei and Kouji barely interact with one another before the whole unified/hyper spirits evolution thingy. So that leads to folks smarter than I am to the idea that the hyper spirit consists of two sets of spirits that keep it in check and two other sets that do boost the spirit. That makes sense as a hyper spirit with four sets of boosters sounds rather hard to make and would be probably better a bit uncontrollable.In the show, the last evolution is the fusion of all twenty spirits, Susanoomon. A digimon that doesn't really resemble any other spirits but light and fire. More specifically a fusion of their hyper forms. Meta wise, they wanted Omnimon/Omegamon 2.0. But also why??? It's the result of twenty spirits coming together and should honestly reflect the other eight more. It's like there other versions of Susanoomon or Susanoomon-adjacent mega fusions that correlate with the other spirits which obviously implies pairing the spirits up. Now here's the kicker and a tid bit that I have seen nobody discuss at all… and that's the theming of the two unified spirits cuz baby, they do have it!

Starting with EmperorGreymon. EmperorGreymon is named after Grey which in some contexts means old and Emperor which is the title of a male ruler over an empire. Kaiser from the sub is a German/Austrian/Holy empire emperor. This naming convention is resimcisnt of the olden times of history. EmperorGreymon resembles a knight or paladin from history and even harkens folklore with its Reference book talking about Gaia and the nine dragons inside of its armor and itself being the ninth dragon. This works well for the dragonic line of fire and references how fire was used all the way back in the ancient times to light our world.

Now for MagnaGarurumon. You might get an idea on what I am saying but I would still explain it. MagnaGarurumon is very toy-like but also very sleek. It has cannons and guns and has an airplane as a chest piece. MagnaGarurumon reminds me of ScFi fantasy androids. There's also the fact light is more modern like light bulbs and the speed of light being a staple of science.

All this evidence makes the two digimon interconnected with their theming and lore. Which in a way makes them partners as they are a pair. That’s where I got the name. But what about the others? Well, they obviously don't have canon unified spirits. So no more evidence. But we can apply it to the others! The second part of this theory document is to apply it to the other eight elements and figure out which pair is the most fitting for each element. Here my friends are the requirements:

Have some thematic ideas and coscension between the two pairs. i.e: similar elements, similar design choices, good thematic ideas between the pair.

Do I like the idea of them being unified Partners? Based purely off vibes and dynamics.

Can you actually make the other four sets of spirits work with the partnership? As in I can make the leftover spirits work for both base spirits be in line with the rules set up with Unified/Hyper Spirit Evolutions.(This will barely be a factor because I am not thinking that hard.)

Likeliness? Will the digimon designers and writers actually think this is a viable idea at all?

And users! Do this pair have a good connection when it comes to the users or just the spirits itself?

Now we have 24 pairs to review and rate. I will all rank them on scale from one to five. One is I don't like this at all/how is this possible? and five is amazing! I want this badly!/Very possibly canon!

Tomoki/Chakmon + Izumi/Kazemon: ⅗. Not bad, they meant to be the “weakest” of the group as Digimon Frontier states them as. But there's a bit of elemental coscension with ice and wind making snowstorms and blizzards. When things are cold, they move slower, and wind is heavily associated with speed. A slow and steady vs fast and furious type of deal. Likely a possibility as if you wanted to keep the kids spirits together. But there's better options.

Tomoki/Chakmon + Junpei/Blitzmon: ⅗. Just like Ice and Wind, not a bad choice. Junpei and Tomoki have a nice dynamic of being brother-like, especially in episode 2. The elements don't have good element mixing or similarities. It could do some themes with speed and defense. Lightning is very fast and the ice spirit line is noticeably bulky. But so is the thunder line, so ehh?

Tomoki/Chakmon + Kouichi/Loweemon: 5/5. Two brothers or brother figures to the official pair. Their elements are the opposite of the official pair. There's also the good thematic ideas of physical and spiritual elements. Along with both elements being associated with death. The chill of ghosts and the cold touch of death. Darkness is obvious. This is a very good pair!

Tomoki/Chakmon + Grumblemon: ⅕. Uh… They're both small. A more modern element paired with a classical element… That's all I got.

Tomoki/Chakmon + Ranamon: ⅖. We have more similarities in the elements. A lot you can do with solid ice and liquid water. The same reason from Izumi and Tomoki about the whole girl and younger kids thing. And also, Ranamon is weirdly child-like in her design. So uh… there's that. Not much here though especially in the likeliness compartment but small? I guess?

Tomoki/Chakmon + Arbormon: ⅘. We got a lot here. Despite the fan consensus of them being like rivals, the two didn't interact a lot. It was really only when Tomoki got his beast spirit and the fight at Petaldramon’s mansion. But it's still a good pair. We have some connections with the seasons(Winter and Summer/Spring) in the elements and the idea of life and death. We got some of the less humanoid spirits and very less armored beast spirits. This is a very good pair I dare say.

Tomoki/Chakmon + Mercuremon: ⅕. The fuck do you want me to say. There's nothing between them.

Izumi/Kazemon + Junpei/Blitzmon: 5/5. Oh boy, this is one of my favorites. We have similar elements and a great relationship between the users. Kazemon and Blitzmon reflect each other in the insect theme. Zephyrmon being very speedy and light, and Bolgmon being, well, a tank. The likeliness is high in this, these two have been paired up like it's nothing! Plus I am a Junzumi shipper.

Izumi/Kazemon + Kouichi/Loweemon: ⅖. Better speed and defense theme. Wind generates darkness as the weather gets worse, the skies get darker. Izumi did help Kouichi a bit with the whole twin brother situation. Otherwise not a lot here.

Izumi/Kazemon + Grumblemon: ⅗. Another opposite attract!(Not romantically! Not romantically!). Earth is land and Wind is sky, very obvious. You can do a lot of themes with that. Heaven and Earth, Love and Hate(By general personalities), and other stuff. We got a fairy and a troll as a pair! Likelihood is… eehhh. Which unfortunately knocks it down a point.

Izumi/Kazemon + Ranamon: 5/5. These two had a fierce(and unfortunate) rivalry in the anime. Their elements are like opposites to each other. They're the only girls in the entirety of the spirits. Plus who doesn't want girl power? Who doesn't want to see Ranamon and Izumi become friends and finally kick some ass! Plus the Digimon company who like to pair the two girls and have two new waifus in their belt(ugh).

Izumi/Kazemon + Arbormon: ⅖. I like the idea of them interacting but we don't see them actually interact one on one. We got some opposition between the sturdy Arbormon and a very armorless Kazemon. So there's that. Otherwise not a lot here.

Izumi/Kazemon + Mercuremon: ⅕. I got nothing here, man. Mercuremon has literally almost nothing with most of the kids.

Junpei/Blitzmon + Kouichi/Loweemon: ⅖. Another popular combination, mostly to also pair with Fire/Light, and Ice/Wind. We can't have a light and dark pair as Kouji is already paired with Takuya. So we have this pair. And you can tell that this is the lesser version of a light/dark pair. We can go with a very Egyptian theme as Loweemon, obviously, and Blitzmon, you can make him a scarab. Junpei and Kouichi, as I know of, have little to no interaction. This is a pair up I don't like.

Junpei/Blitzmon + Grumblemon: ⅗. Junpei and Grumblemon had a rivalry between each other. Mostly on Junpei’s part with him wanting to defeat Grumblemon for Izumi. Direct differences between the two like the big, softie Junpei vs short, gremliny Grumblemon. A traditional and more stable element of earth and thunder's flashy, once there and now gone modern element. There's good dynamics here but I'm not the biggest fan of this.

Junpei/Blitzmon + Ranamon: ⅖. Worse Wind/Thunder pairing here! I mean, we got real good destructive power here with thunderstorms and tsunamis. I did read a fanfic with these two interacting, it's amazing and I do like their dynamic in that. But the likelihood here is very slim and I have better ideas for them.

Junpei/Blitzmon + Arbormon: ⅖. We got two very robot-like human spirits. Very bulky and big beast spirits. There's an interesting dynamic here but it barely scratches the ⅖.

Junpei/Blitzmon + Mercuremon: ⅖. Same reason as above plus a very machinery theme between the two and you got a modern element plus a classical element! Still ⅖.

Kouichi/Loweemon + Grumblemon: ⅖. Something, something, caverns and caves associated with darkness. There's an odd fossil and undead idea here as darkness in Digimon is associated with the undead and the earth is what fossils are made of. But by yggdrasil, there’s no good dynamic here and the idea of it happening is slim to none.

Kouichi/Loweemon + Ranamon: ⅘. Like Ice/Darkness, there's an opposition to the Fire/Light. Water is much better suited as fire’s opposite but loses the brother dynamic Ice and Fire wielders have. Little less likely than Water and Ice because I feel like Digimon would want the kids to be Unified Partners together. Expect for more Waifus!!!

Kouichi/Loweemon + Arbormon: ⅕. Duskmon killing Arbormon kills any idea of this NGL.. Getting betrayed by your coworkers ruins your viewpoint of that person/mon unlike getting killed by someone because you deserve it and are evil. But this is Arbormon we're talking about. He’ll probably forgive Kouichi because of brainwashing. That's an amazing dynamic. There's nothing else here though

Kouichi/Loweemon + Mercuremon: ⅘. A very, very popular pair. These two reflect the leader and lancer dynamic with Takuya and Kouji. This pair fought against their respective counterparts. These two are seemingly the strongest spirits we have in the group. Kouichi even used the spirits of steel in a D-Tector toy! This pair is going to be the closest thing we can get to a warrior and magician pair we have. So we all have this evidence, so why only ⅘? I don't like the idea of this pairing to be honest. The dynamic here isn't all that interesting and as I said before, I prefer the kids to be with each other. Plus I have better ideas for a Mercuremon.

Grumblemon + Ranamon: ⅗. I like to call Grumblemon, Ranamon, and Kazemon the regional trio. Grumblemon is the land and mountains and Ranamon is the ocean and the water we drink. More opposites! Woohee! They have little screen time together but the fun dynamic is there. Similar human and beast spirits. But this is my least favorite pair of only the “evil” legendary warriors.

Grumblemon + Arbormon: ⅘. We got similar elements, opposite personalities and body types. These two dynamics are fun and great. They got a lot of themes applied with the elements of earth and wood. A very high possibility. It's also getting this high because God damn it, it's cute.

Grumblemon + Mercuremon: 5/5. I can and will explain why this one has a fucking 5/5 rating. First of all, we have similar elements like Grumblemon and Arbormon. Yet despite that, the way they use their elements is vastly different. Grumblemon is very physical with him only using physical attacks like the ground and his hammer. Gigasmon only really has only one “special” attack with Quagmire Twister/Hurricane Bomber. Mercuremon is, however, being magical and ✨special✨. Mercuremon is based off a magic mirror and uses mirrors to reflect attacks, mostly ones of the magic kind. Beast Spirit of Steel is literally a motherfucking Sephiroth. Associated with God’s ten forces to create the world we line in Jewish mythology. All these associates are because of the steel spirit having an alchemy theme behind it like how metals are prevalent in alchemy. Kinda like how Grumblemon uses potions and earth is also used in alchemy. Also due to Sephirothmon being based after Jewish’s God will and creation and Mercuremon taking Seraphimon’s data to become ShadowSeraphimon, Mercuremon also has an angel association. Which isn't much to say if it weren’t for the fact that Grumblemon kinda also has a devil association. It's a stretch but I do want to talk about it. Grumblemon in the Japanese sub is an oni type. Oni in Japanese folklore are considered trolls, orges, orcs, and Demons! Plus AncientVolcamon is demon-like with the horns. As this to say we got a really good theme here and we have MagnaGarurumon, so Demon Earth Unified Spirit and Angel Steel Unified Spirit doesn't seem too far fetched.

Ranamon + Arbormon: ⅘. These two are a pair that shouldn't work but it does! Arbormon and Ranamon are pure opposites! Ranamon is feminine, squishy as in less defensive, uses more special attacks, her element is very obviously liquidity, and her personality is explosive and more moody. Arbormon on the other hand, is masculine, very armored and even in Petaldramon, it takes all five beast spirits to take him down, a physical attacker, a solid element, and he’s more calm and put together so to speak. What I am trying to say here is that there's an odd Yin and Yang to them. Which is a very interesting theme to have and explore. Nice ⅘!

Ranamon + Mercuremon: ⅘. These two out of everyone in “evil” legendary warriors have the strongest official dynamic. You could say some of the same reasons above in Water/Wood can be applied here.(not the masculine and feminine at all, have you seen Mercuremon?). This pair is solely based on their dynamic and possibility. I do like this pair however.

Arbormon + Mercuremon: ⅘. We have relatively the same appearances. More robot-like in their human forms, then their beast forms are more organic you could say. Mercuremon is the brains, Arbormon is the brawn. Nature vs Machine. It all works here. Plus if Karn’s idea of Teppei having the spirits of steel and Katsuharu having the spirits of wood, then yeah, have the bullies be unified Partners. Plus you can have a knight and his noble steed! That's great.

Conclusion: We have highs and lows in this list which is good for when you're trying to figure out what is the most likely pairs to happen. Still, the top choices I decided are still numerous. So here's all the top choices for the kids.

Izumi/Kazemon: Junpei/Blitzmon and Ranamon.

Tomoki/Chakmon: Kouichi/Loweemon and Arbormon.

Junpei/Blitzmon: Izumi/Kazemon and Grumblemon.

Kouichi/Loweemon: Tomoki/Chakmon, Mercuremon, and Ranamon.

Grumblemon: Arbormon and Mercuremon.

Ranamon: Kouichi/Loweemon, Mercuremon, and Arbormon.

Arbormon: Grumblemon, Tomoki/Chakmon, and Mercuremon.

Mercuremon: Grumblemon, Arbormon, Ranamon, and Kouichi/Loweemon.

All of these choices are great and I could see happening. This is great for artists and people to have different ideas and explore them. But we as a community also want a hard answer. So what's my cold, hard answer? I got two. One based on what I think the Digimon company would do and what I want to do.

Digimon would probably want to do Izumi and Ranamon obviously. Kouichi and Mercuremon is a no-brainer to rival Fire and Light. From there, Tomoki and Arbormon are way too good a pair to not give up on and Junpei and Grumblemon is all that is left.

I would do either Kouichi with Tomoki or Ranamon to rival his brother because that's all he has. Izumi and Junpei are the only excellent pair for Junpei and the constant pairing will continue. Arbormon can also go with Tomoki and Ranamon whichever feels the best. Lastly, we have Mercuremon and Grumblemon because holy hell, I made the longest paragraph here for them. I will confidently land on Ice/Darkness and Water/Wood.

That's it! Anyone can make comments or suggestions on any pairs I may have overlooked. You can even draw for any of the paired unified spirits ideas. This was fun

[xadianglyphs]

Star Iconography: Introduction/Compilation

This post is part of a series collecting, categorizing, and exploring types of star iconography used through s6. Reading the other parts is not required to understand any individual post, but they are related.

—

In this post I'm essentially cataloging the basic findings of what types of symbols are used and where. Highlighting connections, comparisons, and other analysis will be handled in subsequent posts.

The Star Primal

Each of the primal sources has an associated symbol, which are used sparingly within the setting itself—aside from the Key of Aaravos, we mostly see them used in primal nexus architecture or other highly ritualized magical contexts. However, they are also (at least on the Xadian side) universal enough that Rayla, despite being neither a mage nor a priest/scholar, can draw all six accurately:

We also see the "correct" upright orientation of the Star primal symbol (the same way Rayla draws it) in a magical context in s6:

The orientation wasn't exactly a mystery before, but most examples of the upright symbol were taken from sources not internal to the setting, such as the title graphic or Tales of Xadia.

The main takeaway here should be that, for the setting characters familiar with the primal source symbols, whether the Star is upright or reversed should be immediately obvious.

The Celestial Elves

The majority of Celestial elf iconography is derived from the four-point star of the Star primal. What is presumably their insignia, seen on the sleeves of their uniform, shows a four-point star with the "opened eye" of one who has perceived pure starlight at its center:

The exterior architecture of the Starscraper is also composed almost entirely of four-point stars:

And the interior is decorated with Star primal symbols, frequently set within a separate four-point star. When they have a perceivable orientation, these Star primal symbols are universally reversed:

There is also a much smaller set of eight-point star use, including four-point stars enhanced to imply eight points. This is particularly notable in the symbol that appears on their blindfolds when exposed to pure starlight for the first time, a four-point star with four additional diamond points enhancing it:

The pinnacle of the Starscraper opens in an effect of an eight-point star, and there's one little eight-point star lurking among the Star primal symbol decorations of the ornate main entrance area:

Finally, in a very interesting anomaly, the Elder's visor bears an emblem with little relationship to the four- or eight-point star of the other blindfolds, instead showing a circle with six "ray" offshoots:

Startouch Elves

Since s6 gives us more than one (1) singular Startouch elf, we can start examining some of the ways they decorate themselves and their environments. As with everyone except the Celestial elves, we see the Star primal symbol used very sparingly: while Aaravos and the Merciful One have the symbols on their chests exposed, Leola's torso is fully clothed but with the symbol replicated in reversed orientation on her clothing.

Other star-related decorative elements used by Startouch elves to ornament themselves appear to include four-point star or diamond shapes:

The simple line-and-circle embellishments on Aaravos's clothing extend to the Merciful One's clothing as well, suggesting that they are also a broader design element.

We also get a larger sample size of Startouch elf crowns, though all five that we see (the Council plus the Merciful One) are identical, composed of a solid diamond shape overlapped with a hollow diamond shape open at its top point:

Interestingly, Aaravos's own crown is more ornate, as seen in his s1e1 appearance. Normally I take everything in this shot with a hefty grain of salt, but the same crown (and overall) design was reinforced in both the "Fallen Star" flashback sequence and the pre-s6 promo image set:

Architecturally, our only main example is the Cosmic Justice platform, which is decorated with a four-point star on both sides, though significantly more ornate on its top:

There's also Aaravos's home, but it has little to nothing in the way of star iconography decoration that I could find in my existing screenshots (because I really don't have it in me to comb through every shot of the place over five seasons of appearances), instead relying on the sort of vaguely celestial overlapping circles and curves used in settings like the Moon Nexus or Great Bookery. The only exception is what may be a four-point star at the center of the floor:

And finally, even Leola herself uses the four-point star as a visual element when drawing her father:

Other Sources

There are a couple instances of written or illustrated material regarding Star- or Startouch-adjacent topics from previous seasons that are worth giving another look.

The Midnight Star book page includes use of the reversed Star primal symbol with its center blacked out, the way it is perceived on the fallen Aaravos's chest:

Since the poem is about Aaravos, it's pretty reasonable that there would be a representation of him included in this manner. There is also an inclusion of an unusual eight-point star composed of a circle and single lines.

Callum also reviews two significant pages in the Sunfire elf Great Bookery while searching for information about Startouch elves, one on the Novablade and one showing the Starscraper:

It's unclear whether these pages are meant to be from the same book, and whether that book is of Sunfire elf origin or from another source, but they're embellished very similarly so I'm going to (briefly) treat them as a unit. Both pages are framed with a design that leans heavily on the four-point star (both with four equal points and with one elongated point) and vine-like elements similar to the etched designs on the Staff of Ziard. The Starscraper illustration page further derives those elements directly from the appearance of Startouch elf horns.

Finally, we have the star map, where the constellations use a fairly standard setup of circles connected by lines to indicate the stars that make them up:

Leola's Last Wish is highlighted in the star map illustrations with a four-point star embellished with a circle and additional four radiating points.

What about...?

Yes, I've left out Amor Stella Vitae, but trust me, I will get to it. I'm bumped up against the images-per-post limit for this one, already.

As mentioned before, the next parts will distill some of this down into related groups and explore some connections and possible significance in the way they are used. Hopefully that will follow sooner, rather than later. Pray for me, fam.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Hastily Made, Very Lackidasical Body Count!

I just felt like counting up some numbers from stuff I've already read, cause I feel like for all of those memes where it's like 'what is each member of the batfam going to prison for' the answer is straight up all of them in for attempted or successful murder lmao not a single one of these birdies are innocent!

Stephanie Brown: 0 But not for lack of trying!

The Best Robin attempted to kill her dad, the Cluemaster. This was not spur of the moment either, she premeditated that shit and only Batman's influence (and threats) prevented her from going through with it!

Cassandra Cain: 1 but like, c'mon now, give her a break, she was only eight, we can't count that against her, and no court of law ever would either

Dick Grayson: 2 he is Very Sad about this

He's killed both Blockbuster and The Joker. To my knowledge, only one of those two ever got resuscitated!

Tim Drake: Uhhhhhhhhhhh Several. Like At Least Five. Also a Serious Attempt.

To be extremely conservative with our numbers we are going with just ONE ninja dead per base he blew up. Also worth noting: He very nearly goes through with an exceptionally premeditated murder scheme against Captain Boomerang. I'm legit not sure he wouldn't have done it if the other Bats weren't there.

Jason Todd: Maestro, please begin the benny hill music, cause we've got a count to roll through and it is loony toons long my ghouls!

Skipping dear Filipe's moldering corpse due to uncertainty, we start with Lost Days

Human Trafficking Truck Driver Ian, Egon, Steel Beam mercenary crew estimated at least five strong, three more of his teachers, eleven nameless russian mobsters, a cousin and a running buddy of a russian mobster: 23 people

Under the Red Hood

Eight heads in a duffel bag, four thugs with Freeze (Freezy boy does not die), Two confirmed on panel delivery man kills (Five-ten more suspected but we won't count em), Ten goons in the doorway when he swings the minigun on them as he and Onyx retreat, five more goons, Rocket launcher blast kills "most" of a security team with at least three members left so we'll call that three kills (far more deaths are implied), shoots a guy holding lit molotov catching him on fire, then kills Captain Nazi (yay), forces Black Mask to kill six of his men, and finally dear old Black Mask's PA is thrown through a window (his cycling class will miss him dearly): 41 people

That Time He Kidnapped Mia

Short and sweet, he just ices a pack of "brain donors": 5 people

Brothers in Blood

Two human traffickers, three more drug runner goons, two more goons later on: 7 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part one

Starting the running with two cops, lightning bug assassin, six mobstery big wigs, a guy, Flamingo: 11 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part two

Littleman Beaver's brother and his brother's fourteen goons, fifteen of his fellow inmates, then the grand poisoning of eighty-two people (well he poisoned more but we only get eighty-two confirmed as dead): 112 people

This is not even slightly a complete list, so consider this final number a lowball of:

One Hundred and Ninety-Nine people

as Jason's body count... at least pre-new52, don't ask me what's going on over there in modern canon, idk

All former Robins (that aren't from the future, a space starfish, not known to me personally, add more caveates as needed) have tried to kill someone at least once, but like, hot damn I'm pretty sure Jason is definitely still keeping his title as the murderous one of the bunch!

If someone knows more about Damian, I'd be happy to have his count added in, but like this is just a tumblr fun post and my ass needs to start cooking spaghetti, I don't got the time rn to start reading his stuff yet.

[mrs-gauche]

so this is kind of tin foily but in a twitter post by matt goldman he comments on art featuring solas and “a mysterious V…. archer!” (maybe the same one from the 2020 cinematic trailer??). now that we know the new title, could the “V…..” stand for Veilguard perhaps?? 👀

Ohh yeah, I remember that tweet! 😁 Actually, I think, at the time, people were speculating that, going by the number of "dots" used in the tweet, he was actually hinting at Veilfire Archer! And yes, like you said, we also thought he was referring to the people with the magical bow from the 2020 teaser and the concept art!

Then we got introduced to the faction called the Veil Jumpers in the The Missing comics, which seemed to all but confirm that these have to be the same people, judging by their design.

So... was Matt Goldman actually referring to the Veil Jumpers in the tweet? Maybe Veilfire Archer is sort of a "subclass" from the Veil Jumpers? Or maybe they just hadn't settled on a name at that point and throughout development "Veilfire Archer" turned into "Veil Jumper"? lol

But yeah, it is kinda strange that we now also have the Veilguard thrown into the mix as well. 😂 I imagine it would be kinda awkward if we "the Veilguard" were to meet the Veil Jumpers in-game and they're like "Guys, pick another name, it's way too similar to ours!" lol We never really got a sense of why they're even called Veil Jumpers in the comics, aside from how they were able to, quote, "contain the threat of the chaos that reigns over the Arlathan Forest"/dealing with the way the Veil is acting up in that place specifically?

It's strongly hinted that the Veil Jumpers are one of four(?) potential factions for our protagonist to chose. So, I assume the Veil Jumpers have an entirely separate purpose from our main cast "The Veilguard"...

...Which kinda makes me wonder why *we're* even called the Veilguard to begin with. 😂

A bit of rambling about the new title under the cut! :D

I guess my question is, how would one be able to "guard the Veil" when it's literally this metaphysical construct that effects the nature of the entire world and not, like, a physical barrier to guard? lol When I first saw the title, it made me think of something like "Border Patrol"... like, Solas obviously wants spirits to enter the world freely without the Veil, so the title has me picturing the protagonist "patrolling" an invisible barrier to keep spirits and all things Fade out. 😂

In his explanation for the new title, Gary McKay said that the "Veil needs guarding, because Solas wants to destroy it, hence The Veilguard"... So are we not actually interacting with the Veil itself but just focusing on fighting Solas to "protect" it...?

But then why do I still have a strong feeling it has something to do with our protagonist using the red lyrium idol to do something with the Veil in order to.. idk, save the world, whatever that means? 😂

Actually, the new title has me a bit confused now, because.. we literally have those trillions of hints pointing towards the Veil coming down.. but now the new title actually implies that it won't happen? Because there can't be a "Veilguard" without the Veil, right? 😂

So.. if the Veil were to come down at any point in the game.. the Veilguard would lose its job, I guess? 😂 Idk, it's just so strange to me, given all the previous speculation and if the Veilguard is actually another "organization" like the Inquisition, even though Solas made it clear in Trespasser that any organization will eventually face betrayal and corruption (which is why we needed to find "people Solas doesn't know" in the first place)? lol

So my guess is that "The Veilguard" is just this funky name our main gang of seven (eight with the protagonist?) people came up with, because they thought it was cool and it's not an organization in that sense, but more like "The Guardians of the Galaxy" or something. lol But if that's the case, I can't help but chuckle at the idea... like, imagine if Hawke and friends would've called themselves the "Kirkwall Guard" or something. 😂

But anyway. See, in my opinion, the Veil getting weaker correlates with the Blight spreading further, because the root of the Blight lies within the Black City and that's why Solas created it in the first place, to contain the Blight/the elven gods. But Solas himself claims in Tevinter Nights that whatever he's going to do will "save this world", so I don't think he's planning on just letting the world succumb to the Blight. lol

Ok, I'm gonna stop rambling now, because this is getting way too long. 😂 I guess we just have to wait and see and I actually think there's a good chance we'll know a lot more at this time tomorrow! 👀

[insertpoetryhere]

Dadbastian Week: Setting Sun

"Poetry you're a week late" I know, I had midterms this week and i was cooked alive. But I'm better now and I have this thing to make up for the fact that I skipped an entire day. My official (a week overdue) sendoff to Dadbastain Week 2023!

A huge thank you to @dadbastianweek2023 for organizing such a cool event and for all the participants who might be some of the most talented creators I've ever seen! Also thank you to everyone who helped my indecisive ass pick a name for the dog.

My Baby, My Baby

Escape had been impossible. 

Sebastian did not often make a habit of avoiding his young master, but he had to do what had to be done to maintain some semblance of peace. Then again, one of his (former) favorite things had always been his stubborn determination.

And all it took was cornering him in the foyer and ordering him to sit down to render him completely helpless. Now it was just him, Ciel, and the 14 page hand-written essay entitled “why we should get a dog”.

The essay was, as the title implied, an itemized list of every reason he could think for why the manor needed a dog.

Number one: A dog would offer an added layer of protection.

Number four: Dogs were very good for hunting.

Number fifteen: Ciel could not leave his dirty dishes in his study anymore since chocolate would make the dog sick.

Number twenty-eight: A dog would gladly eat anything that fell on the floor.

Number fifty-one: Ciel would allegedly never ever ever ask Sebastian for his assistance on a major purchase ever again.

Sebastian had scoffed at that one, realizing how serious Ciel must be to acknowledge his own lack of control over his pocket money so openly. Usually Sebastian’s status as the keeper of Ciel’s check book was something that the two of them did not discuss. After all, his young master was not a fan of acknowledging his own age and there was a little bit more dignity in pretending that Sebastian was put in charge of the Phantomhive finances by choice.

Regardless of pride, Ciel was still a child. And as a child, he needed Sebastian to sign off any and all money.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your… dedication.” Sebastian had to cut Ciel off once they reached the part that the young earl had written entirely in broken German as a way to prove that his dedication to his studies would remain unchanged. “But could you not just order me to sign off on this?”

The idea of having a dog in the house made him want to gag, but Ciel’s German was simply where he had to draw the line. 

Ciel looked up from his paper, eyeing Sebastian as if he had said something unequivocally stupid. “Of course not, you would just buy the dog and then get rid of it immediately afterwards. Or you would make sure the dog is of poor health so that it wouldn’t last long anyways.” His gaze was steely and serious, a stark juxtaposition to the very childish conversation at hand. “I need you completely and fully on board.”

Sebastian sighed, cursing his consistency and communication skills for making his movements so predictable. “Then may we continue this discussion as I do the housework? I fear I can’t stay seated through- how many more are there?”

“Ninety-four.” Ciel didn’t even look back down at his paper. Which was somewhat terrifying.

“... Walk and talk.” He stood up from the chair(he did not understand why humans felt the need to sit for so long).

Ciel perked up (“Like a dog” is how Sebastian’s brain finished that sentence, which made him frown) and followed behind him as he carried on with his day.

Number sixty-six: Ciel would never complain again.

Laughable.

Number seventy-five: Ciel would never bother Sebastian again.

Again, hilarious.

Number eighty-three: A portion written and performed entirely in broken latin to further show his commitment, which was somehow worse than the German portion had been.

That one was… long.

Number ninety: Please.

Ok, now this was getting to Sebastian. 

Number ninety-

“Okay, stop!” Sebastian couldn’t take it. He couldn’t handle the… pleading and the voice and the any of it. Especially not now as he juggled pots and pans in the kitchen, trying to make sense of the mess Mey Rin had left behind in the wake of “preparing lunch” while Ciel ate said lunch in the kitchen with him, speaking even louder so that he might be heard over the sound of metal clinking together.

Ciel looked up, hopeful. As if he had been planning to induce a headache the entire time. “So you are in agreement?”

Sebastian bit his lip. This was psychological warfare and he was losing, goddamnit. His eyes settled on the box of eggs, still left out on the counter despite the fact that lunch had not needed eggs for its preparation at all. He smiled coyly before picking one up and handing it to the young master.

Ciel took it, confused. “What’s this for?”

“That,” Sebastian said pointedly. “Is to show me you understand the responsibility of looking after something too stupid to look after itself.”

It was meant to be a jab at him, but Ciel didn’t react. Instead, he held the egg gentler, staring at it as if it was made of gold. “How long do I have?”

“Until sundown.” Sebastian turned his attention back to the chores, relishing in how much quieter the kitchen had gotten.

“And if I give this egg back to you unharmed, you will approve the purchase of a dog without complaint?” He raised an eyebrow, like he was trying to unpack the ways in which this could blow up in his face.

“Mhm.” Sebastian was only half listening as he put the rest of the eggs away and began scrubbing the dishes.

Ciel stared at the egg suspiciously now. “And this isn’t a trick? I have your word that you-”

“Would you like me to change my mind?” Sebastian interrupted, the seriousness in his voice enough to make the boy shake his head and run off to provide a life for his practice pet. Sebastian sighed, eyeing a clock on the wall. He had bought himself at least six hours, plenty of time for Ciel to either break the egg or lose interest in the activity entirely.

While the idea of either cleaning the remnants of a broken egg or tracking down a rotten one weeks later did not appeal to him in the slightest, anything was better than having to deal with a dog.

In short, he had won.

---

He had expected Ciel to get bored after an hour or so. Either that or break the egg and give up on the whole ordeal. So naturally when the bell in the basement tripped, alerting Sebastian that he was needed in the study, he had thought peace was on the horizon.

What he did not expect was to see the young master seated at his desk, the egg sitting on a plush velveteen pillow. 

The egg had its own space on the desk, not too close to the edge and not too far from Ciel in case of an emergency. Ciel himself stared Sebastian down, his list of what appeared to be dog names completely abandoned the moment the door opened.

“Do you need something, my lord?” Sebastian asked after an abnormally long bout of silence.

“No.” He said shortly, still staring at Sebastian intently.

The demon blinked. “... You rang?”

“I did not ring.” Ciel said, still staring. “You must be hearing things.”

“... I see.” Sebastian wondered if behavior like this would warrant regular appointments with a shrink. His boy was staring at him and had an egg on a pillow. Even he found this disturbing and pondered on exactly what kind of monster he had created.

Ciel cleared his throat as the silence persisted. “The egg is well.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he understood what this was; An official declaration of war. “I see that.”

Ciel continued to stare. “It has a pillow.”

“I am aware.” Sebastian’s cold glare turned to the egg as he pondered ways to turn the tides in his favor. Clearly he had underestimated Ciel’s resolve. Maybe during tea, he could-

“I order you not to touch the egg in any capacity.” He had to be able to read minds. He had to somehow be in Sebastian’s head.

That little bastard.

Sebastian pursed his lips together in a tight, displeased line. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ciel nodded, his gaze a perfect mirror image of the cruel glare Sebastian had become so well known for. “You are dismissed.”

---

It had been Sebastian’s idea for Bard to offer to take Ciel hunting. Partially incentivized by an advance on the cook’s Christmas bonus.

“I’ll take ’im out without the bribe,” Bard laughed, a cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Jus’ not sure why you don’t want to come along.”

Because that was part of the appeal. A hunting trip with Bard (the significantly more fun chaperone) where Ciel was allowed to use the good guns that they kept in the cellar (which he was normally not allowed access to). A level of reckless, irresponsible fun that no teenage boy could refuse.

Evident by the way that he nearly jumped out of his seat, banding his knee against his desk (it did not knock the egg from its perch, sadly) before regaining his composure.

“I suppose, if it will pass the time.” He said passively, trying to rub his injured knee without anyone noticing.

It wasn’t until he looked back down at his desk that the boy seemed to realize why the offer had been made in the first place; The egg could not be left unattended.

He looked up at Sebastian in malice, who only smiled sweetly back. His master was not stupid. Surely he would see this hunting trip as a once in a lifetime offer and wisely abandon this silly egg game for more entertaining pursuits. Triumph at last.

All three men in the room stood in a triangle, each staring at the egg as it sat innocently on its pillow; Ciel in contemplation, Sebastian in cruel victory, and Bard in… confusion. Which made sense, seeing as no one had let him in on the egg deal.

A light bulb may as well have popped up above Ciel’s head as he grabbed the egg off of its pillow. “I shall return shortly.”

The boy bolted out of the room, leaving Sebastian standing there with a displeased glare.

“... Was that an egg?” Bard asked, but received no response from Sebastian as the demon butler glared at the door, waiting for his master’s return. “Why does he have an egg?”

Ciel returned only a few minutes later, a small bag used for carrying dice tied onto one of his belt loops with a secureness that only could have been achieved by Finny. So the boys were in cahoots… lovely.

“Ready when you are.” He announced with a triumphant grin.

Sebastian grumbled. Foiled once more.

---

“Dogs cannot sit at the table` At this point in the day, Sebastian was getting petty. But the hunting trip had not even broken the damned thing, and the only other option he could think of was having Mey Rin shoot the god forsaken thing off of its pillow (something she was disturbingly excited to try). So yes, he was taking some of those frustrations out on Ciel and the egg.

Ciel looked up from his dinner, which he had not yet gotten the chance to take a bite out of. “That wasn’t part of the deal!” He argued.

Sebastian shrugged. “It would prove your dedication.”

He was either going to put the egg on the ground and accidentally step on it, forget it, or finally give up. He had to. Sebastian had no other ideas for how to get rid of this thing (unless he took Mey Rin up on her offer, that is). His migraine worsened as he imagined the sound of barking joining in with the other annoyances of his day to day life.

He needed Ciel to either fuck up or give up.

Ciel glared, taking the egg (still on that stupid pillow) in his hand. Sebastian swore he heard angels singing as Ciel did so, assuming that his plan had worked. But then Ciel picked up his plate as well, and Sebastian watched in annoyance as he took both items over to the wall and sat down.

His stubbornness knew no bounds.

“I will not fetch anything from the table for you if you are going to behave this way.” Sebastian said, standing firmly by the table as Ciel settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Ciel placed the egg on the ground and his plate in his lap, taking a bite. “I don’t require anything anyways.”

Sebastian eyed the full glass of water still sitting on the table. “Hm.”

Ciel took a big, defiant bite of gravy-less chicken.

---

It was official.

This had possibly been the biggest mistake of his career.

The sun had just dipped down the horizon when he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps running down the stairs. Fitting for Ciel to catch him in the kitchen once again, like the boy was returning to the scene of the crime where he had brutally murdered Sebastian’s pride only hours before.

And in he came, like a bat out of hell, holding his intact egg up in triumph. He had won the war.

His face was bright as the sun, something that Sebastian found no pleasure in as he grappled with his fate.

“... I feel that this test needs another day.” He tried in vain.

Ciel shook his head. “You gave your word. No going back now.”

Sebastian groaned, hiding his face behind his hand as he sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed, gesturing across the little table to the chair right across from him. He listened as Ciel shuffled over, taking a seat and setting the egg down on the table with a soft plunk. The kitchen table of negotiation.

“... I have conditions.” Sebastian said plainly, taking his face out of hiding now that he was sure he didn’t look on the verge of tears. 

Ciel nodded eagerly and receptively, a much more enthusiastic audience than he usually is. 

“The dog will not share the same name as me.” He said sternly, despite it being a ridiculous request.

“The name is already picked out, so there will be no trouble there.” Ciel said, leaning forward excitedly.

Sebastian sighed, still in disbelief that he was agreeing to this at all. “You said you wanted a hunting dog, so you will get a hunting dog. We will go to a proper breeder and collect one that is already housebroken. No puppies, am I understood?”

Ciel did not look disappointed in the slightest. He nodded just as eagerly as before. “Anything else?”

God this receptiveness was disturbing.

“It will not go on any furniture that you would accept guests.” Sebastian said sternly. “I will not have people leaving the manor covered in dog hair.”

“Understood.” Ciel agreed, watching him intently. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what else Ciel wanted.

“... Those are my only demands.”

But he still stared at him, almost like he was losing confidence. It took Sebastian a while to realize that he was waiting for the explicit confirmation, something to set this plan in stone. He sighed. “We will leave in the morning.”

That smile was back, just as bright as the sun.

---

They left first thing in the morning, with Ciel already up and laying out clothing on his own by the time Sebastian opened the door. So he was capable of such behavior. What a miracle.

Sebastian had taken some comfort when they arrived at the breeder’s, who trotted out his most well behaved dogs that he had deemed “fit for an earl” (Sebastian was happy to have an ally in this situation. God knows Bard hadn’t been any help).

But of course, the one that caught Ciel’s eye was a wild-tempered greyhound who nearly topped him over trying to lick his face.The boy had laughed, only half-way trying to push the dog off of him while the other scratched behind the beast’s ear encouragingly.

The breeder, who had initially apologized profusely for the dog’s behavior, laughed at the sight and said “I suppose the Earl is just a boy.”

A traitorous leech if Sebastian had ever met one-

So of course the wretched creature came home with them.

On top of being nearly uncontrollable, the cursed little thing was ugly as could be. Long in every sense of the word and fairly pathetic looking. The only silver lining that could be found in this was that the beast had the decency to ignore Sebastian entirely, lavishing all his ghastly affection on Ciel instead.

This affection did seem to delight Ciel though, who Sebastian had never seen smile as much as he did that day.

So maybe the dog wasn’t so bad.

“He cannot be on the bed!” Sebastian protested, attempting to wave the creature off of the comforter and pulling his hand away when the damned thing snapped its jaws at his sleeve as if Sebastian’s arm was the rope toy that Ciel had wasted his whole afternoon throwing across the garden.

Ciel’s head popped through the top of his nightdress and his attention went right back to the dog (as if it hadn’t been there all day). “I don’t take guests in my bedroom, so he can be on the bed.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, watching in disgust as the thing dragged its ham bone from dinner on the bed right next to it. Ciel climbed in, petting the dog behind his left ear and delighting in the way it threw its head back affectionately, trying to reach the boy’s face in order to lick it. “Good boy, Detective!”

“Call him by his proper name,” Sebastian scolded, lifting the boy up by the armpits and tossing him onto the sheets so he could pull the comforter up to his chin. The dog bounded up after him, letting out a bark that made Sebastian flinch back in disgust with his hands up. “He will never respond to it if you keep calling him ‘Detective’.”

The dog also didn’t deserve such a title. The lights were not all on upstairs.

“Alright then,” Ciel scratched the top of the damned creature’s head as he settled down on top of the comforter, as close to the boy as he could manage. “Good boy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock Holmes was the dog’s full, legal name. Which made Sebastian roll his eyes. “Don’t praise him for such behavior, he wished to take my hand as a souvenir.”

“He would never harm a fly,” Ciel cooed unbecomingly, snuggling closer to the animal. “Would you, boy?”

The dog groaned, both his and his little master’s energy seeming to have left their bodies like a lightning flash leaves a stormcloud. Sebastian moved about the room, picking up the clothing that had gotten scattered around the floor by Sherlock himself, who seemed to think everything but eating and sleeping was a game. In a sense, he supposed that meant he fit his master perfectly.

He could feel Ciel doze off, falling into a deep sleep at an alarming speed. His soft snores filled the room, making Sebastain smile fondly.

“You pulled the wool over my eyes once again, Young Lord.” He whispered, depositing the clothes into a small hamper for washing while the rest of the house slept. “Equal parts clever and cruel.”

Even he couldn’t shake the pride, watching the boy smile in his sleep after his victory. In a way, cruelty was their way of being kind. Not the excessive kind, but the kind that forced their days into a chess game of sorts. And when Ciel was able to pull the rug from underneath Sebastian, it made him feel… significant.

Which was a ridiculous thought to have. He was already plenty significant.

But seeing himself reflected back, growing sharper and harsher, and somehow better than him by the day… It was almost a purpose on its own.

That pride melted away to annoyance when the boy turned in his sleep, his eyepatch still on. Honestly, it was like Sebastian had to do everything.

He set the laundry down, walking over to the bed and reaching his hand towards Ciel’s sleeping form.

That was when a set of sharp teeth snapped down on his hand, forcing him to jump back. He propped his hand away, blood undoubtedly dripping onto the carpet as Sherlock let go of him with a vicious snarl. Sebastian immediately removed his glove, attempting to use it to reduce the mess as he swore under his breath.

He looked back up at the dog, who stood over his boy protectively as he growled lowly at Sebastian. His teeth were bared, still showing evidence of the attack he had given as a warning. 

Sebastian went to scold the damned beast when his eyes fell on the contract seal, painted red and exposed now that the glove was removed. It made his voice drop into his stomach with a heavy kind of thud. He supposed in a way, he had been very wrong  about Sherlock. He was just smart enough to protect his little master.

And he knew a threat when he saw one.

“Good boy, Detective.” Sebastian said sadly as the dog laid across Ciel’s torso, not once taking his eyes off of Sebastian. “Good boy.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter XIV. Summary and Conclusion

It has been said of Newton, to express the immensity of his discoveries, that he has revealed the abyss of human ignorance.

There is no Newton here, and no one can claim in economics a part equal to that which posterity assigns to this great man in the science of the universe. But I dare to say that there is here more than Newton has ever guessed. The depth of the heavens does not equal the depth of our intelligence, within which wonderful systems move. It looks like a new, unknown region that exists outside space and time, like the heavenly realms and infernal abodes, and on which our eyes plunge, with silent admiration, as in a bottomless abyss.

Non secùs ac si quâ penitùs vi terra dehiscens

Infernas reseret sedes et regna recludat

Pallida, Dis invisa, superque immane barathrum

Cernatur, trepidentque immisso lumine Manes.

Virgil. Aeneid. lib. viii.[51]

Here the throng, collision, swing of eternal forces; there the mysteries of Providence are revealed, and the secrets of fate appear uncovered. It is the invisible making itself visible, the intangible rendered material, the idea becoming reality, and reality a thousand times more wonderful, more grandiose than the most fantastic utopias. So far we do not see, in its simple formula, the unity of that vast machine: the synthesis of these gigantic gears, in which the well-being and misery of generations are ground, and which are shaping a new creation, still evades us. But we already know that nothing that happens in social economy has a copy in nature; we are forced to constantly invent special names, to create a new language, for facts without analogues. It is a transcendent world, whose principles are superior to geometry and algebra, whose powers derive neither from attraction nor from any physical force, but which use geometry and algebra as subordinate instruments, and takes as material the very powers of nature; a world finally freed from the categories of time, space, generation, life and death, where everything seems both eternal and phenomenal, simultaneous and successive, limited and unlimited, ponderable and imponderable… What more can I say? It is even creation, caught, so to speak, in the act!

And this world, which appears to us as a fable, which inverts our judicial habits, and never ceases to deny our reason; this world which envelops us, penetrates us, agitates us, without us even seeing it in any other way than the mind’s eye, touching it only by signs, this strange world is society, it is us!

Who has seen monopoly and competition, except by their effects, that is, by their signs? Who has felt credit and property? What is collective force, division of labour and value? And yet, what is stronger, more certain, more intelligible, more real than all that? Look in the distance at this carriage drawn by eight horses on a beaten field, and driven by a man dressed in a old smock: it is only a mass of matter, moved on four wheels by an animal form. You discover there, in appearance, only a phenomenon of mechanics, determined by a phenomenon of physiology, beyond which you perceive nothing more. Penetrate further: ask this man what he does, where he goes; by what thought, what title, he drives this vehicle. And presently he will show you a letter, his authority, his providence, as he himself is the providence of his equipment. You will read in this letter that he is a carter, that it is in this capacity that he carries out the transportation of a certain quantity of merchandise, so much according upon the weight and distance; that he must carry out his journey by such a route and within such a time, barely covering the cost of his service; that this service implies on the part of the carter the responsibility for the losses and damages that result from other causes than force majeure and an inherent defect of the objects; that the price of the vehicle includes or not includes insurance against unforeseen accidents, and a thousand other details which are the hazard of the law and the torment of jurists. This man, I say, in a piece of paper as big as the hand, will reveal to you an infinite order, an inconceivable mixture of empiricism and pure reason, and that all the genius of man, assisted by the experience of the universe, would have been powerless to discover, if man has not left individual existence to enter collective life.

Indeed, these ideas of work, value, exchange, traffic, responsibility, property, solidarity, association, etc., where are the architypes? who provided the exemplars? what is this world half material, half intelligible; half necessity, half fiction? What is this force, called work, which carries us along with ever greater certainty that we believe we are more free? Which of our joys and torments does this collective life, which burns us with an inextinguishable flame, cause? As long as we live, we are, without our being aware of it, and according to the extent of our faculties and the speciality of our industry, the thinking springs, thinking wheels, thinking gears, thinking weights, etc., of an immense machine that thinks and goes by itself. Science, we said, is based on the accord of reason and experience; but it creates neither one nor the other. And here, on the contrary, a science appears to us, in which nothing is given to us, a priori, neither by experience nor by reason; a science in which humanity draws everything from itself, noumenon[52] and phenomena, universals and categories, facts and ideas; a science, finally, which instead of simply consisting, like any other science, of a reasoned description of reality, is the very creation of reality and reason!

Thus the author of economic reason is man; the creator of economic matter is man; the architect of the economic system is again man. After having produced reason and social experience, humanity proceeds to the construction of social science in the same way as for the construction of the natural sciences; it brings together in agreement the reason and the experience it has given itself, and by the most inconceivable marvel, when everything in it takes after utopia, principles and actions, it only comes to know itself by excluding utopia.

Socialism is right in protesting against political economy and saying to it: You are nothing but a routine that does not understand itself. And political economy is right to say to socialism: you are only a utopia without reality or possible application. But both denying in turn, socialism the experience of humanity, political economy the reason of humanity, both lack the essential conditions of human truth.

Social science is the agreement of reason and social practice. Now, this science, of which our masters have only seen rare sparks, will be given to our century to contemplate it in its sublime splendour and harmony!

But what am I doing? Alas! It is a question, at this moment when quackery and prejudice share the world, of raising our hopes. It is not incredulity that we have to fight, it is presumption. Let us start by noting that social science is not finished, that it is still in a state of vague premonition.

“Malthus,” says his excellent biographer, M. Charles Comte, “had the profound conviction that there exists in political economy principles which are true only insofar as they are contained within certain limits; he saw the main difficulties of the science in the frequent combination of complicated causes, in the action and reaction of effects and causes with each other, and in the necessity of setting limits or making exception for many important proposals.”

This is what Malthus thought of political economy, and the work we have published at this moment is only a demonstration of his idea. To this testimony we add another just as worthy of belief. In one of the final sessions of the Academy of Moral Sciences, M. Dunoyer, as a truly superior man, who does not allow himself to be dazzled either by the interest of a clique, nor by the disdain that inspires ignorant opponents, made the same confession with as much candour and nobility as Malthus.

“Political economy, which has a number of certain principles, which rests on a considerable mass of exact facts and well deduced observations, nevertheless seems far from being a set science. There is no complete agreement on the extent of the field in which its research should be extended, nor on the fundamental object which it must suggest. It is not suitable for all the work it embraces, nor the means to which the power of its work is linked, nor the precise meaning to be attached to most of the words that form its vocabulary. The science, rich in truths of detail, leaves a great deal to be desired as a whole, and as a science it still seems far from being constituted.”

M. Rossi goes further than M. Dunoyer: he formulated his judgement in the form of a reprimand addressed to the modern representatives of the science.

“Every thought of method now seemed abandoned in economics,” he cries, “and yet there is no science without method.” (Compte-rendu par M. Rossi du cours de M. Whateley [Report by M. Rossi of M. Whateley’s course])

Messrs. Blanqui, Wolowski, Chevalier, everyone who has glanced every so briefly on the economy of societies speaks the same. And the writer who best appreciates the value of modern utopias, Pierre Leroux, writes on every page of the Revue sociale [Social Review]: “let us seek the solution of the problem of the proletariat; let us keep looking for it until we find it. It is the entire work of our epoch!...” Now, the problem of the proletariat is the constitution of social science. There are only short-sighed economists and fanatical socialists, for whom the science is summed up entirely in a formula, Laissez faire, laisses passer, or else, To each according to his needs as far as social resources allow, who boast of possessing economic science.

What then causes this delay of social truth, which alone maintains the disappointment of the economist and gives credit to the operations of the alleged reformers? The cause, in our opinion, is the separation, already very old, of philosophy and political economy.

Philosophy, that is to say metaphysics, or if it is preferred, logic, is the algebra of society; political economy is the realisation of this algebra. This was not noticed by J.B. Say, nor Bentham, no anyone else who, under the names of economists and utilitarians, created a split in morals and rose against almost at the same time politics and philosophy. And yet, what more secure control can philosophy, the theory of reason, wish for than work, that is, the practice of reason? And conversely, what more certain control could economic science wish than the formulas of philosophy? It is my dearest hope, that the time is not far when the masters in the moral and political sciences will be in the workshops and [behind] counters, as today our most skilful builders are all men formed by a long and arduous apprenticeship…

But on what condition can there be a science?

On the condition of recognising its field of observation and its limits, to determine its object, to organise its method. On this point the economist expresses himself as the philosopher: the words of M. Dunoyer, recounted earlier, seem literally taken from the preface of Jouffroy to the translation of Reid.

The field of observation of philosophy is the self [le moi]; the field of observation of economics is society, that is to say again the self. Do you want to know man, study society; do you want to know society, study man. Man and society reciprocally serve each other as subjects and objects; the parallelism, the synonymy of the two sciences is complete.

But what is this collective and individual self? What is this field of observation, where strange phenomena are going on? To find out, let us look at the analogues.

All the things we think seem to exist, to succeed one another or to be in three transcendent CAPABILITIES, outside of which we can only imagine and conceive absolutely nothing: these are space, time and intelligence.

Just as every material object is conceived by us necessarily in space; just as phenomena, connected with each other by a relationship of causality, seem to follow each other in time; thus our purely abstract representations are recorded by us to a particular receptacle, which we call intellect or intelligence.

Intelligence is in its species an infinite capacity, like space and eternity. There are restless worlds, of numberless organisms with complicated laws, with varied and unexpected effects; equal, for magnificence and harmony, to the worlds sown by the creator through space, to the organisms that shine and die out over time. Politics and political economy, jurisprudence, philosophy, theology, poetry, languages, customs, literature, fine arts: the field of observation of the self is more vast, more fecund, more rich in itself than the double field of observation of nature, space and time.

The self, as well as time and space, is infinite. Man, and what is the product of man, together with the beings thrown through space and the phenomena that follow one another in time, constitutes the triple manifestation of God. These three infinites, indefinite expressions of infinity, penetrate each other and support one another, inseparable and irreducible: space or scale not being conceived without movement, which implies the idea of force, this is to say a spontaneity, a self.

The ideas of things which are presented to us in space form for our imagination tableaus; the ideas which we place objects in time unfold in histories; finally, ideas or relations which do not fall under the category of time or space, and which belong to the intellect, are co-ordinated in systems.

Tableau, history, system, are thus three analogous expressions, or rather equivalents, by which we make known that a certain number of ideas appear to our mind as a symmetrical and perfect whole. That is why these expressions may, in certain cases, be taken for each other, as we have pursued from the beginning of this work, when we presented it as a history of political economy, no longer according to the date of the discoveries, but according to the order of the theories.

We conceive then, and we cannot not conceive of a capacity for things of pure thought, or, as Kant says, for noumena, in the same way that we conceive two others for sense things, for phenomena.

But space and time are nothing real; they are two forms imprinted on the self by external perception. Similarly intelligence is also nothing real: it is a form that the self imposes on itself, by analogy, in the context of the ideas that experience suggests to it.

As for the order of acquisition of ideas, intuitions or images, it seems to us that we start with those whose types or realities are included in space; that we continue by stopping, so to speak, the flight of ideas that time carries, and that we finally discover, with the help of sense perceptions, the ideas or concepts, without external model, which appear to us in this ghost capacity we call our intelligence. Such is the progress of our knowledge: we start from the sense to rise to the abstract; the ladder of our reason has its foot on the earth, crosses the sky and is lost in the depths of the mind.

Let us now reverse this series, and we envision creation as a descent of ideas from the higher sphere of intelligence into the lower spheres of time and space, a fall during which the ideas, originally pure, have taken a body of substratum that realises them and expresses them. From this point of view all created things, the phenomena of nature and the manifestations of humanity, will appear to us as a projection of the mind, immaterial and immutable, on a plane sometimes fixed and straight, space, sometimes inclined and moving, time.

It follows from this that ideas, equal to each other, contemporaneous and co-ordinated in the mind, seem thrown haphazardly, scattered, localised, subordinate and consecutive in humanity and in nature, forming tableaus and histories without resemblance to the original design [dessin primitif]; and all human science consists in finding this conception the abstract system of eternal thought. It is by a restoration of this kind that naturalists have found systems of organised and unorganised beings; it is by the same process that we have tried to re-establish the series of phases of social economy, which society makes us see isolated, incoherent, anarchic. The subject we have untaken is really the natural history of work, according to the fragments collected by the economists; and the system which has resulted from our analysis is true in the same way as the systems of plants discovered by Linné and Jussieu, and the system of animals by Cuvier.

The human self manifested by work is thus the field for the exploration of political economy, a concrete form of philosophy. The identity of these two sciences, or rather these two scepticisms, has been revealed to us throughout the course of this book. Thus the formation of ideas appeared to us in the division of labour as a division of elementary categories; then, we have seen freedom being born from the action of man upon nature, and, following freedom, arise all the relations of man with society and with himself. As a result, economics has been for us at the same time an ontology, a logic, a psychology, a theology, a politics, an aesthetics, a symbolism and a morality…

The field of science recognised, and its operation delimited, we had to recognise its method. Now, the method of economic science is still the same as that of philosophy: the organisation of work, we believe, is nothing but the organisation of common sense…

Among the laws that make up this organisation we have noticed the antinomy.

All true thought, as we have observed, arises in one time and two moments. Each of these moments being the negation of the other, and both of which must disappear only within a superior idea, it follows that antinomy is the very law of life and progress, the principle of perpetual motion. Indeed, if a thing, by virtue of the power of evolution which is in it, is repaired precisely of all that it loses, it follows that this thing is indestructible, and that movement supports it forever. In social economy, what competition is constantly occupied making, monopoly is constantly occupied unmaking; what labour produces, consumption devours; what property appropriates to itself, society gets a hold of: and from this results continuous movement, the unwavering life of humanity. If one of the two antagonistic forces is hindered, [so] that individual activity, for example, succumbs to social authority, organisation degenerates into communism and ends in nothingness. If, on the contrary, individual initiative lacks a counterweight, the collective organism is corrupted, and civilisation crawls under a regime of castes, iniquity and misery.

Antinomy is the principle of attraction and of movement, the reason for equilibrium: it is that which produces passion, and which breaks down all harmony and all accord…

Then comes the law of progression and series, the melody of beings, the law of the beautiful and the sublime. Remove the antinomy, the progress of beings is inexplicable: for where is the force that would produce this progress? Remove the series, the world is no more than a melee of sterile oppositions, a universal turmoil, without purpose and without an idea…

Even if these speculations, for us pure truth, appear doubtful, the application we have made of them would still be of immense utility. Let us think about it: there is not a single moment in life where the same man does not affirm and deny the same principles and theories at the same time, with more or less good faith, no doubt, but also always with plausible reasons, which, without soothing the conscience, suffice to make passion triumph and spread doubt in the mind. Let us leave, if you want, logic: but is it nothing to have illuminated the double face of things, to have learned to be wary of reasoning, of knowing how, the more a man has fairness in ideas and righteousness in the heart, the more he runs the risk of being a dupe and absurd? All our political, religious, economic, etc. misunderstandings come from the inherent contradiction of things; and this is even the source from which flow the corruption of principles, the venality of consciences, the charlatanism of professions of faith, the hypocrisy of opinions…

What is, at present, the object of economics?

The method itself tell us. Antinomy is the principle of attraction and balance in nature; antinomy is therefore the principle of progress and equilibrium in humanity, and the object of economic science is JUSTICE.

Considered in its purely objective relations, the only ones which social economy deals with, justice is expressed in value. Now, what is value? It is the labour performed.

“The real price of everything,” says Mr Smith, “what everything really costs to the man who wants to acquire it, is the toil and trouble of acquiring it… What is bought with money or with goods is purchased by labour as much as what we acquire by the toil of our own body. That money or those goods indeed save us this toil. They contain the value of a certain quantity of labour which we exchange for what is supposed at the time to contain the value of an equal quantity. Labour was the first price, the original purchase-money that was paid for all things. It was not by gold or by silver, but by labour, that all the wealth of the world was originally purchased; and its value, to those who possess it, and who want to exchange it for some new productions, is precisely equal to the quantity of labour which it can enable them to purchase or command.”[53]

But if value is the embodiment of labour, it is at the same time the principle of the comparison of products with one another: hence the theory of proportionality which dominates all economic science, and to which A. Smith would have raised, if it had been in the spirit of his time to pursue, with the aid of logic, a system of experiments.

But how is justice manifested in society, in other words, how is proportionality of values established? Say said it: by an oscillatory movement between value in utility and value in exchange.

Here appears in political economy, with regard to work, its master and all too often its executioner, the arbitral principle.

At the outset of the science, work, devoid of method, without understanding of value, barely stammering its first attempts, appeals to free will to build wealth and set the price of things. From this moment two powers enter into struggle, and the great work of social organisation is inaugurated. For work and free will is what we will later call labour and capital, wage-labour and privilege, competition and monopoly, community and property, plebe and nobility, state and citizen, association and individualism. For anyone who has obtained the first notions of logic, it is obvious that all these oppositions, eternally reborn, must be eternally resolved: now, that is what the economists do not want to hear, to whom the arbitral principle inherent in value seems resistant to all determination; and it is, with the horror of philosophy, what causes the retardation, so fatal to society, of economic science.

“It would be as absurd,” says [John Ramsay] McCulloch, “to speak of absolute height and depth as of absolute value.”

Economists all say the same thing, and we can judge by this example how far they are from each other, and on the nature of value, and on the meaning of the words they use. The absolute expression carries with it the idea of wholeness, perfection, or plenitude, on the basis of precision and accuracy. An absolute majority is a true majority (half plus one), it is not an indefinite majority. In the same way absolute value is the precise value, deduced from the exact comparison of products together: there is nothing in the world so simple. But the consequence of this critical effect is that since values measure one another, they must not oscillate at random: such is the supreme wish of society, such is the significance of political economy itself, which is nothing else, in its totality, but the picture of the contradictions whose synthesis infallibly produces true value.

Thus society is gradually established by a sort of swinging between necessity and arbitrariness, and justice is constituted by theft. Equality does not occur within society as an inflexible standard; it is, like all the great laws of nature, an abstract point, which oscillates continually above and below, through arcs more of less large, more or less regular. Equality is the supreme law of society; but it is not a fixed form, it is the average of an infinity of equations. That is how equality appeared to us from the first epoch of economic evolution, the division of labour; and such has been constantly manifested from the legislation of Providence.

Adam Smith, who had a kind of intuition on almost all the great problems of social economy, after having recognised labour as the principle of value and described the magical effects of the law of division, observes that, notwithstanding the increase of the produce resulting from this division, the wages of the worker do not increase; that often, on the contrary, they diminish, the gains of collective force not going to the worker, but to the master.

“The profits of stock, it may perhaps be thought are only a different name for the wages of a particular sort of labour, the labour of inspection and direction. They are, however, altogether different, are regulated by quite different principles, and bear no proportion to the quantity, the hardship, or the ingenuity of this supposed labour of inspection and direction. They are regulated altogether by the value of the stock employed, and are greater or smaller in proportion to the extent of this stock... In this state of things, the whole produce of labour does not always belong to the labourer. He must in most cases share it with the owner.”[54]

That, A. Smith tells us coldly, is how things happen: everything for the master, nothing for the worker. Whether we call it injustice, plunder, theft, the economist is not moved. The robber proprietor seems to him in all this as an automaton as the worker is robbed. And the proof that they deserve neither envy nor pity is that the workers only demand when they are dying of hunger; it is that no capitalist, entrepreneur or proprietor, neither during life nor at the moment of death, has felt the slightest remorse. They accuse ignorant and distorted public consciousness; they may be right, they may be wrong. A. Smith limits himself to reporting the facts, which is much better for us that declamations.

So by designating amongst workers a select [privilégié], nazarœum inter fratres tuos, social reason personified collective force. Society proceeds by myths and allegories. The history of civilisation is a vast symbolism. Homer summarises heroic Greece; Jesus Christ is suffering humanity, striving with effort, in a long and painful agony, to freedom, to justice, to virtue. Charlemagne is the feudal type; Roland, chivalry; Peter the Hermit, the crusades; Gregory VII, the papacy; Napoleon, the French Revolution. In the same way the industrial entrepreneur, who exploits a capital by a group of workers, is the personification of the collective force whose profit he absorbs, as the flywheel of a machine stores force. This is really the heroic man, the king of work. Political economy is a whole symbolism, property is a religion.

Let is follow A. Smith, whose luminous ideas, scattered in an obscure clutter, seem a repetition [deutérose] of primitive revelation.

“As soon as the land of any country has all become private property, the landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed, and demand a rent even for its natural produce. The wood of the forest, the grass of the field, and all the natural fruits of the earth, which, when land was in common, cost the labourer only the trouble of gathering them, come, even to him, to have an additional price fixed upon them. He must then pay for the licence to gather them; and must give up to the landlord a portion of what his labour either collects or produces [without him].”[55]

Here is monopoly, here is interest on capital, here is [economic] rent! A. Smith, like all the enlightened, sees and does not understand; he recounts and has not the intelligence. He speaks under the inspiration of God without surprise and without pity; and the meaning of his words remain for him a closed letter. With what calm he recounts proprietor usurpation! As long as the land seems good for nothing, as long as labour has not loosened, fertilised, utilised, created VALUE [mise en VALEUR], property gives it no thought. The hornet does not alight on the flowers, it falls upon the hives. What the worker produces is immediately taken; the worker is like a hunting dog in the master’s hand.

A slave, exhausted from work, invents the plough. With a hardened wooden hook dragged by a horse, he opens the ground, rendering him capable of making ten times, a hundred times more. The master, at a glance, grasps the importance of the discovery: he seizes the land, he appropriates the revenue, he attributes the idea to himself, and makes himself adored by the mortals for this magnificent gift. He walks the equal of the gods: his wife is a nymph, Ceres; and he is Triptolemus. Poverty invents, and property reaps. For genius must remain poor: abundance would smother it. The greatest service that property has rendered to the world is this perpetual affliction of labour and genius.

But what to do with these heaps of grain? What a poor wealth [is] that which the boss shares with his horses, his oxen and his slaves! It is well worth being rich, if all the advantage consists of being able to gnaw a few more handfuls of rice and barley!...

An old woman, having pounded grain for her toothless mouth, realises that the dough soured, fermented, and cooked under the ashes, gives a food incomparably better than raw or grilled wheat. Miracle! The daily bread is discovered. – Another, having pressing into a jar a mass of dropped grapes, intends to boil the mash on the flame; the liquor spews out its impurities; it gleams, ruddy, bountiful, immortal. Evoe! it is the young Bacchus, the darling son of the proprietor, a child beloved of the gods, who has found it. What the master could not have devoured in a few weeks, a year will suffice for him to drink. The vine, like the harvest, like the earth, is appropriated.

What is to be done with these countless fleeces that each year provides such a large tribute? When the proprietor would raise his bed to be worthy of his pavilion, when he would duplicate thirty times his sumptuous tent, this useless luxury would do nothing but attest his impotence. He abounds in goods and he cannot enjoy; what a mockery!

A shepherdess, left naked by the avarice of the master, collects from the bushes some wool fibres. She twisted this wool, stretching it into equal and fine threads, gathering them on a spear, crisscrossing them, and making herself a soft and light dress, a thousand times more elegant than the patched skins that cover his scornful mistress. It is Arachne, the weaver, who created this marvel! Immediately the master begins to shear the hair of his sheep, his camels and his goats; he gives his wife a troop of slaves, who spin and weave under his orders. It is no longer Arachne, the humble servant; it is Pallas, the daughter of the proprietor, whom the gods have inspired, and whose jealously avenges itself on Arachne by causing her to die of hunger.

What a sight this incessant struggle of labour and privilege, the first created everything out of nothing; the other always arriving to devour what it has not produced! – It is because the destiny of man is a continuous march. It is necessary that he work, that he create, multiply, perfect forever and forever. Let the worker enjoy his discovery; he falls asleep on his idea: his intelligence no longer advances. This is the secret of this iniquity which struck A. Smith, and against which, however, the unemotional historian did not find a word of reprobation. He felt, although he could not realise it, that the touch of God was there; that until the day when labour fills the earth, civilisation is driven by unproductive consumption, and that it is by rapine that fraternity is gradually established between men.

Man must work! That is why at the advice of Providence, theft was instituted, organised, sanctified! If the proprietor had tired of taking it, the proletarian would have soon be tired of producing, and savagery, hideous misery, was at the door. The Polynesian, amongst whom property has been aborted, and who enjoys in an entire community of property and love, why would he work? The earth and beauty are for everyone, children to anyone: what do you say to him about morals, dignity, personality, philosophy, progress? And without going so far, the Corsican, who is found for six months living and residing under his chestnut tree, why do you want him to work? What does he care for your conscription, your railways, your tribune, your press? What else does he need but to sleep when he has eaten his chestnuts? A prefect of Corsica said that to civilise this island it was necessary to chop down the chestnut trees. A more certain way is to appropriate them.

But already the proprietor is no longer strong enough to devour the substance of the worker: he calls his favourites, his jesters, his lieutenants, his accomplices. It is again Smith who reveals this wonderful conspiracy.

“In the progress of the manufacture, not only the number of profits increase, but every subsequent profit is greater than the foregoing; because the capital from which it is derived must always be greater. In raising the price of commodities the rise of wages operates in the same manner as simple interest does in the accumulation of debt. The rise of profit operates like compound interest. If in the linen manufacture, for example, the wages of the different working people, the flax-dressers, the spinners, the weavers, etc., should, all of them, be advanced two-pence a day; it would be necessary to heighten the price of a piece of linen only by a number of two-pences equal to the number of people that had been employed about it, multiplied by the number of days during which they had been so employed. That part of the price of the commodity which resolved itself into wages would, through all the different stages of the manufacture, rise only in arithmetical proportion to this rise of wages. But if the profits of all the different employers of those working people should be raised five per cent, that part of the price of the commodity which resolved itself into profit would, through all the different stages of the manufacture, rise in geometrical proportion to this rise of profit. The employer of the flaxdressers would in selling his flax require an additional five per cent upon the whole value of the materials and wages which he advanced to his workmen. The employer of the spinners would require an additional five per cent both upon the advanced price of the flax and upon the wages of the spinners. And the employer of the weavers would require a like five per cent both upon the advanced price of the linen yarn and upon the wages of the weavers.”[56]

This vivid description of the economic hierarchy, starting with the Jupiter-proprietor, and ending with the slave. From labour, its division, the distinction of the master and the wage-worker, the monopoly of capital, arises a caste of landlords, financiers, entrepreneurs, bourgeois, masters and supervisors, labouring to consume rents, to collect usury, to squeeze the worker, and above all to exercise policing [d’exercer la police[57]], the most terrible form of exploitation and misery. The invention of politics and laws is exclusively due to property: Numa and Egeria, Tarquin and Tanaquil, as well as Napoleon and Charlemagne, were noble. Regum tirnendorum in proprios greges, regel in ipsos irnperium est lavis, says Horace. One would say a legion of infernal spirits, rushing from every corner of hell to torment a poor soul. Pull him by his chain, take away his sleep and food; beat, burn, torture, without rest, without pity! For if the worker were spared, if we did him justice, nothing would remain for us, and we would perish.

O God! what crime has this unfortunate man committed, that you abandon him to the guards who distribute blows to him with such a liberal hand, and subsistence with a hand so miserly? … And you, proprietors, Providence’s chosen rulers, do not go beyond the prescribed measure, because rage is rising in the heart of your servant, and his eyes are red with blood.

A revolt of the workers wrings a concession from the pitiless masters. Happy day, deep joy! Work is free. But what freedom, for heaven’s sake! Freedom for the proletarian is the ability to work, that is, of being robbed again; or not to work, that is to say to die to hunger! Freedom only benefits strength: by competition, capital crushes labour everywhere and converts industry into a vast coalition of monopolies. For the second time, the plebeian worker is on her knees before the aristocracy; she has neither the possibility, nor even the right to discuss her salary.

“Masters,” says the oracle, “are always and everywhere in a sort of tacit, but constant and uniform league, not to raise wages above their existing rate. To violate this rule is an act of a false-friend. And by abhorrent legislation, this league is tolerated, while the coalitions of workers are severely punished.”[58]

And why this new iniquity, which the unalterable serenity of Smith could not help declaring abhorrent? Would such a crying injustice have been even necessary and that, without this favouritism [acception de personnes], fate would have been in error and Providence thwarted? Will we find means of justifying, with monopoly, this partial policing of the human race?

Why not, if we want to rise above societal sentimentalism, and consider higher facts, the force of things, the intimate law of civilisation?

What is labour? What is privilege?

Labour, analogous to creative activity, without awareness of itself, indeterminate, barren, as long as the idea, the law does not penetrate, labour is the crucible where value is elaborated, the great matrix of civilisation, the passive or female principle of society. – Privilege, emanating from free will, is the electric spark that determines individualisation, the freedom that realises, the authority that commands, the mind that deliberates, the self that governs.

The relation of labour and privilege is thus a relation of the female to the male, of the wife to the husband. Amongst all peoples, the adultery of the woman has always seemed more reprehensible than that of the man; it was consequently subjected to more rigorous penalties. Those who, stopping at the atrocity of forms, forget the principle and see only the barbarism exercised towards the sex, are politicisers of romances worthy of appearing in the stories of the author of Lélia. Any indiscipline of workers is comparable to adultery committed by woman. Is it not obvious then that, if the same favour on the part of the courts were to accept the complaint of the worker and that of the master, the hierarchical link, outside which humanity cannot live, would be broken, and the entire economy of society ruined?

Judge moreover by the facts. Compare the physiognomy of a workers’ strike with the march of a coalition of entrepreneurs. There, distrust of the proper law, agitation, turbulence, outside screaming and trembling, inside terror, spirit of submission and desire for peace. Here, on the contrary, calculated resolution, feeling of strength, certainty of success, calmness in execution. Where, in your opinion, is power? where is the organic principle? where is life? Without doubt society owes assistance and protection to all: I do not plead here the cause of the oppressors of humanity; may the vengeance of heaven crush them! But the education of the proletarian must be accomplished. The proletarian is Hercules arriving at immortality through work and virtue: but what would Hercules do without the persecution of Eurystheus?

Who are you? asked Pope Saint Leo of Attila, when this destroyer of nations came to set his camp before Rome.

“I am the scourge of God,” replied the barbarian. “We receive with gratitude,” continued the pope, “all that comes from God: but you, take care not to do anything that is not commanded of you!”

Proprietors, who are you?...

Weirdest thing, property, attacked on all sides in the name of charity, of justice, of social economy, has never known how to respond for its justification other than these words: I am because I am. I am the negation of society, the plundering of the worker, the right of the unproductive, the right of the strongest [la raison du plus fort], and none can live if I do not devour him.

This appalling enigma has made the most sagacious intelligences despair.

“In that original state of things, which precedes both the appropriation of land and the accumulation of stock, the whole produce of labour belongs to the labourer. He has neither landlord nor master to share with him. Had this state continued, the wages of labour would have augmented with all those improvements in its productive powers, to which the division of labour gives occasion. [...] They would have been produced by a smaller quantity of labour [...] they would have been purchased likewise with the produce of a smaller quantity.”[59]

So says A. Smith. And his commentator adds:

“I can well understand how the right of appropriating, under the name of interest, profit or rent, the product of other individuals becomes nourishment for greed; but I cannot imagine that by diminishing the reward of the worker to add to the opulence of the idle man, we can increase industry or accelerate the progress of society in wealth.”[60]

The reason for this deduction, which neither Smith nor his commentator has seen, we will repeat, so that the inexorable law that governs human society is again and for the last time brought to light.

To divide labour is to make only a production of pieces: for there to be value, a composition is needed. Before the institution of property, each is a master to take from the ocean the water from which he draws salt for his food, to gather the olive from which he will extract his oil, to collect the ore which contains iron and gold. Each is free to exchange some of what he has collected against an equivalent quantity of provisions made by another: so far, we do not go beyond the sacred right of work and the community of the earth. Now, if I have the right to use, either by my personal labour or by exchange, all the products of nature; and if the possession thus obtained is entirely legitimate, I have the same right to combine, from the various elements which I obtain by labour and exchange, a new product, which is my property, and which I have the right to enjoy exclusively of any other. I can, for example, by means of the salt from which I extract soda, and the oil I draw from the olive and sesame, to make a specific composition to clean linen, and which will be for me, from the point of view of cleanliness and hygiene, a precious utility. I can even reserve for myself the secret of this composition, and consequently take, by means of exchange, a legitimate profit.

Now, what is the difference, under relation of right, between the manufacture of an ounce of soap and that of a million kilograms? Does the greater or lesser quantity change anything of the morality of the operation? So property, as well as commerce, as well as labour, is a natural right, of whose exercise nothing in the world can steal from me.

But, by the very fact that I compose a product which is my exclusive property, as well as the materials that constitute it, it follows that a workshop, an exploitation of men is organised by me; that profits accumulate in my hands to the detriment of all who enter into business relations with me; and that if you wish to substitute yourself for me in my enterprise, quite naturally I will stipulate for myself a rent. You will possess my secret, you will manufacture in my place, you will turn my mill, you will reap my field, you will pick my vine, but at a quarter, a third, or half share.

All this is a necessary and indissoluble chain; there is no serpent or devil here; it is the very law of the thing, the dictum of common sense. In commerce, plundering is identical to exchange; and what is really surprising is that a regime like this one does not excuse itself only by the good faith of the parties, it is commanded by justice.

A man buys from his neighbour the collier a sack of coal, from the grocer a quantity of sulphur from Etna. He makes a mixture to which he adds a portion of saltpetre, sold by the druggist. From all this results an explosive powder, of which a hundred pounds would suffice to wreck a citadel. Now, I ask, the woodcutter who charred the wood, the Sicilian shepherd who picked up the sulphur, the sailor who transported it, the commission agent from Marseilles who reshipped it, the merchant who sold it, are they complicit in the disaster? Is there any interdependence [solidarité] between them, I’m not saying in its use, but in the manufacture of this powder?

Now, if it is impossible to discover the least connection of action between the various individuals who, each without his knowledge, have co-operated in the production of the powder, it is clear, for the same reason, that there is no more connection and interdependence [solidarité] between them as to the profits of the sale, and that the gain which may result from its use also belongs exclusively to the inventor, that the punishment, to which he might become liable for as a result of crime or imprudence, is personal to him. Property is identical to responsibility: we cannot affirm the one, without granting at the same time the other.

But admire the unreason of reason! The same property, legitimate, irreproachable in its origin, constitutes in its use a flagrant iniquity; and this, without adding any element which modifies it, but by the mere development of the principle.

Let us take as a whole the products that industry and agriculture bring to the market. These products, such as powder and soap, are all, to some degree, the result of a combination of materials which were drawn from the general store. The price of these products invariably consists, firstly of the wages paid to the different categories of workers, secondly, of the profits demanded by the entrepreneurs and capitalists. So that society is divided into two classes of people: 1) entrepreneurs, capitalists and proprietors, who have the monopoly of all objects of consumption; 2) employees or workers, who can offer only half of what these are worth, which makes their consumption, circulation and reproduction impossible.

Adam Smith tells us in vain:

“It is but equity, besides, that they who feed, clothe, and lodge the whole body of the people, should have such a share of the produce of their own labour as to be themselves tolerably well fed, clothed, and lodged.”[61]

How could this be achieved, except with the dispossession of the monopolists? And how can monopoly be prevented if it is a necessary effect of the free exercise of the industrial faculty? The justice that Adam Smith wants to establish is impractical in the regime of property. Now, if justice is impractical, if it becomes actual injustice, and if this contradiction is internal to the nature of things [intime à la nature des choses], what is the use of even speaking of equity and humanity? Does Providence know equity, or whether fate is philanthropic? It is not to destroy monopoly, any more than labour, which we must reach; it is, by a synthesis which the contradiction of monopoly renders inevitable, to make it produce in the interests of all the goods which it [currently] reserves for some. Outwith of this solution Providence remains insensitive to our tears; fate inflexibly follows its path; and while we, gravely seated, argue over the just and the unjust, God who has made us contradictory like himself in our thoughts, contradictory in our actions, answers us with a burst of laughter.

It is this essential contradiction of our ideas that, being realised by labour and expressing itself in society with a gigantic power, makes everything happen in the inverse direction of what it must be, and gives society the appearance of a tapestry seen in reverse or an inverted animal. Man, by the division of labour and by machinery, was to gradually rise to science and to liberty; and by division, by the machine he stupefies himself and becomes a slave. Tax, says the theory, must be as a result of wealth; and quite the contrary tax is because of poverty. The unproductive must obey, and by a bitter mockery the unproductive command. Credit, according to the etymology of its name, and according to its theoretical definition, is the provider of labour; in practice, it squeezes and kills it. Property, in the spirit of its most beautiful prerogative, is the extension of land; and in the exercise of this same prerogative, property is the prohibition of land. In all its categories political economy reproduces the contradiction and the religious idea. The life of man, affirms philosophy, is a perpetual emancipation from animality and nature, a struggle against God. In religious practice, life is the struggle of man against himself, the absolute submission of society to a superior Being. Love God with all your heart, the Gospel tells us, and hate your spirit [âme] for eternal life: precisely the opposite of what reason commands…

I will not push this summary further. Having reached the end of my journey, my ideas are pressing in such a multitude and vehemence, that already I would need a new book to recount what I have discovered, and that, in spite of the oratorical expedience, I see no other means of finishing than to stop abruptly. If I am not mistaken, the reader ought to be convinced at least of one thing, that social truth cannot be found either in utopia or in routine: that political economy is not the science of society, but contains, in itself, the materials of that science, in the same way that chaos before the creation contained the elements of the universe. The fact is that, to arrive at a definite organisation, which appears to be the destiny of the race on this planet, there is nothing left but to make a general equation of our contradictions.

But what will be the formula of this equation?

We already foresee that there should be a law of exchange, a theory of MUTUALITY, a system of guaranties which determines the old forms of our civil and commercial societies, and gives satisfaction to all the conditions of efficiency, progress and justice which the critics have pointed out; a society no longer merely conventional, but real, which makes of the subdivision of real estate a scientific instrument; that will abolish the servitude of the machines, and may prevent the coming of crises; that makes of competition a benefit, and of monopoly a pledge of security for all; which by the strength of its principles, instead of making credit of capital and protection of the State, puts capital and the State to work; which by the sincerity of exchange, creates a real solidarity among the nations; which without forbidding individual initiative, without prohibiting domestic economy, continuously restores to society the wealth which is diverted by appropriation; which by the ebb and flow of capital, assures political and industrial equality of the citizenry, and, through a vast system of public education, secures the equality of functions and the equivalence of aptitudes, by continuously raising their level; which through justice, well being and virtue, revives the human conscience, assures the harmony and the equality of the people; a society, in a word, which, being at the same time organisation and transition, escapes what has taken place, guarantees everything and compels nothing…

The theory of mutuality, or of mutuum, that is to say, the natural form of exchange, of which the most simple form is loan for consumption, is, from the point of view of the collective existence, the synthesis of the two ideas of property and of communism [communauté], a synthesis as old as the elements of which it is constituted, since it is nothing more than the return of society to its primitive custom, through the maze of inventions and of systems, the result of a meditation of six thousand years on the fundamental proposition that A equals A.

Everything today is making ready for this solemn restoration; everything proclaims that the reign of fiction has passed, and that society will return to the sincerity of its nature. Monopoly is inflated to world-wide proportions, but a monopoly which encompasses the world cannot remain exclusive; it must republicanise itself or be destroyed. Hypocrisy, venality, prostitution, theft, form the foundation of the public conscience; but, unless humanity learns to live upon what kills it, we must believe that justice and expiation approach....

Already socialism, feeling the error in its utopias, turns to realities and to facts, it laughs at itself in Paris, it discusses in Berlin, in Cologne, in Leipzig, in Breslau; it murmurs in England, it thunders on the other side of the ocean; it commits suicide in Poland, it tries to govern in Berne and in Lausanne. Socialism, in pervading the masses, has become entirely different: the people will not bother about the honour of schools; they ask for work, education, well being, equality; the system does not matter so much, provided that the result is obtained. But when the people want something and it is only a question of finding out how to obtain it, the discovery does not wait; prepare yourself to see the coming of the grand masquerade.

Let the priest finally get it his head that poverty is a sin, and that true virtue, that renders us worthy of eternal life, is to fight against religion and against God; – that the philosopher, lowering his pride, supercilium philosophicum, learns on his part that reason is society, and that to philosophise is to work with his hands; – that the artist may remember that he once descended from Olympus into Christ’s stable, and that from this stable, he rose suddenly to unknown splendours; that as well as Christianity, labour must regenerate it; – that the capitalist thinks that silver and gold are not true values; that by the sincerity of exchange all products amount to the same dignity, each producer will have in his house a mint [un hôtel des monnaies], and, as the fiction of the productivity of capital has plundered the worker, so organised labour will absorb capital; – that the proprietor knows that he is only the collector of society’s [economic] rents, and that if he could once, under the guise of war, put a prohibition on the soil, the proletarian can in his turn, by association, put a prohibition on harvesting, and make property expire in the void; – that the prince and his proud cortege, his soldiers, his judges, his councillors, his peers, and all the army of the unproductive, hasten to cry Thanks! to the agricultural and industrial worker [au laboureur et à l'industriel], because the organisation of labour is synonymous with the subordination of power, that it depends on the worker abandoning the unproductive to his indigence, and to destroy power in shame and hunger.

All these things will happen, not as unforeseen, unhoped novelties, a sudden effect of the passions of the people, or of the skill of a few men, but by the spontaneous return of society to an immemorial practice, momentarily abandoned, and rightly so…

Humanity, in its oscillatory march, turns incessantly upon itself: its progress is only the rejuvenation of its traditions; its systems, so opposite in appearance, always exhibit the same basis [fond], seen from different sides. Truth, in the movement of civilisation, always remains the same, always old and always new: religion, philosophy, science merely translate. And this is precisely what constitutes Providence and the infallibility of human reason; which ensures, in the very heart of progress, the immutability of our being; which renders society at once unalterable in its essence and irresistible in its revolutions; and which, continually extending perspective, always showing from afar the latest solution, establishes the authority of our mysterious premonitions.

Reflecting on these battles of humanity, I involuntarily recall that, in Christian symbolism, the militant Church must succeed on the final day a triumphant Church, and the system of social contradictions appears to me like a magic bridge, thrown over the river of oblivion.