#that’s right folks it’s a mystery within a mystery!
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Gothic Romance Dreamling AU (General Plot)
“Robert Gadling is a professional appraiser who’s being offered a job cataloguing the contents of an old, abandoned family estate.
The former owner Lord Morpheus Endelas, a infamously mercurial painter, went missing months after his only son’s death.
After formal investigation decides to classify Morpheus’s disappearance as a cold case, the remaining Endelas family hires an auctioning house to sell out their brother’s estate.
Through cataloguing the estate Robert begins to know Morpheus and to piece together the last months of his life, particularly the late man’s obsession with something called the “the ancient order of mysteries”.
What does this order have to do with Lord Endelas , late son Orpheus Endelas and Lord Endelas own disappearance?
More importantly why can’t Robert stop having dreams about this man he’s never met before?”
#gothic romance dreamling au#the sandman#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#cloudy rambles#cloudy illustrates#at long last I think I feel confident enough in revealing the general plot to this!!#that’s right folks it’s a mystery within a mystery!#with a dash of ghost and romance!#queer stuff happens here I prommy#dnhouseofhorrors#gotta credit the event that started this brainrot in my head!
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
WOF tribe Merchant/Trading booth concepts:
Hey folks! This one was the recent winner of this WOF poll, so here’s my concept art that headcannons trading in Pyrrhia.
Read below cut for close-ups of the individual booths + the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇
Skywings: The Sky Kingdom’s mountain ranges provide plenty of pasture for raising sheep. As such, Skywing shepherds benefit from traveling to sell their wool, dyes, fabric, and woven tapestries. Many of these merchant tables also include herbs grown exclusively in the mountains, or ibex drinking horns that can be strapped on a dragon’s shoulder & carried in flight.
Along with goods, Skywing merchants may offer sewing services to fix tears, burn marks, or other fabric damage. They are sought out for their quality clothing, and most fabric across Pyrria originated from a Skywing’s talons.
Mudwings: Mudwings’ abundant food & cooking skills are envied almost anywhere in Pyrrhia. Their swamps have fertile soil, responsible for hosting diverse crops which can be purchased as produce at merchant stalls. For those lucky enough to find a traveling Mudwing merchant, the promise of a delicious dish can be whipped up and served at the stall in no time. Along with produce goods, Mudwings sell weaved baskets, spices, and cooking ware.
Sandwings: Sandwing booths offer luxuries of the desert: It’s most common to find accessories such as gold carved jewelry or musical instruments such as drums, lyres, & mandolins for sale. Though, even more sought out across Pyrrhia is Sandwing tattoos/piercings, which are done within the merchant areas. Ink etchings on papyrus paper are stationed outside their tents to showcase designs. All which can be selected, and poked into the skin with a tapping stick and plant dye ink by a trained talon.
Seawings: SeaWings sell a variety of ocean related goods; taking a share in the fish market with Icewings. Outside of food, there are den decorations like driftwood carvings, accessories such as seashell & pearl jewelry, and rope nets weaved by expert Seawing sailors. Some Seawings even sell fishing equipment, canoes, or offer sailor knot tying instructions to curious dragon buyers.
Nightwings: During the war, it was near impossible to find a Nightwing merchant. Most refused to participate in merchant territory, mostly as a way to keep up with their tribe’s mysterious nature.
Though in the more shady, unground parts of the market you can buy from a huge selection of obsidian weaponry, the sharpest in Pyrrhia. No one knew initially how Nightwings smithed so many weapons, or why, until their secret volcano kingdom and the intention to invade the rainforest was discovered. Then forging armor & weapons became clear. Along with a vast armory, for the right price, some Nightwing merchants offer Prophecies & Nightwing Literature (not always guaranteed to always be reliable) and assassin services as well (very reliable).
Rainwings: Though Rainwings haven’t been part of Pyrrhia trading for years, they have a vast hold on dragon medicine. An apothecary of herbs, salves, and remedies are all offered for various ailments due to the rainforest’s abundant resources. Along with medicinal goods, many Rainwings are fruit vendors, promising to any hesitant meat-eating dragons that such an array of flavors isn’t to be missed. Though, their fruit selling pitches often fall flat to most other predominantly meat-eating tribes.
Icewings: Icewings have everything a dragon could need to brace the cold, with a selection of goods only found in the most frigid regions of Pyrrhia. Furs, bone jewelry, and fresh fish (thanks to frost breath) are served on ice. Though Icewings themselves don’t require fur to withstand the cold, it’s considered fashionable and common in upper ranks to wear fur as a status symbol. Since metal is hard to smith without fire & in cold temperatures, fur and bone are more accessible to Icewings for clothing statements.
#art#illustration#bookart#wings of fire#wof#dragon#concept art#concept design#dragons#dragon art#wings of fire art#wingsoffire#wings of fire fanart#wof art#wof headcanon#wof tribes#skywing#Seawing#Mudwing#sandwing#rainwing#icewing#nightwing wof#nightwing#wof fanart#wings of fire headcanons#illustrative art#worldbuilding
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Over the Limit - pt.iii
jenna ortega x female reader
part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v
summary: As Jenna becomes more entwined in your life, you find yourself pulled deeper into the high-stakes world of racing—looks like you've got yourself your first race.
word count: 8.4k
————
The garage is usually alive with the hum of engines, the clank of tools, and the scattered voices of the crew. Everyone has their own rhythm here, groups within the crew naturally falling into place as they work on separate projects. But today is different. As soon as you walk in, you notice the shift.
The crew is huddled around Anton who has his phone out, their laughter cutting through the usual noise. You can't see what's on the screen from where you stand, but whatever it is, it's got everyone's attention. Curiosity pulls you in closer, your brow furrowing.
As you approach, Anton's voice carries over the group, smooth and teasing. "And here she is, looking all serious and focused... but wait for it..."
The guys chuckle, and you stop in your tracks, confused. You can't quite make out what's on the screen yet, but the way they're talking—it feels weirdly intimate. You shake your head, taking a few more steps forward, trying to get a look.
Anton continues, now with a mocking tenderness. "Right there! Look at that—I believe that's what we call young love, folks."
The laughter rises again, and something clicks. A sinking feeling erupts in your stomach. Heart racing, you push through the crowd until you finally see the screen. Your heart skips.
It's you. And her. Jenna.
There it is—your encounter in the garage yesterday. The split-second moment when you locked eyes with her, the subtle smirk she flashed your way. The way your hand wrapped over hers as she was holding the wrench. It all plays out on the surveillance screen, frozen in time, but somehow magnified, more intimate than you even remember.
Shit.
"Awh, my little Y/n's all grown up," Anton coos, not missing a beat as he notices you standing there now. His voice is laced with smugness. "Didn't know you had it in you."
You clench your jaw, "Shut up, Anton."
"Oh, come on! It's cute," one of the guys calls out, nudging you as if this whole situation isn't embarrassing. "A girl like that?" another crew member hollers with a whistle. "She's no Brimstoner, that's for sure. Where'd you find her, Y/n?"
As you look around you notice that everyone is looking at you with curiosity. You let out a breath. It seems like no one was able to recognize Jenna from the race. No one knows she's from Summer Valley—that she's a Viper.
"It's not what it looks like," you mumble, trying to sound indifferent.
Anton lets out a low laugh. "Sure it's not. Admit it, you've got yourself a girl now."
The teasing hits deeper than it should, and you feel your heart pounding. They're all grinning, eating this up, but for you, it's just a reminder—you still haven't texted her. Despite knowing your answer, you weren't sure when it was appropriate to text her, it's only been about 12 hours since you dropped the girl off at her home. And you were dreading seeing her again.
"Alright, alright, enough about Y/n's mystery girl. Everyone, get back to work!" Anton says, half-joking but with a playful edge. "I need a word with my cousin."
The rest of the crew grumbles as they scatter, returning to their tasks. Anton slings an arm around your shoulder, guiding you over to the car you'd stolen the night before.
"Market value on this baby is through the roof," he says, his fingers trailing along the sleek metal. "You probably won't need to work for a while after this score."
"Yeah," you reply, your mind already preparing for the real reason Anton pulled you aside.
"So... who's the girl?"
Who is she? The question lingers, heavier than you'd like to admit. What could you even tell him when you didn't fully know yourself?
"She's just someone I met at a pub a while back," you lie smoothly.
Anton clutches his chest dramatically. "You're hitting up pubs without me now? I thought we did everything together!"
"It was after one of my sales," you say, rolling your eyes. "I needed to unwind, grabbed a drink, and met her. Simple as that."
He raises an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. "I've never seen a Brimstoner that looked like that."
"She's not from Brimstone," you say quickly, the words tumbling out. "She's from... Ridgewater."
"Ridgewater, huh?" Anton mutters, as if that explains everything. "So, she your girlfriend?"
The question catches you off guard, heat creeping up your neck and flooding your cheeks. You'd been battling that blush since you stepped into the garage, memories of the night before playing on a loop in your mind. Everything about her made your pulse quicken. The thought of being her girlfriend... it sent a jolt of excitement through you, one you weren't quite ready to face. It was too early to sort out your feelings, but you couldn't deny she was stunning, and the pull between you both was undeniable. The lingering glances, the teasing banter, the subtle touches—there was a chemistry brewing between you two that you couldn't ignore.
"We're just... talking," you reply, though a small part of you wonders why you didn't just say she was a friend. Too late now.
"Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" you ask, eager to change the subject.
"It's actually about your girl's ends," Anton begins, leaning in. "I've got some friends from Ridgewater in town, and they're looking for a friendly race with our club."
You raise a brow, not quite sure why this involved you.
"I, uh, might've mentioned your name for a race against one of their drivers," he admits, mumbling the last part under his breath.
"Anton, what the hell?!" you snap.
"Come on! It's just for fun—one race, no big deal. No stakes. You don't even have to wear a Sinner jacket."
You close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep calm, but you still end up rambling. "Anton, you know how I feel about this stuff. I... I still don't even know what I want. I've never raced before. I'm going to suck."
"You could lose by an hour, and I wouldn't care," he says with a shrug. "I just want you to give it a shot, Y/n. Like I said, no stakes—just a little friendly racing."
You sigh, unsure but softening. "I'll think about it."
Anton nods, clearly taking your indecision as progress. A week ago, you would've shot him down without a second thought. "Race is in a week today, 7 p.m., same spot as last time," he says, already walking off with a wave.
He stops just before he reaches the other end of the garage, turning back with a grin. "Oh, and invite your girl! Bet she'll find it hot!"
And just like that, your cheeks burn again.
You blame your inexperience with girls for how easily your cheeks betray you. It's just embarrassment, that's all. Now, you're apparently faking a relationship and have a race tomorrow. Perfect.
Needing to clear your head, you turn toward your workbench, ready to lose yourself in modifications to the car you'd stolen. But the moment you pick up the wrench, an involuntary smile stretches across your face.
"Oh, you've got it bad," a familiar voice chuckles behind you.
You groan, not again. Bracing yourself for another round of teasing, you turn around only to feel a sense of relief wash over you. It's just Hunter.
Hunter always seemed out of place among the crew. He was too pure to be mixed up in Brimstone—too decent. But everyone had their reasons for being here.
"You're lucky no one recognized her," he whispers, stepping up beside you.
"W-what?" you stammer, caught off guard.
"I was right next to you at the Vipers' race, remember?"
Your eyes widen, your heart rate kicking up a notch as you realize he knew who—or rather what Jenna was. Although you trust Hunter, it only takes one slip for the crew to find out about your association with a Viper.
"Relax, my lips are sealed," he says with a reassuring smile. "You were practically making heart eyes at her the whole race though—hard not to notice."
"I was not watching her like that!" you protest, maybe too quickly.
"Uh-huh, and I'm not gay. Come on, Y/n/n, let's not lie."
You drop the wrench and face him, unsure of why he was so accepting of this. "You don't think it's weird that she's a Viper? We're supposed to be, like... sworn enemies!"
Hunter smirks. "Please. That's half the thrill, isn't it? And since when have you ever avoided doing something just because it's 'not allowed'?"
You both glance at the car you stole and burst into laughter.
"We're not dating," you start. "I wouldn't even say we're friends. Last night was the first time I saw her again since the race, and that's what you saw on the camera footage." You find yourself admitting more than you planned to, trusting the older guy more than you expected.
"Do you want to date her?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No!" You blurt out, way too fast.
Hunter just narrows his eyes, giving you that look. "I thought we agreed no more lying."
You fumble for words. "I-I mean, I don't even know her! I've known her for what, four hours? Sure, she's beautiful—okay, really beautiful—but that doesn't mean I'm thinking about a relationship." You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. "Besides, I've got a lot going on right now. You know that."
"You and your excuses," Hunter sighs. "When are you going to start living for yourself? I care about you like a little sister, and you need to take chances before you regret it. If you keep waiting for the 'perfect time,' you'll just end up with a bunch of what-ifs. If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try?"
This is the third person to lecture you about your life choices and philosophy in the span of two weeks. Anton, Jenna, and now Hunter. Clearly you were doing something wrong if more than one person has called you out on it.
"Alright, I want to—I want to get to know her," you finally manage to say. "I should probably text her, right?"
"She gave you her number?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.
You nod. "Yeah, last night. But it's only been 12 hours, I don't want to seem desperate."
"Oh my god, text her, you idiot!"
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, search for Jenna's name, but you couldn't find her number. You go to your recently added numbers and smile at the name she saved herself as: Your Favourite Viper. You send her a text.
"What'd you say?" Hunter asks leaning closer taking a look at your screen.
"Hey? You fucking just said 'hey'?" He looks at you incredulously. "I thought lesbians were supposed to move fast. At this rate you'll maybe get a hug in a couple years."
Before you can fire back, your phone lights up, showing an incoming call.
"Holy shit," you mutter, eyes darting to Hunter in panic.
"Answer it! Oh my god, see what she wants!" he whispers urgently, practically vibrating with excitement.
You stare as her name flashes across the screen with shaky hands. It was just another call. Just another girl. Why are you so nervous?
You take a breath and answer. "Hello?"
"Hey Greaser! You busy right now?"
Even though the phone isn't on speaker, Hunter's glued to your side, frantically shaking his head and mouthing, No! Say no! His exaggerated hand gestures make you laugh.
You laugh at how insane he looks. "No, I'm free. What's up?"
"Great. Meet me at Birch and 49th."
"Why? What's happeni—"
Before you could finish your sentence you're caught off by a beep, indicating the call ended. "Anddd she hung up," you sigh.
"I like her," Hunter grins. "She's got moxie."
"Where even is Birch and 49th?" you ask, frowning.
"Hold on, I got you." He pulls out his phone, tapping around for a moment. "That's weird. It's a shopping mall in Summer Valley."
"A mall?" you echo, confused. "Is she taking me shopping. What the fuck?"
The older guy laughs and shrugs. "No one told you to go after a girl from Summer Valley."
"I'm not going after anything."
"Sure you're not," he teases, smirking. "Yet, you're still heading to this mall. Sounds like you're going after her."
You flip him off with a grin as you walk away.
"Keep me posted, Greaser!" he calls out, teasing.
You shake your head, already feeling the nerves returning. If you're really going to meet Jenna, you need to pull it together.
You decide it's best to meet Jenna with some leverage—maybe some news on Percy.
You spot Anton deep in conversation with Madison, just like the day of the race against the Vipers.
"Yo, Ant! I'm heading out!" you call, interrupting them without a second thought. You weren't in the mood for formalities.
Both of them turn, startled by your sudden presence. There's something off about them—stressed, maybe? Anton looks angry, but whatever flash of frustration you thought you saw vanishes quickly. "Oh, hey. Where you headed?" he asks, casual but guarded.
"Just heading to the Valley to look for some parts," you lie smoothly, keeping your story close to the truth. No need to risk getting caught if someone actually sees you at the mall.
Anton nods, signaling the end of the conversation, but you're not done yet. You clear your throat. "Actually, speaking of Summer Valley, what's the deal with that Percy guy?"
Anton's brow furrows, and Madison gives you a curious look. "I saw him at the race," you explain with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. "He just gave off a bad vibe, like he was up to no good or something."
The tension between them is palpable, but neither of them dives into it. Anton brushes it off, saying, "He's just a dumbass."
At the same time, Madison leans in with, "What'd you see?"
You turn to Madison, sensing she might let something slip. "He was talking to someone. It looked... heated?"
"Georgie," she whispers under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch. But you do.
Before you can ask more, Anton steps in, commanding the conversation, clearly trying to shift focus. "Look, Y/n, he's bad news. I don't know what those Vipers get up to in their little after-school club, but I don't want you getting involved, okay? Vipers are trouble. Stay clear of them."
"Yeah, don't worry," you reassure him, hiding the fact that you're about to meet up with one very soon.
Suddenly Hunter's words echo in your head again: If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try? He was right. And now, you figure the best way to shift the conversation is by dropping a bombshell of your own.
"I'll do the race," you say, throwing out the unexpected decision.
Anton's eyes widen in surprise, and you can tell that you've just given him the perfect distraction from Percy and the Vipers.
————
As you start your drive, you can't help but notice the streets are teeming with more drugged-up souls than usual. Young, old—it didn't seem to matter; the drug epidemic in Brimstone spared no one. A familiar ache settles in your chest as you watch people you once called neighbors and classmates wander aimlessly, trapped in their addiction. It was an all-too-common escape in this town—a place where ambition had no room to grow, where dreams were crushed before they even started. The further you get out of Brimstone, the fewer of them you see, like the weight of the city's decay is gradually lifting.
You pull into the bustling parking lot of the mall, the engine's rumble fading as you find a spot near the back. It's just past 6 p.m., and the place is alive with activity. Cars are circling for spaces, people weave in and out of stores, and teenagers being obnoxious. You check your phone—Birch and 49th, just like Jenna said.
Your eyes scan the area for any sign of her, but there's no sight of Jenna. You cut the engine, but the adrenaline from knowing you're about to see her again hums under your skin.
The evening air is cool as you step out, leaning against the side of your car, trying not to seem too anxious. You check your phone again—no new messages, no calls. Maybe you should text her and let her know you're here.
Before you can even unlock your phone, the sound of soft footsteps approaching catches your attention. Instinctively, you straighten up, your eyes tracing the sleek black loafers in front of you. Slowly, you lift your gaze, and there she is—Jenna. That same confident smirk that's been etched into your mind since the last time you saw her.
She's wearing a flowy brown skirt paired with a black cashmere sweater, looking almost... harmless?
"You done checking me out?" she teases.
Your eyes snap up to meet hers. Despite her bold words, you catch the faint blush colouring her cheeks, and you can't help but hope it's because of you, not the cool evening breeze.
"Yeah, I am," you shoot back with a smirk, holding her gaze confidently.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles whilst doing so. "Alright Casanova, come on," she starts walking away from you, and you follow with no hesitation.
"Wait we're actually going to the mall?" You ask confused, as she leads you both to one of the entrances.
"Yes? Why else would I call you here. Tonight, I'm taking you shopping."
You didn't actually think she called you to go shopping. You were only joking when you said that to Hunter. Yet here you are.
You blink at her, caught completely off guard. "Shopping?"
"Yeah," she laughs, walking into the mall. "Come on, you'll need to keep up."
You follow her lead, trying to figure out how shopping was part of her plan to one-up Percy. A race? Sure. A late-night coffee run? Maybe. But shopping? This was a curveball.
"You're taking me shopping?" you ask again, almost incredulous.
"Yeah," she repeats with a teasing look. "You need a better jacket. That one's not cutting it."
You glance down at your worn-out jacket. It's not exactly new, but it's comfortable. "What's wrong with my jacket?"
"Nothing," she shrugs, her eyes flicking over you, clearly enjoying this. "But I want to see you in something that fits my vibe. Something that makes you look like you're not from Brimstone."
Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're unsure how to respond. The idea of her buying you something feels... strange. It wasn't like you needed new clothes—especially not from some fancy Summer Valley mall. Your jacket was fine, and if it wasn't, you'd handle it. But the fact that she wants to spend money on you? It makes your stomach twist. You couldn't help but wonder if she saw you as some kind of charity case—a girl from Brimstone who couldn't afford to keep up with her polished lifestyle.
You didn't want to be a project for her, someone she could mold to fit her world. The thought makes you feel a bit defensive, but you swallow it down, not wanting to ruin the moment. You glance at her again, her playful expression making it harder to argue. Maybe this wasn't a charity thing. Maybe she just liked you.
Still, it felt...weird.
You roll your eyes but can't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "So, what, you're my personal stylist now?"
She grins. "Maybe."
The two of you wander through the mall. The overhead lights cast a soft glow, reflecting off the shop windows as Jenna leads you into one of the higher-end clothing stores you'd probably never step foot in on your own.
She immediately heads toward the jacket section, flipping through racks like she's done this a million times. You hang back, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. There's something weirdly endearing about how serious she is about this.
Jenna pulls out a black leather jacket, holding it up and inspecting it. "This," she says confidently, turning to you. "Try it on."
You raise an eyebrow but take the jacket from her. As soon as you slip it on, you feel the weight of the leather, the way it fits snugly across your shoulders. It's different—definitely edgier than anything you'd pick out for yourself. It resembled the Sinner's jacket only in that it's a black leather jacket, but something about it was entirely different—it was more you.
Jenna steps back, appraising you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. "Now that," she says, her voice a little lower, "is hot."
You glance at yourself in the mirror, feeling a little out of place but... liking it. You catch Jenna's eyes in the reflection, and for a second, the air between you feels charged, like there's something unsaid hanging between the two of you.
"Alright," you say, clearing your throat, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. "I guess it's not bad."
"Not bad?" she teases, stepping closer to you. "You look like a Viper that got dipped in ink."
"Is that your plan?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Turn me into one of you?"
"Maybe," she replies, her voice light but her eyes lingering on yours a moment too long. "One step at a time, Greaser."
You laugh, shaking your head, and take off the jacket. "Okay, your turn."
Jenna raises an eyebrow. "My turn?"
"Yeah," you say, grinning now. "If I'm trying on stuff for you, you're doing the same for me."
You have the money to spend, you just don't spend it on clothes, so one high-end purchase wasn't going to be the end of the world for you.
Jenna looks like she's about to protest, but then she shrugs, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Alright, let's see what you've got."
You head toward a rack of clothes, picking out something you think would suit her but also give her a taste of her own medicine—something just slightly outside her usual vibe.
You hand her a dark red bomber jacket. "Try this."
Jenna eyes the jacket before smirking at you. "I see what you're doing."
"Just trying to give you a taste of your own advice," you say, crossing your arms.
She rolls her eyes but takes the jacket anyway, slipping it on. And of course, she pulls it off effortlessly. The red complements her dark hair and pale skin perfectly, and for a moment, you're speechless.
"Well?" she asks, spinning around with a grin. "How do I look?"
"Like you could kick someone's ass and look good doing it," you say without missing a beat.
Jenna laughs, and it's the kind of genuine, carefree sound that makes your chest tighten a little. The two of you continue bantering, trying on ridiculous combinations of clothes, mixing high-end with completely impractical.
By the time you leave the store, both of you are laughing, arms full of shopping bags—most of which Jenna insisted on buying.
As you step back out into the quiet night and you drop off your bags in your respective cars, she turns to you, her playful smirk softening into something more genuine.
"That was fun," she says, nudging your shoulder.
You smile back, feeling lighter than you've felt in a while. "Yeah, I guess it was."
Jenna looks at you closely, searching your face, as if trying to read whether you're on the same page as her—whether you've enjoyed this evening as much as she has, and if you're not ready to call it a night just yet.
"Want to get ice cream?" she asks suddenly, her voice casual but her eyes giving her away. There's a hint of something more in the offer, like she hopes this isn't the end.
You can't help but smile at the unexpected suggestion.
"Why not?" you say with a grin. "This one's on me."
With that, the two of you run back into the mall, a sense of urgency and excitement as you try to beat the closing time. Laughter echoes between you as you race toward the ice cream shop, determined to grab your scoops.
————
"So how exactly does shopping fit into your plan?" you ask, taking a bite of your ice cream.
The two of you ended up sitting on the edge of the now quiet parking lot, legs dangling over the curb as you chatted. Finally, you decide to address the question that's been nagging at you all evening.
"Plan?" Jenna echoes, pausing mid-bite as she swallows her ice cream.
"Yeah, the whole thing with Percy—finding out his secrets?" you explain, slightly confused as to why you even need to clarify.
"Wait, so you're helping me?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah? Isn't that why you asked me out?" you reply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"You didn't text me back saying yes. How was I supposed to know?"
You give her a look. "...Then why'd you invite me out?" you ask, still confused.
"Because I could," she says casually, like it's no big deal. "You said you weren't busy."
You blink at her, still trying to piece it together. "So, you just... invited me out for no reason?"
Jenna tilts her head, giving you a playful smile. "Do I need a reason?"
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The girl sitting next to you is a complete enigma. First, she ropes you into some covert mission to gather dirt on Percy, and now she's taking you shopping and out for ice cream like it's a casual hangout.
"Well... I guess not," you mumble, feeling a little off-balance.
Jenna takes another bite of her ice cream, her gaze drifting up to the fading evening sky. "Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. Ever think of that?"
Your heart skips a beat at her words, but before you can react, she nudges you with her elbow, breaking the tension. "Plus, I figured if I was going to enlist your help with the whole 'Percy situation,' I might as well reap all the benefits."
You frown, puzzled. "Like what?"
She shrugs, smirking at you. "Like seeing you in that jacket. You look good, by the way."
You can't help but laugh at that, shaking your head. "So this was all an elaborate ploy to dress me up?"
Jenna grins. "Maybe."
You shake your head with a blush, a soft chuckle escaping you. "You'll see me in it again next week."
Jenna raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's happening next week?"
"I'm racing."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, seriously? You've joined the Sinners now? And you're just casually dropping that on me?"
You wave your hand dismissively. "Not exactly. It's just an exhibition race. A week today at 7. Same place as where we met actually. I figured it's a good chance to see if it's for me, you know? No commitments yet."
Jenna nods thoughtfully, her expression shifting from shock to approval. "Well, it's about time you took the wheel—literally and figuratively." She smirks. "One step closer to sorting out all your issues, huh?"
"Mhmm, so you coming?"
Jenna looks taken aback by your serious tone. "How would that work? What would your crew think?"
With a sigh, you finally reveal, "They think you're my girlfriend."
She nearly chokes on her ice cream. "What?"
"They saw footage of us last night in the garage and, well... yeah. Thankfully, they didn't recognize you. I told them you're from Ridgewater."
"Ridgewater?" She scrunches her nose in disgust. "Ugh, even I can't stand those snobs."
"You're literally in the same tax bracket," you fire back, amused.
"We're way more tolerable," she insists, clearly offended. "But seriously, how could you let us get caught on camera? Don't you know there are cameras in your club's garage?"
"It's not my club. And yeah, I know, but no one ever checks them. I have no idea why Anton did that day."
Jenna sighs, the sound dripping with annoyance. The noise hits you hard, like a voice inside your head that reminds you that this doesn't mean anything, she hates being seen with you and all she cares about is risking your alliance. It stings, leaving you wondering if she's only hanging around because she needs something from you.
Wanting to shift the mood, you bring up what you overheard earlier. "Is there a Georgie in your club?"
Her eyes narrow with curiosity. "Yeah, there is. Why?"
You explain the interaction with Anton and Madison, how Madison had whispered Georgie's name when you mentioned seeing Percy having a heated conversation at the race. "I have a feeling he could help with your plan."
Jenna hums thoughtfully. "I'll get Emma to work on him," she says, already tapping away on her phone.
"Emma?" you ask.
"Yeah, she's a friend in the club. One of the few nice ones. Georgie's got a thing for her, so she'll probably be able to squeeze some info out of him."
You nod, piecing it together. That must've been the girl you saw her talking to at the race. Still, the earlier sting lingers in your chest. It bothers you more than you'd like to admit that Jenna might only see you as a means to an end.
The mood feels heavier now, so you stand up. "It's getting late. I should head back."
Jenna pauses, clearly wanting to say something more. A part of her seemed to regret driving herself here. If she hadn't, maybe this night could've stretched out longer, and you could've dropped her home like you did the previous night. But she nods, keeping her thoughts to herself. "Yeah. I guess you should."
————
The week flew by in a blur, and before you knew it, race day was here. Your first race.
You and Jenna had been texting off and on all week—mostly about the frustrating lack of progress with Percy, but there'd been some banter too, the kind that was just toeing the line between playful and flirty. At least, you hoped it was flirting.
Your nerves buzzed as you pulled up to the track, the sun starting to dip behind the skyline. The place was already alive with revving engines and the thick smell of burning rubber.
Unlike the Viper race a few weeks back, there wasn't any strict segregation going on. Sure, the Ridgewater crew—the Ravens—hung out on one side, and the Sinners were mostly on the other, but people were still mixing. Talking. No tension, no invisible lines drawn in the sand.
Stepping out of your car, the weight of the moment finally started to hit you. Anton and the crew were scattered around, but your mind kept drifting. You were thinking about the race, sure, but also about her. You hadn't seen Jenna since the mall, and even though she texted you "Good luck" this morning, the thought of her showing up was stuck in your head.
And yeah, you were buzzing to see if she'd actually come.
Hunter appeared at your side, breaking your thoughts with a friendly clap on the back. "Ready for this?" he asked, wearing that usual cocky grin of his.
You took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."
"Good," he said with a laugh. "Because everyone's waiting to see what you're made of." He gave you a little shove, then wandered off to catch up with the others.
With one more deep breath, you walked over to where Anton and the rest of the crew were hanging out. The adrenaline was kicking in, but so was that nagging thought in the back of your mind—Would Jenna show up?
"Sweet jacket Y/n, looks like you finally splurged on yourself huh?" Anton laughs, pulling you into a bear hug.
You grin, knowing full well the jacket wasn't your doing but Jenna's. The rest of the crew were hyping you up, throwing questions your way about the race—how you were feeling, if you were ready—typical racer small talk. You played along, but your mind kept drifting.
The group started to thin out as people dispersed, and your eyes wandered over to the pillars near the edge of the lot, the spot where you first met Jenna. It was hidden, quiet—your secret spot. Was she here?
You started walking toward it, curiosity pulling you closer. That's when you saw them—four Ravens, the Ridgewater crew in their signature blue, standing around in a tight circle, talking to someone you couldn't see clearly at first. But as you got closer, the fifth person came into view.
She did come after all.
Your heart skipped a beat, that giddy excitement rising up. But that feeling was quickly replaced by something else. Her expression wasn't one of excitement or amusement. No, she looked uncomfortable. You could see it in her stiff posture, the way she subtly shifted as the Ravens talked around her.
You step closer, the voices of the Ravens becoming clearer as you approach. One of them, a tall guy with bleach-blond hair, was leaning in a little too close to Jenna, his smirk all too familiar.
"Come on, sweetheart, why don't you ditch the pillars and hang with us tonight? We're a lot more fun," he drawls, eyeing her in a way that made your blood boil.
Jenna's eyes narrow, her body language practically screaming discomfort, though she keeps her cool. "Yeah, I'm not interested," she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Blondie chuckles, not getting the hint—or choosing to ignore it. "I don't see any affiliation on you," he retorts, motioning to her lack of a jacket. "You're no Raven, not a Sinner either. You're a free agent, sweetheart. Why stick around?"
That's when you decide you've heard enough.
Stepping into the circle, you make your presence known. "She's with me."
The guy looks at you with an unimpressed raise of his brow, but before he can say anything, you shrug off your jacket—the one Jenna had bought for you—and drape it over her shoulders. "She's mine," you say, locking eyes with him, daring him to push it further.
Jenna's cheeks flush a soft pink, her eyes darting to yours, clearly taken aback by your sudden boldness. She instinctively grips the jacket tighter around her, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the situation.
Blondie snorts, glancing at his buddies before looking back at you. "Alright, alright, no need to get possessive. We were just talking." He raises his hands defensively, but the look in his eyes says he's not completely backing down. Still, they start to shift away, slowly retreating as the tension fades.
Once they're out of earshot, you turn to Jenna, your expression softening. "You okay?"
She nods, her lips curving into a grin. "Nice save," she says, still clutching the jacket. "I didn't know you were the possessive type."
You chuckle, feeling the adrenaline from the confrontation fade. "Just making sure they knew the deal."
"Yeah, well, I could've handled it." She smiles, but there's a twinkle in her eye. "But...thanks for the jacket." Her blush deepens, and you can't help but feel a little victorious seeing her like that again.
"Anytime," you reply, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The race may be on your mind, but right now, it's her that's making your heart race.
You glance over your shoulder to check if anyone can see you, but Anton is deep in conversation with what looks like the leader of the Ravens, drawing all the attention his way. Typical Anton.
"I didn't think you'd show up," you admit, turning your gaze back to Jenna, noticing how your jacket swallows her frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Somehow, it looks perfect on her.
"How could I miss your first race?" she teases, her lips curling into a smirk. "You could walk out of this a full-fledged Sinner if you end up loving it."
That thought hadn't really crossed your mind before. What if you did enjoy racing? Were you really going to add "racer" to your list of titles? And if you hated it—what then? Would you leave Brimstone behind for good? Your mind starts spinning with all the possibilities, but you stop yourself before the spiral goes too deep. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
Jenna tilts her head thoughtfully. "You said this race had nothing on the line right? Just a friendly race?"
You nod, though a flicker of doubt lingers.
"Then yeah," she says, her voice firm. "I think it's fair for you to give it a shot. Figure out what you want." Her eyes meet yours, steady and reassuring. "Sometimes, you don't know until you try."
Her words calm the storm in your mind, and for the first time tonight, the weight of your choices feels a little lighter.
"I'm totally making fun of you if you lose though," she adds, giving you a playful wink.
You chuckle, shaking your head. "Of course you will," you reply, trying to play it cool, though her teasing still makes your heart skip a beat.
She smirks, leaning back against the pillar with a casual confidence that somehow makes you feel even more jittery. "Just trying to keep you grounded, you know. Can't let you get a big head if you win."
"Like I need help with that," you shoot back with a grin.
For a moment, the banter eases your nerves. But then the reality of the race looming ahead creeps back in, and you glance over to where your car is parked, engines revving in the distance. The scene is alive with anticipation, and you can feel the electricity in the air, building up to something big.
"Seriously though," Jenna adds, her tone softening, "I think you'll do great. You've got the skill, the focus. Just don't overthink it, okay?"
Her words hit deeper than you expected, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest. "Thanks," you murmur. "I'll try not to."
She gives you a small nod, her eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before flicking to the track behind you. "Go show them what you've got," she says, her voice soft but full of that undeniable spark.
You take one last look at her before stepping back, the jacket still draped around her, fitting like she was always meant to wear it.
She must've thought that look meant you wanted the jacket back, because she started to shrug it off.
"—no, keep it on," you quickly interrupt. "I can't have anyone else bothering you, especially when I won't be there to stop them."
————
Anton stood next to you outside the car, arms crossed, his usual smirk tempered by something more serious. The roar of engines filled the air around you, and the crowd was buzzing with energy as the race time drew near.
"You ready?" he asked, eyeing the car, then looking back at you with raised eyebrows.
"As I'll ever be," you replied, your fingers itching at your side. You tried to shake off the nerves, but it was easier said than done.
Anton clapped you on the shoulder, a rare look of pride on his face. "Remember, this isn't just about winning. You gotta feel it, the rush, the adrenaline. If you're not in the zone, it's game over."
You nodded, knowing he was right. Winning is not the end goal—it was the feeling, the test, to see if this whole world was something you were cut out for. You glanced around, spotting familiar faces from the crew and a few more you didn't recognize. The Sinners, the Ravens, and everyone else, all here to watch and see what you'd do.
"I know," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just got to stay focused."
Anton gave you a once-over, then grinned. "You're already ahead of the game. You've got your crew, and your girl showed up to watch. Not a bad start, huh?"
You chuckled, though a part of you still didn't fully understand what you were doing here—or what you were trying to prove. But you couldn't deny the thrill of the moment.
"Speaking of which, how's she doing?" Anton asked, leaning in closer. "Saw you two getting cozy earlier."
"Don't start with that," you muttered, shaking your head.
He laughed, stepping back. "Just saying, keep your head in the game. Show them what you've got."
The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the final call for drivers to get to the line. Anton gave you one last pat on the back. "Oh—and Y/n? Step on it. Don't stay in your limit."
You watched him walk off with those final words. It was time.
As you slipped into the driver's seat, adjusting your gloves and gripping the wheel, you glanced out the window toward the starting line. The pit of nerves in your stomach twisted a bit tighter when you spotted the racer pulling up next to you. Of course, it had to be him—the blondie from earlier, the one who had been hitting on Jenna.
He threw you a cocky smirk as he revved his engine, clearly more than ready to leave you in the dust. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sight of him. Typical. He looked the part—flawless car, arrogant attitude, and an ego that seemed to fill the entire track.
Here he was, thinking he'd outshine you, thinking he had this in the bag. The thought sent a new wave of adrenaline through your veins, change of plans—winning is the end goal. It was personal now.
Settling into the driver's seat, you gripped the wheel tightly. Anton's last words echoed in your mind: "Step on it. Don't stay in your limit." But the speed he wants? You'd never gone that fast, and you weren't sure you wanted to.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you glanced at the blond in the car next to you. He was smirking like he already had this in the bag. It The memory of him hitting on Jenna made your grip tighten even more. Then your eyes shifted to where Jenna stood, wrapped in your jacket. She met your gaze for a second, and you had to look away. God, what was I thinking? You cringed internally, remembering how you had jumped in like some hero and blurted out, "she's mine." What were you doing? This wasn't you.
The signal blared. Instinct took over, and you slammed your foot on the gas. The car roared to life beneath you, and you shot forward. The world around you blurred as the race began, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Blondie took the early lead, just as you expected. He was gunning it, probably trying to hit that 200 mark like Anton said.
You weren't even close. And you still weren't half way into the race. The speedometer was climbing fast, but the memory of your father's crash came rushing back. 200km/h—that was the speed he'd hit before everything went wrong. Your heart raced faster at the thought. No way am I hitting that. I can't. But you didn't need to. You weren't trying to match raw speed; you had something better—control, technique, and years of dodging the cops under your belt.
The first stretch was relatively straightforward, and you stayed just behind Blondie, pacing yourself. He was fast, sure, but he was reckless. You could see it in the way he took the turns, wide and messy, eating up his speed. You kept to the inside, handling each corner with precision, hugging the pavement like you were born to do this. Blondie kept glancing in his rearview, probably wondering why you weren't trying harder to catch him. He didn't get it. He didn't know you didn't need to reach that ridiculous speed to win.
The track began to curve—the finish line in sight, and you knew this was your moment. There was a sharp turn ahead, one that Blondie was approaching too aggressively. You could already see it. He wasn't going to slow down enough, and when he hit the curve, he'd either lose control or slide wide, giving you the opening you needed.
Now, you thought, pulling back just slightly as you hit the turn. You feathered the brakes, hugging the inside of the corner while Blondie flew into it way too fast. Just as you expected, his car swerved wide, giving you the perfect opportunity. You floored it, slingshotting around him with precision. He was still fighting to regain control when you shot past him.
Your heart raced, the finish line right there for the taking. The engine growled beneath you as you pushed forward, ignoring the urge to check the speedometer. It didn't matter now. You were in control, and that was all that counted. The crowd blurred into the background as the finish line rushed toward you.
You crossed first.
The roar of the crowd engulfed you like a tidal wave. Cheers erupted from every corner, your name ringing in your ears like a victory anthem. "Y/N! Y/N!" they chanted, and the excitement surged through you, igniting every nerve ending. You felt invincible, a high unlike anything you had ever experienced. The adrenaline coursed through your veins.
In that moment, you understood why people chased this feeling. It was intoxicating, addictive even, and a part of you hated that you were reveling in it. The thrill of victory mingled with the elation of having just pushed your limits. But then your eyes found her in the crowd—Jenna. She stood there, a radiant smile lighting up her face, and all at once, the adrenaline surged anew.
It was a reckless desire that ignited within you, overwhelming and raw. You wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone, to pull her close and celebrate your victory together. The image flickered in your mind, vivid and enticing, and suddenly, all you could think about was her. You remembered reading an article once about bank robbers who, after cracking the vault, had sex right in front of the safe due to the adrenaline. A story you once thought stupid, in that moment, it made sense. The adrenaline, the thrill of accomplishing something audacious, the heat of the moment—it was all a cocktail of desire that was too intoxicating to resist.
But as your heart raced for both the victory and for her, a small part of your mind pushed back. You couldn't deny it any longer; you wanted Jenna. You wanted her bad. And you didn't care if the crew found out who she was or if they learned she wasn't from Ridgewater. You didn't care if your alliance crumbled under the weight of it all. But as quickly as the thought ignited, a flicker of caution settled in. I can't jeopardize it for her, she's in trouble.
The cheer of the crowd faded momentarily as you wrestled with your feelings. Was this thrill rooted in the race itself, or was it because she was watching you? The two sensations intertwined, leaving you breathless. You wanted to close that distance between you—you at the finish line her at the pillars.
You leaned against your car, grinning widely as you took in the moment, the reality of what you'd just accomplished. The rush of adrenaline, the celebration of the crowd, and the promise of what was to come. With Jenna smiling back at you, you knew you were fucked. You thought with this race now over some of your questions would be answered, but now you are left with more.
————
The celebration continued long into the night, the energy of victory electrifying the air around you. The next hour unfolded in a blur of races, laughter, and clinking beer bottles. Your heart was still racing from the earlier adrenaline, but now it was fueled by the heady mix of joy and the shared exhilaration of the crowd.
As you mingled and celebrated, your eyes continuously searched for Jenna, hoping to catch a glimpse of her amidst the people. But luck was not on your side; you couldn't spot her anywhere. It was only once everyone started leaving, and you were getting ready to leave, did you spot the girl.
"Mind giving me a ride home?" she asked, knowing you won't say no.
And so there you both were, on the highway to Summer Valley. "I knew you would win," she broke the silence. "How did you like it?"
"It was...nice." you answer, eyes straight on the road. After finally admitting to yourself your growing attraction to Jenna, you found it hard to look her way; the adrenaline was still coursing through you, making your thoughts a tangled mess.
"Nice? All you're going to give me is nice?" she fires back with sass.
You laugh, "I'm just confused. I don't know if I enjoyed racing, or the attention that came from winning."
The attention that came from you.
Jenna tilted her head, studying you with a curious expression. "Come on, don't play coy with me. You know you loved it. That rush, the speed, the crowd cheering your name—it's addictive. You can't deny that."
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you kept your eyes on the road. "Yeah, I guess it is. But it's more than just that. It's everything that came with it. The energy, the victory...and yo—." You cut yourself off before you regret your words.
Her brow furrowed slightly, "And what?"
You bit your lip, debating whether to dive into your feelings now or keep it light. But decided to can the idea as a whole. "Nothing, anyways was your friend able to make Georgie or whatever spill?" You ask trying to change the subject.
Jenna seemed upset about the change in topic, but didn't press it any further. "Actually yeah. He didn't give much context, but Percy's meeting someone tomorrow, and we are going to spy on that meeting," she smiles proudly.
"Sounds like a plan. Do we know anything about who he's meeting or what it's for?"
"Georgie just said something about Ghost Smoke. I don't know what that is—a new racing crew maybe? That name mean anything to you?"
"Ghost Smoke?" You parrot, making sure you heard her right. She nods her head.
From what you knew, Ghost Smoke was the latest drug that was being pushed out onto the streets. The one that's been causing the latest drug epidemic in Brimstone. If what you're thinking is true—then Percy is not someone that should be fucked with. You consider telling the girl in your passenger seat about what you know, but decide to keep quiet. Not tonight.
Before you knew it, you found yourself on the brown-eyed girl's street. You instinctively slowed down, stopping about twelve houses away—probably out of habit—but she didn't seem to mind. As she turned to you, her intense gaze pierced through the dim light, leaving you wondering what she was thinking. Was she going to lean in for another kiss on the cheek? Just as that thought flickered in your mind, it was swept away by the sound of her opening the car door.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Greaser," she said, her voice playful yet filled with a hint of mystery, before walking down the road, still wrapped in your jacket.
You remained parked in the shadows of the dimly lit street, your thoughts racing as wildly as your heart had during the race. That uneasy feeling nagged at you, refusing to fade. You had thought Jenna was the answer to your questions, a beacon guiding you through the chaos, but she also seemed to be the source of many new ones. Just what was this girl pulling you into, and why couldn't you bring yourself to walk away?
next chapter
#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x female reader#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x you#tara carpenter imagine#beetlejuice#tara carpenter x female reader#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x y/n#jenna x reader#jenna ortega imagine#jenna ortega imagines#jenna au#jenna ortega au#lesbian#bisexual#jenna ortega edit#jenna ortega fanfic#astrid deetz#wlw
282 notes
·
View notes
Text
D.W || MYSTERY SPOT
Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Content Warning takes place a few weeks after 'Mystery Spot' 3.11, swearing, dean being dean, knives, and mentions of dean's death from 3.11.
Summary Angst, slow burn i think - Days have gone by and everyone in your town seem's to be on loop and you're the only one aware. Just as you're about to break down, two men in an Impala show up to lend a hand.
Ask @almostegg / @almosteggs : The brothers visit a new town that's stuck in a time loop. No one there is responsive and simply do their daily routine over and over again. Reader is the only one aware of what's happening and she is trapped within the town.
W.C. 2.2 k
Playlist: ♫ Picture Book - The Kinks, Bad Moon Rising - CCR, Your Love - Glass Animals
A.N. first ficcc so excited to finally get this up. enjoy <3 - claire
Gunnison, Colorado. It was meant to be a shortstop for the Winchester boys, mainly for gas and food. They were on the way to a hunt in Utah with what they figured was a Banshee, based on the news they’d heard at least. It was early November, and the temperature was declining everyday. People strolled through the small town in coats and scarves, cheeks pink from the cold. Dean could even see heat steaming off of Baby as he parked her at a random gas station.
“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, his eyes leering over his book to see the bright orange symbol on Baby’s dash. Dean had just finished filling up his car and was inside the gas station purchasing a few bars and snacks from the teenager at the front. Sam came up behind his brother, his jaw clenched.
“Don’t tell me,” Dean muttered, tossing a random credit card to the cashier.
“Car needs an oil change.”
“Oh that’s just freaking great,” Dean turned to the cashier, a frown on his face. “Where’s the nearest car shop, kid?”
“It’s Steve’s Auto Parts, just down Terrace street on the left, but it’s closed right now.”
“Of course it is,” Dean signed. He looked at Sam through his brows before looking back at the kid. “Nearest motel?”
“Now what, we just sit around all night until that damn shop opens in the morning?” Dean said through his teeth, tossing his back on the left bed.
“Well, maybe we can actually get some sleep tonight. Relax, Dean, we’ll be on the road tomorrow before seven.” Sam searched through the restroom for supplies. Motel stops were the time to take things like towels, soap, and other stuff they could throw in Baby’s trunk in case they needed it. Sam sighed, finding nothing in the room except cracked walls and a small slab of used soap. “M’ gonna ask the front desk for some stuff, be right back.” Sam passed flickering hall lights, hearing conversations of guests through the thin walls.
“Good evening, sir, how may I help you?”
“Hi, I just need some stuff for our room, thanks.” The woman at the front desk handed Sam two toothbrushes, some toothpaste, and a couple towels.
“Have a goodnight. Oh, I completely forgot when you checked in.” She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. “If you’re looking for some places in town to visit, here's a guide.” The town didn’t often house anyone but locals, not having a large population or many visitors at that. It seemed like everyone knew each other.
Sam nodded, “Thanks, goodnight.”
“Have a great night, sir.”
The next morning the two woke up at six, the motel alarm blaring an ugly, distasteful BEEP-ing sound. They both packed the little they had swiftly, heading out though the creaking door. At the front desk, the same woman from last night stood stock-still; that same fake-looking smile on her face.
“Goodmorning, folks, how may I help you?”
“Just checking out,” Sam put the keys on the desk. She nodded, grabbing the keys, and packing them behind the desk. Suddenly, her face lit up as if she had just remembered a forgotten thought.
“Oh, I completely forgot when you checked in.” She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. “If you’re looking for some places in town to visit here's a guide.”
“Oh, thank you, but I already got one last night,” Sam smiled. She stared at Sam blanky.
“Have a great day, sir.” He nodded with tight lips, grabbing Dean’s arm and leading them outside.
“Dude, she said the exact same thing to me last night when I came down for stuff.” Dean shrugged.
“Probably just her regular spiel, you know how those jobs are.” Sam lowered his brows, his gaze on nothing in particular.
“I don’t know, it was just weird…” Dean shrugged, “Who cares as long as we're out of here within an hour.” He focused on the road, more preoccupied with fixing Baby and getting on with the case they were supposed to be working on. A few minutes later, a large, rusted sign reading ‘Steve’s Auto Shop,’ came into view, the blue and red paint chipped away from weather and old age. Dean parked his car and walked hastily inside, Sam on his tail.
“Hey!” They heard someone yelling. Inside, a woman stood at the front of the store, waving her hands frantically in the man’s face. She couldn’t have been much older than Sam. “Dad, this isn’t fucking funny, seriously.” The man stared at her blanky, before looking up at her, as if just registering her face.
“Hey, Honey, how can I help ya? Shouldn’t you be at school, it’s Monday.”
The woman groaned, her hands flying to cover her face in frustration, “Dad, it’s Thursday. Please, I’m begging you, stop this, whatever is going on, please…” Dean got closer and saw tears in her eyes. He approached her tentatively, making his voice known first.
“Hey,” the woman jumped at Dean’s voice, but she quickly looked relieved to see him, though Dean was sure they’d never met. She walked up to them impatiently, looking both of them up and down skeptically. “Are you real? You’re not…from here. You can see me right, hear me?”
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re uh, real. What’s the matter?” Sam said gently, coming closer to her and Dean tentatively. She stared at Sam, then Dean, and sighed a heavy exhale. Dean knew that exhaustion she was feeling, he’d felt the same way before.
“Are you guys visiting?” They both nodded. “How long?” Dean explained how they had come last night and only meant to stop briefly, but was having car troubles. Usually he wouldn't give strangers his life story, especially in his line of work, but this woman was obviously in distress. An odd sort of distress. A, ‘supernatural problem’, sort of distress. She nodded, like she was trying to calm herself down enough to explain what was happening.
“I…I’m going to sound insane.” Sam and Dean gave each other a knowing look. Definitely their type of problem.
“Trust me.” Sam interrupted. “We’ve probably heard weirder.”
“I don’t know…I woke up Monday and everything was normal. Tuesday, I woke up the same alarm, everyone was acting weird, like, repeating the same few things. And Wednesday it was the same, and I thought it would change today, but I feel like I’m going insane. I mean, my own father doesn’t recognize me, no one does. It's like they're all stuck. But I’m not. Heard that kind of crazy?”
Dean laughed, “Actually, yes. Uh, we might be able to help.”
“You’re serious?” She looked up at Dean, like she was finally seeing him, her eyes leering over his intensely green eyes and old brown jacket
Sam nodded, “This might sound even crazier, but we guess this is our buddy. Sounds like we’re dealing with a trickster.”
“So…who are you guys?”
“I’m Dean, this is Sam. We kinda deal with this type of stuff.”
“What? The same day over and over? That kind of thing?”
“Not exactly, but I think we can help. I had to deal with this same thing a couple weeks ago.” She surveyed them once more, finally extending her hand, first to Sam.
She told them her name, and they replied this theirs. “Nice to meet you. Really nice, if you’re who you say you are.” She brushed her hair out of her face, walking outside, the boys following behind her. “That your car?” She asked.
Dean nodded proudly. “Yeah.”
“Nice.” Dean smirked, giving Sam a wink. Sam rolled his eyes, sighing loudly.
“So,” Sam walked closer to you, saying your name, “Has anything crazy, other than this loop, happened yet? Like…someone getting hurt or…dying?”
“What the hell? No,” she stared at Sam with wide eyes.
“Just asking,” Sam said, glad that at least she didn’t have to go through what he went through in his time loop. Dean sighed, not sure how he could get out of this. Last time Sam was stuck in one of these, he wasn’t aware of what was happening. Now the three of them were fully conscious and he still didn’t know what to do.
“We think you’re in a time loop,” Dean finally said behind her shoulder, making her turn her head slightly. Damn, they were tall. And this one was really cute…Jesus, she was stuck in a time loop, or something, and she was undressing this guy with her eyes. Not that he seemed to mind.
Sam cleared his throat loudly and Dean and Y/N looked forward to Sam. “So, are there any odd sort of tourist attractions around here?”
She shook her head, “No.”
The brother looked into space, deep in thought before she decided to show them around, maybe give them ideas of what they could do.
“C’mon, let me show you what I mean.” She walked them through town, the same peoplee from yesterday strolling around town with scarves and coats alike. Suddenly, a hand sprung on Dean’s chest, shoving him to the side, a flower pot breaking where he stood. He looked to the side and saw her. “Sorry!” A woman from the apartment building yelled. Y/N mimicked her, a “sorry!” slipping from her mouth. They kept walking, and she prevented them from walking on the road, despite the crosswalk sign clearly flashing white. A car sped past, a police car following close behind. The boys kept walking, following her into a coffee shop.
“I’m gonna order a matcha, the woman behind me is gonna get a black coffee, and the man after her is gonna get a latte.” She ordered, waiting for her drink next to the boys, the woman behind her ordering a coffee, black, and the man following her ordering a… “Green tea, please.”
“Wait, he…” he winked at her, before looking at Sam and Dean with amusement on his face. Sam was on him in an instant, pulling him around the corner of the shop. “What, doing this to random innocent people, now, huh?” His face turned into a twisted smile that made Y/N’s stomach turn. The man’s face began to shift into a completely different one. He was still a person, but a nonidentical one.
“What the hell…” she backed up near Dean, and he put an arm in front of her space, the other arm reaching slowly for his knife.
The man smiled, “guess again, sweetheart.”
Dean lunged this time, his knife pressed even closer than Sam’s.
“You get her out of this before I end you here, and now.” Sam was next to her now, letting Dean take out his own anger on the trickster. Sam was almost still. The being under dean’s knife had left Sam alone and broken after dean ‘died.’ It was the worst time of his life. Losing Dean had turned him into a monster, and he hadn’t even told Dean everything.
“What did she do to deserve this mess, huh? Fuck with us all you want but she’s not a part of this.”
The man slimed in Dean’s grip. “You’re right. She’s not. I just…well, I got bored! Spun a wheel, of sorts, and landed in this town. Fate may have it that she won my good graces.”
“Get her out of here before I carve that stupid smile right out of your face.”
“No can do, son. I’m having too much f–” Dean’s knife was in the man’s chest instantaneously, twisting like a dreidel before Dean forced it out of him.
A car passed, their brights flashing on the three, and next thing she knew, Y/N woke up in her bed, just as she had the last few days, her clock reading; ‘Tuesday, November 3rd, 2008.’
“Holy shit.” Something stirred on her floor, and before she could properly think, her knife under her pillow was on the figure in an instant.
“Dean?” she had lunged at him, her blade nearly pressing into his throat. “What happened?” Dean looked at her with wide eyes. “This is how you repay me for saving your life?”
Sam, from the other side of her bed, laughed as he stood up. His face was beaming, smiling happily at the clock,“You broke it, Dean. She’s out of it.”
“Oh my god.” She released the knife from her hands, tossing it god knows where in her room before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” she breathed, her breath tickling Dean’s neck, making him feel things he’d rather not admit. Dean smiled, helping her stand.
“Anytime, Y/N.” They stared at each other for too long once again, her eyes less shameless than before, causing Sam to speak up.
“We should go…soon. I’ll go get the car. Be back in 30.” She smiled wondrously at Sam, but missed his wink to Dean as he left her room. It wasn’t common that Dean got with girls Sam was a fan of, but he did like Y/N. He’d give them a small slice of time together.
“So. 30 minutes?” Dean said too close to her ear for it to be friendly, smirking and showing his pretty teeth. She nodded, her face heating up.
“The clock’s ticking, Dean. We should get this started.” She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other curling in his hair as they fell back on the bed. Maybe Dean wasn’t in such a rush to get to Utah.
#supernatural#supernatural masterlist#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#charlie bradbury#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader#supernatural fanfiction#fanfiction#supernatural fluff#supernatural angst#supernatural smut#dean winchester x reader smut#sam winchester x reader smut#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x reader angst#dean winchester x you
148 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Miracle of Teddy Bear Saved the Gays
Last weekend, both @twig-tea and I had time off and were in the mood to binge something, so Twig suggested we finally watch The Miracle of Teddy Bear. Both of us had missed it while it was airing live (because it didn’t have international distribution) and had been given the impression by others that it had a sad ending that included some anti-queer messages. It was also very long, so we were not exactly rushing to get to it. But we are stubborn and like to judge things for ourselves, so we decided since we had the time and the show was now available, we should jump in. And imagine our surprise when we found out everything we had been told about it was wrong (we have our theories about why). This is one of the best queer dramas we have ever seen, with phenomenal acting, writing, and direction, and we have so much to say about it. The post that follows is co-written by the two of us. Strap in, folks, because it’s a long one.
If you haven’t seen this show yet and don’t want any spoilers, stop reading this right now and head over to YouTube, where international fans can now watch it for free with English subtitles. We’re going to go deep on the show below, and because this drama is designed to slowly reveal information in a very deliberate way, nearly everything counts as a spoiler. We’ll try not to give too much away in the early sections, but be warned!
The Story
The Miracle of Teddy Bear is the tale of a deeply traumatized gay man in desperate need of healing, and the teddy bear who comes to life to help him. In the process of taking care of his person, our bear uncovers deep family trauma and many secrets and lies, accidentally solves crimes, makes lots of friends, heals a family, and saves several lives. He is a very good bear, and through this adventure he contemplates his own existence, learns how to be human, and discovers what it means to truly love someone.
This is primarily a family drama with important things to say about queer truth, and while it includes several bl storylines, it is not a romance. Intertwined with the family drama is a bl show within the show and a series of interrelated mysteries that slowly get unraveled as the story goes on. One of the things this show does best is parcel out information from various perspectives at the perfect time to keep the viewer one step behind—we found ourselves constantly almost guessing what the show was going to do next, but it always chose a direction a little to the left and surprised us in the best way.
In the end, every question we asked was answered, and every time we thought a character’s motivation felt a little too shallow, we were given more. The experience of watching this show was deeply satisfying and really made us feel seen. This show gets us.
The Characters
The Bear: Tofu
Tofu is the titular teddy bear who comes to life via drama magic and does his best to support his person. He starts the series incredibly innocent, and the show and his actor, Inn Sarin, do an incredible job of depicting the change in him as he lives life as a human, becoming more complex and less naive. Tofu is the heart of the show, and it is his love and kindness that enable the growth of the other characters in this story.
The Core Family: Nut, Na, and Kuenchai
Nut is our protagonist, and his struggles with life as a gay man are the soul of this story. He lives with his mom, Na, and their dog, Kuenchai, and Tofu is his beloved teddy bear. Yes, Nut is a cranky ass grown man with a beloved teddy bear. It will make sense eventually, we promise. Nut is a bl novelist working through old trauma via adapting his work for the screen. Na is a woman who has been Going Through It, and while we start the story with only the vague sense that something is not quite right with her, we spend a lot of time on her history as well as her growth in the present until we get the full picture. The way Nut and Na’s stories are tied together gets to several of the core themes of this show (discussed more below).
The Sides: Gen, Song, Prib, and the nosy neighbors
Our cast of friends and allies who support Nut and Tofu and have romantic trials and tribulations of their own. Without giving too much away, we’ll just say this: all of these characters have satisfying arcs, and some of them may have caused us to squeal in delight.
Specters of the Past: Neung and Tarn
Telling you literally anything about them is a major spoiler so just know they are here and they are important and you will fully understand why and how by the end. Oh yeah, and Neung looks exactly like Tofu (or should we say Tofu looks like Neung?) for Reasons (which are explained! We love this show).
Villains: Saen, Sib, Jan, and Parit
Expect these four to show up often and cause a lot of trouble. Their motives and exact crimes are revealed over the course of the show.
Other Elders: Anik, Juea, Kanya and Sittha
They are mostly here to serve a few key plot functions and represent a spectrum of parental figures (related by blood and not) and acceptance of queerness.
And we cannot forget: The inanimate objects
In this show, inanimate objects can come to life under a certain set of magical conditions, and they are Tofu’s friends and helpers along the way. Some of their stories are shockingly touching! They also add some needed levity to the show, especially the grumpy ones. Special shoutout to the cactus and the spare blanket, our crime solving MVPs. We have to admit, the animation for these took a bit of getting used to, but within a couple of episodes we were cheering these creepy blinking eyes on.
The Themes
And here is where we start to get into spoiler territory about specific character arcs. This show had so many clear and well-articulated themes, and they stayed consistent throughout the story.
Queer people can be happy
This is stated explicitly as well as demonstrated through multiple storylines: gay men can love each other, have good relationships and fulfilling sex lives, and get their happy endings. Those who argue that people should fight against their queerness because it will make their lives harder and keep them from happiness are not just wrong, they have it backwards.
Queer people can only be happy by living their truth
This is perhaps the main thesis of this show, and it comes across in so many ways over the arc of the story. We see this theme exemplified in particular through Nut, Tarn, Song, and Gen, with each of them representing different versions of the queer experience that shape who they are and how they show up in the world. Even before the story tells you, it’s clear what kind of experiences each has had from his relationship to his own queerness and his general demeanor and outlook on life. Nut has survived an abusive homophobic father, and that shows up in his anger, his self-protective rejection of others, and his struggle with emotional regulation. Gen has been raised by loving and accepting parents who support his choices in all ways, and this shows in his good humor, balanced perspective, and confidence to be himself. When we say good media should show, don’t tell us its point, this is a fantastic example of what that means.
Accept and love your queer children or pay the price
Relatedly, this story is very interested in the consequences for parents who fail their queer children, and explores a whole spectrum of acceptance from enthusiastic support to negligent ambivalence to misguided suppression to violent bigotry. We see so many different parents and parental figures react to learning about their gay sons and gain insight into them by how they respond—and only the ones who manage to get it together to love and support their kids get to keep their families. Critically, the adults who fail their queer children are convinced they’re acting in their best interests at the time, and we are along for the ride as the redeemable ones go through the stages of first admitting they were wrong but still thinking their intentions justify the pain they caused to fully acknowledging the damage they have done and making amends.
Be patient with others, you never know what they’ve been through
That said, the show also invites us to stop and consider what might be behind aberrant behavior before judging it. Tofu is unfailingly patient with others, and even with the worst people in this story, he always seeks to understand why they are behaving a certain way before giving up on them. The show slowly and methodically reveals information that recontextualizes things we thought we understood and encourages us to keep digging for empathy and missing context. People in this story behave very badly and make a lot of mistakes, but a lot of it becomes more understandable once you have the full picture.
Unprocessed trauma will prevent you from healing and cause you to perpetuate harm on others
Speaking of bad behavior, so much of what’s wrong in this story is driven by unprocessed trauma of one sort or another. Nut’s anger is at its core a deep hurt from being betrayed by the person he trusted most to be on his side. Na’s refusal to live in reality causes her to continue to hurt herself and her son. Saen’s denial about his own actions leads to far-reaching consequences he could not imagine. And the healing process depicted in the show is not linear; people who have made mistakes in the series make them more than once and advance and regress as the situation around them changes.
People are responsible for their own actions and inactions
And while the show is clear that trauma is the source of the bad behavior of these characters, it is also clear that this is not an excuse. Everyone in this story is held to account for the things they do, as well as the things they don’t, no matter how understandable their reasons are. The people who refuse to heal face serious consequences in addition to seeing the damage their unprocessed trauma causes others.
Noble idiocy leads to everyone being unhappy
One of the biggest sources of said unprocessed trauma in this story is characters making self-sacrificial choices for the ostensible benefit of others and bringing misery to everyone in the process. We love a drama that recognizes noble idiocy for the selfish and destructive act it truly is and clearly says you have to communicate with your loved ones if you don’t want to make a mess of everyone’s lives.
You can’t appease an abuser
No amount of hiding who you are or making yourself small will convince an abuser to treat you better or guarantee your safety. This theme is most obvious in the main storyline between Nut, Sib, and Na, but Jan is another example of a manipulative and emotionally abusive character who other characters continually try to play nice with, to no avail. She takes every opportunity to be cruel, whether the person she’s talking to is kind or combative in return. The show reinforces that abusers will always find an excuse to justify their behavior; changing yourself for them is pointless.
Love is wanting the best for someone, even if that means letting go
This is really the show’s core point where romance is concerned: being with you may not actually be what is best for the person you love, and if your love is true you have to accept that. The people who could not see this—Saen and Jan—were the ones who continued to cause harm to their loved ones and themselves, while the characters who honestly worked towards the happiness of their beloveds even if that happiness was not with themselves—Tofu, Tarn, and eventually Prib—were rewarded by seeing that happiness play out and ended our story truly content. The MVP of this theme is Tofu, whose pure teddy bear love for his person became more complicated and selfish as he became more human. But in the end, he held to the truth at his core that Nut’s happiness was his happiness.
You can have more than one great love, and one doesn't tarnish the others
Which brings us to one of the most beautiful takeaways from this show, and something that dramas so rarely do well. Nut loves two different men, neither more than the other, and he never chooses between them. They both hold important meaning in his life and he honors that whether they are with him or not. When Nut is with Tofu, he remembers his past love with fondness but he is clear that these memories do not make his love for Tofu any less real. A lesser show would have had those moments where Nut was thinking about his past cause him to distance himself from Tofu. But in this show, Nut sharing his past and working through his lack of closure was when he and Tofu had some of their closest and happiest moments together. This show is extremely clear that we can have happiness with more than one person over the course of our lives, and it is not only okay but encouraged!
The Resolution
From here, we will be talking about the ending, and so by necessity will no longer be avoiding major spoilers. If you’re intrigued by the above and want to avoid being spoiled fully, stop now! One of the things that is so brilliant about this show is the way information is slowly revealed, so if you think you would like this show we recommend experiencing it for yourself. If you’re still not convinced and need to know the ending before you decide, read on.
In our view, this story ends exactly as the show signals it will from the very beginning—and the way it should—and the ending is unambiguously a happy one. Tofu realizes that he and Tarn’s life forces are tied together, that it was Tarn going into his coma that caused him to awaken, and that as long as he continues to live as a human, Tarn will not recover. We and the characters have come to love Tofu in his guise as a human, but the truth is he does not belong there—he is a teddy bear, and for him to stay by robbing an actual human being of their life would be wrong. The story took pains throughout to show us how tenuous and restricted Tofu’s existence is, because he is not a real person and thus can’t live a full life (for example, he can’t get a job or safely leave the house because he doesn’t have documentation or any life experience). We also see Tofu struggle so much with the added complexities of the human experience that he becomes ill with overwhelm multiple times. He repeats to us through the whole story that all he really wants is to be a comfort to Nut. While he finds value and joy in being human, it does not change who he is at his core. And so he allows himself to be poisoned by Jan, sacrificing his human existence to bring Tarn back and exposing Jan and Saen’s crimes in the process.
With this decision, the other characters get the chance to mourn him and move on. Nut grieves, finally makes the connection between human and teddy bear Tofu, goes to therapy (!), makes peace with his mother, and writes his love story with Tofu as his next show. Tarn wakes up and begins his recovery, and he and Nut slowly reconnect and rekindle their relationship over time. Na finds joy in her lucid moments and enjoys time with her family, finally free of the hell Saen and Sib unleashed on her life. Gen and Song get their happy ending with acceptance from Song’s dad, and Prib’s fixation on gay men becomes clear when her new female love interest enters the scene (let’s go, lesbians!). We get confirmation that the nosy neighbors are, in fact, an elder gay couple. Even Kuenchai and some of the inanimate objects have character arcs! Kuenchai is instrumental in making sure Nut is reunited with bear Tofu, and we get to see a slipper gain some independence from her other half and a grumpy bolster cuddle in to comfort her people when they need it.
We end our story with several happy families who love their gay children and a call for marriage equality via Nut and Tarn deciding to marry whether it’s legal or not. Tofu is a bear again but his human life is very much not forgotten—Nut speaks to him every day, honors the love they shared, and talks about him openly with Tarn. And we even hear from Tofu again, see a final moment between him and Nut in a beautiful dream, and are reassured that Tofu is happy to still be with Nut in his original form and to see him living so well. It’s everything he wanted, and he made it happen. He truly is the very best bear.
The Purpose
We wanted to take some space to get a little extra meta and talk about why this show matters so much in the broader queer media landscape. First, it was a landmark queer television event in Thailand—please read this post by @flowerbeasblog to get the background on its significance in the cultural landscape. This show was broadcast very intentionally to educate and send a message to a broader audience in Thailand than is typically reached via bl dramas. And that’s why understanding and taking its themes seriously is so very important.
This is a story that is deeply rooted in queer truth, written by a queer man who wants people like him to be seen and understood. The show puts forward an unapologetically pro-gay message on broadcast television (on a major national network! during primetime! that does not shy away from the sexual component of queer love!) and embeds important political commentary in a fantastic and engaging story in a format familiar and comfortable for the Thai audience. It’s not meant to be received as a romance, and its nuanced and mature take on love and relationships is certainly not designed for ship wars. The writer even turns directly to the camera and underlines this in the final episode: while he respects the importance of bl in the media landscape, he has a bigger agenda in mind for this show and important things to say.
And that’s why some of the discourse around this show is so frustrating. A small portion of international fans who watched this show live seemed to misunderstand it deeply and created such a false impression of it that it caused others to stay away. Contrary to some of the takes out there, this show does not have a sad ending, Tofu’s resolution is not remotely anti-queer, and there is no woman who ends up with Nut (we are so confused that this was anyone’s interpretation; Nut at every age and several times within the show explicitly shouts about how very extremely gay he is). To see this story as a tragedy because Tofu “dies”—which he doesn’t; his human body disappears but he returns to being a conscious and content teddy bear—is to misunderstand Tofu’s character journey, his narrative purpose, and his agency. We can only assume that shipping got in the way of comprehension here, and people who wanted to see human Tofu and Nut end up together focused on that to the exclusion of pretty much everything this show was saying and doing.
At the end of this story, Tofu is happy. To think that Nut was better off with Tofu than with Tarn is to not allow for the complexities of human experience; Nut did love Tofu, but he loved Tarn, too, and their relationship was a positive force in his life both before and after Tofu entered it. And Tarn was an actual gay human man in a coma who could not wake up while Tofu existed. Tofu was the creation of Tarn’s love for Nut; his existence was limited, and he found being a human extremely difficult. All Tofu wanted was to be Nut’s teddy bear and stay with Nut forever. He wanted Nut to be happy, because Tarn wanted Nut to be happy, and during his time as a human he worked to enable that happiness. He was instrumental in moving forward several stuck characters and uncovering many secrets, all of which were necessary for Nut to get to where he ends up at the end of the show. Being in a relationship with Nut was a bonus. He enjoyed the experience of being in love with Nut, but in the end he chose to sacrifice his human life so that Nut could have a permanent, lasting happiness with someone who was real. Tofu’s human death is not an example of the bury your gays trope; in fact, it is a total rebuke of it. Tofu, and this show, saved the gay men in this story and gave them full and happy lives. We cannot recommend watching and supporting this show enough.
167 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pink Onyx AU- An Analysis and Theory Post, Part 1
[Part 1- You are here!] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5]
~
Howdy! Those of you who have followed me for a while have probably been seeing my reblogs of the @pink-onyx-au comic made by @ceephorsshitshow. Well, today I wanna share with you something a little different than my usual SU meta… because today I’m gonna analyze this really cool fan work with the same level of seriousness as I do canon. (Like. Seriously. This first post alone is really, really long. I put most of it under a cut.)
This particular comic is a very special one for me to watch unfold, because it’s evident that a lot of deep care and attention to detail has been poured into its creation. There’s fascinating bits of expanded character development to chew into here, as well as plenty of mysteries and lingering questions for us readers to muse and theorize over. If you follow me for Steven Universe and haven’t read this AU yet I highly recommend you check it out. The most basic pitch is that it explores what a fusion between Steven and Jasper might look like, and does a LOT of deep-diving into the similarities and differences of both of those characters’ psyches.
Here’s the episode masterpost on tumblr.
And you can find it on Tapas, too!
(Note: For the purposes of these posts, I was given permission by the comic artist to post screenshots of various pages where relevant in this discussion. For each frame used I will list the episode and page number for easy reference. Additionally, this post and all future ones on the topic will contain full spoilers for the comic thus far.)
Now with all that introductory stuff out of the way, here we go!
__
So, on the final page of the most recent update, we get one hell of a visual plot bomb for Steven as ol’ Onyx unfuses:
(Episode 9: Page 22)
He’s now visually expressing remnants of his corruption, where before he was not.
And it’s this mysterious plot point in particular that got me wanting to analyze this comic more deeply in the first place. This is completely new for him in this story. Thus far, he’s never expressed any of these remnants when he’s just himself- not in the way Jasper does. So it made me wonder… how might this shift in his appearance play into the ultimate trajectory of the plot? How does Steven suddenly showcasing corruption scars integrate into the larger story that is being spun here about him and Jasper and how they relate to each other?
Well, there’s a lot of comic details and story lore we need to unpack first before I can take my best theorizer’s stab at this. Let’s dig right in.
__
Prelude: The analyst’s treasure is in the speech bubbles
Anyone who’s been a fan of this comic for a while has probably noticed these fun visual details already, but I’m going to take a moment to break down what I believe each speech bubble style signifies for folks who may not have context. It’ll make some of my analysis later a bit easier, too, ahah.
So. Speech bubbles. What kinds do we have here?
(Episode 1: Page 6)
Style number one: Solid with black text
This style is standard for non-fused characters, and is also utilized when a fused character is speaking whilst in a state of internal harmony.
Steven is pink and Jasper is orange, of course. Onyx’s speech bubbles are a distinct darker pink, and the main three Crystal Gems get their own colors as well. More minor characters get white bubbles.
(Episode 1: Page 10)
Style number two: Scribbly pink lettering overlaying black text
Whenever you see this type of speech bubble, it’s a sign that there is some level of internal discord going on within Steven or Onyx that is related to their diamond side. It usually shows up when one of the two is in pink mode, but from what I can tell this is not a solid rule.
(Episode 2: Page 12)
Style number three: Pink/orange mixed bubbles
This is how we see Onyx talking for a good portion of the early comic. Their speech bubbles are a clean mix of Steven’s pink and Jasper’s orange. And most vitally, the color on the top and the tail signifies which of them is “fronting” at that moment.
(Episode 3: Page 11)
Style number four: White bubble with solid pink text
So far, this style has only been used to represent dialogue that is being spoken by Steven’s gem half exclusively. Which makes things very interesting, as in Steven’s own remembrances of shattering Jasper on the very first page of the comic, the line “I have been holding back!” is shown in this specific style, instead of the scribbly pink lettering that signifies internal discord.
There is one additional sub-style here- and this is the one moment where we get Onyx’s mixed bubble but WITH the solid pink text.
(Episode 3: Page 11)
I believe these two styles pretty much mean the same thing… only, the white/pink text is either viewed within memory or a metaphoric fusion mindscape where we the viewer are actually “seeing” Steven’s instability, and thus can “see” his gem half as a separate entity there. While, in reality, this is an argument Onyx is having with the disparate pieces of themself.
(Episode 4: Page 9)
Style number five: Pink/orange tye-dye mixed bubbles
When you see that darker shade of pink start dappling into the standard mixed bubbles, this indicates that there are small whispers of Onyx’s true personality beginning to surface, instead of them constantly being wrested back and forth between Steven and Jasper’s conscious control.
(Episode 4: Page 16)
Style number six: Pink/orange mixed bubbles, but with a darker pink tail
From this page onwards, Onyx’s speech bubbles always have their darker pink shading the tail no matter who is fronting. Sometimes there are little lines of another color etched out of it, and sometimes the tail is solid dark pink. I like to believe that when it’s solid, it means that Onyx is just a little closer to reaching a fully harmonious state than when it’s not.
(Episode 9: Page 6)
Style number seven: Onyx speech/thought bubbles with a hint of pink/orange underlying
This style seems to signify moments where it’s still Onyx fully in control of themself and their actions/words/thoughts, but they’re taking subtle influence from their components or accessing their memory a bit.
These are all of the distinct styles I have caught so far, but quite honestly, it would not surprise me if I am missing something. All of this to say… pay close attention to the speech bubbles. They can tell you a lot about Onyx’s state of mind throughout the story.
Now with all this established, I’d like to finish off this first post with my first big discussion point.
__
Question One: What does Jasper actually know about Steven’s “meltdown,” if anything?
The AU author recently solidified this comic’s placement in the SUF timeline in an ask response, saying that the first episode takes place just a week after Steven’s corruption event.
I’m glad this point was clarified, because it was super vital information which deeply influenced the way I analyzed Steven’s actions and responses in my recent re-read… it means this experience is still super raw for him. This is VERY important and we’ll get back to this in more depth later in future posts. But first, let’s explore what Jasper knows of this event.
The full extent of her knowledge is unclear-
(Episode 1: Page 6)
In Episode 1, Steven briefly alludes to his corruption as seen above… referring to it as “[his] meltdown.” Notably, Jasper does not seem to ask any questions about this stray comment. This COULD suggest that she knows what happened to him a week prior via hearsay, but given the context of the rest of the scene and the fact that she’s as isolated as she is out here I genuinely wonder if she thinks Steven’s so-described “meltdown” is his shattering of her.
This idea would make a good deal of sense, as she doesn’t start to make any commentary on the topic of corruption at all until they’re actually fused- with Steven bringing it up first.
(Episode 2: Page 14)
On this page, Steven takes note of Onyx���s very visible spikes (which are Overtly in the same placement as his own when he was corrupted), and initiates the musing upon his own corruption himself.
With the way Jasper phrases her response, the vibe I get is that she somehow gleans a bit of ambient shared knowledge about what happened to him through their fusion.
(Episode 2: Page 15)
“That human form you wear must have been hiding your markings.” This quote is SUPER vital. We’ll come back to this later on in this post series, too.
(Episode 2: Page 15)
It’s clear that Jasper doesn’t REALLY understand what he went through or what caused it, since she then outright mistakes the casual woes and body pains of organic life as corruption. (As seen above.)
(Episode 8: Page 4)
But later on, she outright relates to him over their shared experience of past corruption, so she must at least know enough from mere ambient thought-sharing by this point to recognize it happened.
It’s obvious that she’s barely scratched the surface on fully understanding her fusion partner, though. Neither of them have. It’s gonna take a lot of fusion, comedic mishaps, and genuine conversation to get there. All in good time, I’m sure.
__
Please do join me tomorrow at 7am PST for the next post in this series! This has been a blast to write up and muse upon.
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
so for obvious reasons, rye is not generally all that popular with most of the senior watchers. however. I think there is a certain type of younger watcher to whom he is The ultimate hot badboy icon and fantasy. (we're talking about a group of extreme indoor kid goth nerds who've barely been outside. it doesn't take a lot ot achieve bad boy status in this context and the only thing in this world that lasts forever is a bad reputation in a small insular group like the watchers.) it's SO funny because rye thinks of himself as such a disappointing fuckup of a son of the grand necropolis. and meanwhile there are novices kicking their feet and giggling as they're like
'Ingellvar is so cool. no one knows where he's from he was found down here as a baby. mysterious orphan appeal. he could be a secret dalish prince or something for all we know. (*annoyed extra nerd watcher novice voice*: umm actually the dalish don't have princes, merrivar?? read a real book sometime maybe???) he's a rebel. he doesn't care what the senior watchers think no time for politics he just gets the job done. (*small sad rye voice* I care a lot what the senior watchers think actually. a pathetic amount, in fact. it just rarely seems like it helps anything at all) I heard he graduated almost top of his class even though he spent all his time as a student partying up in the city and having a torrid affair with the son of a noble family. sometimes in his spare time he wears a cool punk leather jacket but like the fantasy version of that. he has tattoos apparently but no one's seen them for years. yuh-uh it's true too, I know someone who knows someone he dated once. they say he saw a knife fight once. like, in a bar brawl, with living people. all that, and he's even sneakily emotionally unavailable. *starry-eyed sigh* what a dreamboat'.
needless to say this only grows worse with the events of the game, after he takes out the formless one and rumours start to spread that he maybe killed a god or something too???? and this being nevarra, more importantly he's out there killing dragons with his sworn companions?? like a fucking fairytale prince but with that devil-may-care rebellious streak???? he's the safely unavailable first crush at a distance of many a young watcher. now imagine the reaction when he shows up home for the first time in a year after the war of the banners accompanied by The one true bad boy fantasy to rule them all: literally the sad brooding crown prince of the crows of antiva in leather pants who has WINGS and a dark tortured side of his nature that he has to constantly battle against for the sake of those he loves.
(the perception vs. reality situation for both of these characterizations is. so unspeakably hilarious needless to say. consider how much of the above lucanis characterization is accurate to the person he actually is and then you've basically found the level of distortion lens being applied to rye as well. is most of it technically true? sure. 'technically' is having to do a whole world of heavy lifting there tho fhdfska)
what I'm really saying here is that there is a subsection of this group that's been ferociously writing rye/lucanis rpf from the moment they were seen trotting down into the necropolis depths together (other pairings within the lighthouse gang as a whole, caught in tantalizing glimpses as they visit the necropolis, of course having their own devotees), and when this fandom subgroup eventually discover they were right it's with all the insane glee of a sixteen year old fanfic writer on wattpad (is that still where the kids are these days. idk i'm getting old folks) finding out that their dark mafia prince AU is basically true. varric might be gone but the legacy of friendfiction lives on after him. the king of thedas rpf being the shoulders of titans that young watchers are standing on to write fevered WILDLY inaccurate depictions of the private life of two of the most low-key domestic quietly devoted and undramatic people on the continent, one of them being varric's own poor little meow meow slash mentee, is something that can actually be so personal. rye does not end up terribly famous in the end considering the shit he manages to get done in this game, and he thanks his lucky stars for it. but to a tight-knit community of mourn watch fic writers he is blorbo from my apocalypse. it's all I could have wished for him.
(funniest possible outcome of all this: myrna gets so fucking tired of trying to understand what the novices are being so tittery about that she asks rye 'watcher ingellvar with the realization that this is a long shot and the admission that vorgoth and I have exhausted all other avenues of investigation: do you possess secret insight about what an 'x reader' is. and also 'ship war'. your name seems to come up in this context a surprising amount'. 9000000 points of incoming psychic damage about to hit the fan.)
#all the bellara/rye shippers devastated at rookanis reveal of course. (no basis in anything whatsoever rye and bellara? no vibes)#rye did date the spoiled youngest son of a noble house for a while in his twenties and it was Pretty Bad! not great times#*rye voice* you know I think I like this spin on 'I was a barely functioning alcoholic in an awful toxic relationship#helplessly watching my life fall apart even as I was the one actively tearing it to pieces' a lot better too#can I borrow it. my self delusions could use a fresh shine#dragon age#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age: the veilguard spoilers#dragon age spoilers#oc: Ellaryen Ingellvar#lucanis dellamorte#rookanis#rook x lucanis#this idea came to me perfectly formed while out on a walk and I ugly laughed to myself the whole way home#again rye doesn't even feel like an oc he's just a guy who exists in thedas and his life is a farce#my only regret is that varric can't be around to laugh hysterically at this. he deserves to know what a mark he left in the world#he was many things to many people. friend. ex (level of divorce not always congruent with actual state of having been married). storyteller#occasional unwelcome tagalong. viscount of kirkwall for nearly a decade (oh yeah!). literary icon. merchant prince#friendly neighbourhood gangster and mother hen to the most contentrated group of disaster bisexuals on the planet#lover. hater. committed centrist (affectionate and derogatory). hawke's forever guy (deep queerplatonic intent)#but first foremost and always king and patron saint of the rpf writers of thedas. rest in peace bff of all time you did great
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
find your cinderella
꒰‧₊˚✩彡‧꒱ ┊ ━━━━ prologue
꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ streamer!reader x mystery hsr character ꒱
꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ otome event ꒱
꒰ ☰ WORD COUNT ┊1.4k ꒱
꒰ ☰ DESCRIPTION ┊ ━━ When you do an unboxing livestream for your subsribers, you find an invite to an exclusive event called the "Find Your Cinderella" masquerade gala where you are guaranteed to find your supposed true love, as a rather enthusiastic manager told you. ꒱
꒰ ☰ NOTES ┊HIII omg you guys THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT!! Getting 1k followers is so crazy for me because I've never had a blog be received with this much love and support before so I've decided to make an extra special otome game style fanfic! ꒱
“Guys, look! The package just came in!”
You rushed into your studio, holding a sizable metal box. Inscribed on the sides was a logo of two masks, resembling a certain Aeon. Placing it down on the floor, you gave a sigh of relief. “Aeons, that was heavy!”
Your eyes glanced at the live chat and saw all the messages, curious about the package.
“Seems like you guys are more excited than I am,” You couldn’t help a small chuckle leaving your lips. “It took me quite a lot to get a hold of this limited edition package from LumiPro. Like, do you guys know how much it cost?”
A few comments popped up trying to guess the price.
You shook your head. “100,000 credits.”
The chat then flooded with shocked emotes and comments. It was more than a fair reaction. You found yourself silently thanking the stars that your current occupation as a streamer granted you a steady income. Otherwise, you probably would’ve had to eat the same type of cup noodles for months.
“Anyway!” You clasped your hands together. “Let’s open it up already! I’m dying to see what’s inside. What could possibly warrant such a steep price?”
Your index finger pressed on the button at the top and heard a voice.
“Vocal identification. Please state your name.”
You uttered your name. It was a good thing you added an auto-censor to your setup so that any sensitive information that could get you doxxed would be redacted in the stream. You didn’t want stalkers showing up at your home after all.
“Permission granted.”
Faint clicks of metal against metal could be heard as the mechanisms worked to unlock the box. A hissing noise came from it as the lid opened. You watched, feeling anticipation and eagerness bubble within your chest.
A hologram was projected from the box, showing a person wearing professional attire. They smiled.
“Thank you for purchasing from Luminous Productions. We’ve curated a package that we believe would be of most use to you. For further questions, you may contact support on our site. We hope you enjoy it to the fullest.”
You took a peek and gasped at the sight. “Guys, oh my god, they just gave me a new PC!”
They must’ve done their research because you did mention in your stream a month ago that you were looking for a better PC.
The chat seemed to be as excited as you were, knowing this meant you’d be able to go back to your regular streaming schedule.
You could tell this was a real high end PC after seeing the graphics card and CPU model. Not only that, but it came with a new headset, keyboard, and mouse. You took out the stuff and gently placed them on the floor, letting the viewers see it.
After noticing that there was more in the package, you rummaged around for the other objects. Your hand made contact with some sort of fabric so you pulled it out.
Your eyes widened as you realised that it was a fancy outfit. Upon looking, you could estimate that it was your size too. Was this tailor made?
“Holy shit…”
It seemed like it was for a real special occasion, not even just your run-of-the-mill party that regular people go to. This outfit would probably fit right in with a red carpet event for rich folks or celebrities. Well— One may say, “Hey, aren’t you a celebrity too?” but you weren’t cocky enough to claim the same status as those with inter-galactic levels of fame.
A slip of paper fell out of the outfit’s pocket and you turned to see what it was.
You squinted in confusion. A ticket…? After picking up, you couldn’t help but notice the holographic shine to it first. How pretty.
“Find Your Cinderella Masquerade Event?” You mumbled in confusion. Who was Sugo? You couldn’t recall knowing anyone that went by that name.
Suddenly, the screen flickered for a moment and a new window popped up next to your stream.
A person showed up, wearing what you could only describe as a pink clown outfit that somehow combines cuteness and gaudiness in one. They grinned at you with amusement.
“Heya to all those viewers watching at home!” Even the way they spoke seemed to have a theatrical ring to it. By the way the chat was going insane, the people watching the stream could also see them.
“My name is Sugo and I’m the event organiser of the Find Your Cinderella Gala, or the FYC Gala for short,” they introduced themselves with a flourish. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Uh… hi?” You didn’t know how to respond. This was quite a bizarre experience to have someone hijack your stream to introduce themselves. Was this legal…?
They chuckled. “Yeah, sorry for the sudden appearance but I figured that it would shake things up a little. I’m sure your dear fans appreciate having two exciting things happening at the same time. You can bet that this’ll go viral too~”
“Right… So what exactly is this Find Your Cinderella Gala?”
“Glad you asked, dear anomaly!” They beamed. Eh? Why were they calling you anomaly?
“See, I’m doing a collaborative project with LumiPro. I proposed to them a large-scale event with celebrities from all over the galaxy, which would be broadcast to every streaming platform out there. The premise is simple, all attendees are there to find their one and only, their true love, their Cinderella, you get the idea.”
“So it’s a speed dating event for rich people?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It sounded like a stupid idea. And yet, a part of you was intrigued.
“Right on the money! What a clever streamer, it’s no wonder you got such high compatibility ratings with the other attendees~”
“A what?”
Their eyes gleamed with amusement. “So, we didn’t just pick the celebrities at random. I bet you’re wondering why a small time streamer is getting an invite to such an exclusive event, right?” They tilted their head, leaning on their desk.
You nodded slowly. It was still a mystery to you why you’d be invited when there are far more famous people in the galaxy.
“Behind the scenes, we’ve been developing an advanced algorithm that can find your best match in a group. How it works is that we pick a participant, feed it available information on said participant, then it calculates how well the person would get along with those within the group,” they explained, “What’s interesting for your case is that your average compatibility score with the group is 90%. Most folks that got tested only came up with a 60% average compatibility rating.”
You raised an eyebrow at this in skepticism. “Don’t you think that’s just a bug or something?”
They shrugged. “It could be, but we’ve done several tests and it always came out the same. We were hoping to add you in to act as an outlier to our pool of data.”
“So I’m just a guinea pig for your weird little experiment?” You gave them an unamused look.
“It’s just to see if your results were really true or if it was just a mistake on the algorithm’s part.” They shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be a fun time for you regardless of my motives. A win win for all parties involved, don’t you just love that kind of thing?”
“I guess but doesn’t this come with strings attached?”
Sugo whined. “Ughhh, you’re gonna make this way less fun if you go in already knowing what you’re getting!”
“What kind of sane person would do something without knowing the full details?!”
A groan came from them. “Booo, that’s so boring! Life needs a special surprise factor that keeps things fun and interesting.”
They sighed after. “But fine. If you’re so skeptical, then I can throw in a 500,000 credit compensation if you end up not enjoying it. So even if you do lose, you still gain something!”
You stayed silent, trying to figure out if this was really worth the trouble of dressing up and going to a party.
“Anyway, that’s all the information I’m contractually allowed to give out. It’s your choice whether you want to go or not.”
“Can I have some time to decide this?” You asked them.
Sugo nodded, smiling in amusement. “Of course! It’s not good for a show to spend too much time on exposition, after all. Let’s give the player some time to shine, hm?”
“I have no idea what you’re saying.”
They giggled, ignoring what you said. “Bye bye! I’ll see you at the gala!”
Their window disappeared, leaving you with your viewers again.
You sighed. What a strange person. Did you really wanna go? It’s not like you had much to lose. Plus, you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to find out what that compatibility rating was all about.
“What do you think, chat? Should I go?” You turned to the screen, waiting for their input.
#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#jing yuan x reader#dan heng x reader#gepard x reader#sampo x reader#blade x reader#welt x reader
404 notes
·
View notes
Text
⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.
tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content
Chapter Two - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 7.7ᴋ - Discord 18+
Though in a wistful daze, tucked away in the depths of your comfortable blankets… you think of him even now as your eyes barely open.
The blur of sleep sticks to your tired eyes as you slowly blink it away; a yawn erupts from your lips.
You wondered why he had left without telling.
His absence twists a deep feeling within you. It’s heavy, settling mostly in your stomach as you look at the empty futon beside you. Was this what it felt like to be hurt?
Of course not physically, though your body ached in places they hadn’t before; your chest swam with this melancholy emotion. Its melancholic ache fought along with the other euphoric emotions. Though they clashed as complete opposites it felt… right.
You hadn’t noticed when your hand moved to clutch the fabric of your yukata over your beating heart. The pounding of your chest could be felt vibrating into your clenched fist.
It was cold. That hadn’t changed.
Your face tingled from the exposure after pulling it from the depths of your futon. Only hours before you had it safely tucked away in the comfort of his chest. His large arm swung around your body to keep you there. You wondered how you hadn’t felt him leave.
In all honesty, you weren’t sure if your face was tingling due to the cold or your blush. It didn’t matter; no one could see you.
When you felt the thick fabric of his haori hugging your body again; it relit the smoldering fire inside of you. The heartbeat in your ears came to life as your tucked your face into the fabric of it, breathing in his earthly scent.
The strong notes of smoke, hinted with something sweet, had drawn you in without restraint.
He’d always smelled so divine.
Your wandering mind had slipped to the image of his healed shoulder. The wound you had expressed concern for being nothing but a mere scratch the last time you saw it. His forbidding gaze telling you it was of no concern to you.
His intimidating aura had caused you to back off.
Of course it was your concern, you thought. It had healed on its own in such a short amount of time. Bear in mind how deep it had actually been. Him refusing any further care on it had worried you.
It was a miracle it hadn’t continued to bleed through the night. Perhaps it had started to heal then; after cleaning.
A mystery it was. You wanted to get to the bottom of it.
The mystery that was now Ryomen Sukuna.
He’d always been rather isolated the many years you’d known him. As children playing in the green meadows by the village, even then he’d pull away at certain times. His walls blocking you from seeing.
The reinforced walls that surrounded his inner self towered in height matching his own.
You wanted so badly to tear them down. To know more about the man… and you could see how they crumbled only slightly as he took his place above you just last night.
Only slightly.
It was something. It was a start.
The small taste you had been gifted of his innermost feelings had driven you mad. You were pining for me; primal urges ate away at your morals.
What if he had gained access to certain techniques? Though sorcerers weren’t abundant in your village, there were some. Sukuna included.
He actually ranked above most of the military in strength. His overwhelming intensity had gained suspicion. Village folk felt like he’d be more of a danger rather than a help.
It displeased you, seeing the people around you shove such hostility towards someone they simply didn’t understand. It was nauseating.
Especially when you were expected to do the same. Your father disliked him probably more than the common village folk. His status playing an important role in his hatred towards Sukuna.
One slip up and he would banish him.
You were certain if your father had known of what you’d done… he’d banish you along with him.
Uncomfortable with your thoughts, you shake your head free of them. You need to prepare for the day. At any time your usual servant, Aiko, would come to help you dress yourself.
After removing yourself from the comforting warmth that kept you from the low temps, you’d quickly cleared your quarters of Sukuna.
The extra futon had been rolled up and placed back into the cabinet where it always sat.
The last thing that would gain suspicion being the heavy fabric that sat over your shoulders. You were reluctant to remove it. It’s sensation almost as if he’d left his own heavy arms behind.
When you remove it to place it behind the futon, you’re left feeling extremely bare.
Cold chills immediately take advantage of the new skin to harass as you fold it neatly and place it down. His smell lingers for a bit before it’s ultimately swept away by the shivers running through you.
A slight knock upon your door startles you, causing you to quickly shut your cabinet. Your eyes widen slightly. “My lady,” you hear the faint voice of Aiko behind the paper thin door. “I’ve come to ready you for the day.”
“You may enter,” is all you say.
When the door slides open, you’re met with the curious brown eyes of your favorite servant. One who feels like more of a sister rather than someone forced to serve you.
Aiko presents herself with a short bow before entering the room. You smile as she shuts the door behind her.
“Has the storm passed?” You ask her and she nods. “It has. The sky is a radiating blue this morning,” Aiko explains.
As Aiko further enters the room towards you, she immediately raises her eyebrows in alarm. A look of disturbance takes over her usual soft features. “Were you attacked!?” She exclaims with worry. Her hands grab at your wrists as she nears you, glancing you up and down.
You are bewildered. Her sudden outburst had come from nowhere.
“What are you speaking of?” You ask her, furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance and also confusion. “There are bruises all over your neck and chest!”
You let out a squeak, immediately tearing away from Aiko in embarrassment. The apples of your cheeks had burned red. “I just stumbled last night after I put out my lanterns is all,” you speak quickly as you try and come up with a good excuse to explain the marks. Yet, when your back faces her you look down towards the exposed part of your chest.
It had looked like someone had beaten you.
Purple bruises cascade into the depths of your chest, presenting themselves like a painting. Your body the canvas and Sukuna’s lips the brush.
Your heart thumps.
The familiar heat you felt before reawakens inside of you.
“My lady if I may,” you hear Aiko speak. “You don’t have to hide that from me.” It’s when you turn around after hearing her words, you find her smirking childishly. Her childish look radiates a comforting warmth as you look back at her. It causes your face to heat up even more, gasping. “It’s not what it looks like!” You exclaim, doing anything to convince her otherwise. “It is. I can see the after glow from far away,” she says chuckling in a joking tone and you touch your warmed face.
“It’ll be difficult hiding the ones under your jaw line, but I have my ways.”
You hadn’t even realized the extent of Sukuna’s doing. It was exciting but also annoying. Who knew how long it’d be until they’d disappear. “Love marks,” Aiko suddenly says as she approaches your cabinet. “Any normal person would know what those are even from afar.”
“That’s wonderful,” you say sarcastically.
“Lucky for you it’s cold out. Gives the excuse to wear more layers than usual,” Aiko says as she pulls fabric from the shelves. You’re already dreading the weight of it but as you feel the iciness of your fingers… you also can’t wait to be covered. You’d endure the pain today.
You really wished to just put the black haori back on.
“Perfect,” you mumble. Your voice lacked amusement.
It had not taken long but Aiko was always thorough in her work. As she patted away at your face to place the little bit of makeup you would allow; you thought of Sukuna. He had made himself at home in your mind. No plans on leaving.
You’d hoped that Aiko couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks as she dabbed the concealing mixture onto your fevered, bruised skin.
“Aiko,” you say, causing her to hum in reply. “You haven’t asked who…?” You ask her carefully; awkwardly.
“I know who.”
Your eyes widen and you turn to fully look at her. Her brown orbs lock with yours. “I don’t care who you choose to be by your side my lady,” Aiko says quietly. The walls were thin.
“I follow you and only you. You are my lady.”
You smile; warmly. In which Aiko does the same.
A silent agreement. “Thank you,” you whisper.
She nods as she continues back to her work, hiding the evidence of him. “Quite scandalous to do it here of all place-“ you cut her off. “Alright! Enough!” You groan. Aiko laughs.
“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. That’s all I’ll say.” Aiko mumbles.
Upon your body rests at least five layers of fabric. Each fabric extravagantly vibrant in color and shine. “What have you put me in?” You ask Aiko in distress and she sighs. “You realize most women in your position wear a lot more. I know your preference and spared you…I also forgot to mention that I was to retrieve you for the Lord. He’s summoned you.”
You’re looking at her in terror.
“Don’t worry! You can’t see anything. Once you’re done with him you can come back and I’ll change you into your preferred clothing,” Aiko explains and you nod. The nervousness swells deep inside you.
Usually when your father summoned you, it was for something trivial. At least in your eyes.
“The Lord was sat with an exceedingly decorated man. Perhaps a military officer?”
Your heart drops at her words.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before your father threw another possible suitor in your face. You dreaded his complaints after you would routinely turn this one down.
You’d lost count of how many suitors you’d been presented.
It was only a matter of time until he forced you to marry too. Refusal would only work so many times. At the age of 24, being unmarried was seen as taboo amongst the village. Well, in your case it was due to your status. Aiko was forbidden to marry; her job was to devote herself to you. Though you hated that, it was nice having her around. Friends were a hard thing to come by when you were sheltered like you were.
As you look at Aiko, you think about how you’d dismiss her from her duties when you could. She deserved a fulfilling life doing what she loved.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” Aiko says as she stands. You follow, straightening your back up. The heaviness of the clothing fights with you as it pulls down at your body. As you suddenly yawn, it catches Aiko’s attention; a smirk and eyebrow raised on her smug face. “Shall I say you’re feeling under the weather so you can rest up?” She teases as she places the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”
Your face is steaming. The embarrassment showing fully.
“Cease this,” you warn with a hushed hiss, hearing her chuckle as you exit the room.
Within minutes you’re sat amongst your father in the main room. The Irori separating you slightly but you were grateful for its warmth. A servant had been placing twigs inside of it to keep it alive.
“This is Michizane Sugawara,” you hear the gruff voice of your father. Your eyes are on his face, seeing the hopeful look he holds on his aged features. You swallow nervously.
From the introduction your wavering eyes flicker to the man beside him. The copious amount of energy that bled off of him would make any normal person tremble, yet you sat still.
When you meet the man’s gaze; you feel your chest clench. A wave of unsettling feelings flutter through you.
Blue.
His eyes reflect in an unnatural shade of blue. The way they seemed to glow even from afar had finally sent a wave of unexpected chills down your back. Your hands felt clammy as you clenched them in your lap.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” Michazane greets. He says your name, which you find unbearable. “I’ve been told a lot about you.”
You’re silent.
“He’s the head of the Gojo clan. I’ve invited him here to-“ you cut your father’s words off. “I will not marry you,” you state in a calm, collected tone. The room grows thick with tension. Though you don’t regret speaking over your father, you should not have done it.
Your father sighs loud enough for you to hear. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else,” he mutters as he shakes his head. “What can I do to change your mind?” He asks you and you’re looking back at your father. “I do not want to marry. Why is it so important that I do?”
“You are pass the normal age,” he argues. “I think it’d be in your best interest to consider marrying Michizane. He technically outranks us, making him the important one in the room.”
You’re looking back at the man next to your father. His blue gaze settled upon you; it doesn’t feel threatening. If anything, it was a warm presence. Though icy his eyes are.
“I apologize for my unbecoming attitude,” you sincerely release. “It is not in my plan to take a man’s hand in marriage. I’m unsure if you’ve travelled far to meet me but if you have, I’ll have you reimbursed for the supplies used.”
Now you’ve done it. The atmosphere of the room feels unbelievably thick, making your mouth dry. You swallow nervously again.
Your father says your name in a warning tone, which makes you flinch. Michizane raises a hand to silence your father, a small smile on his features. “It’s quite alright. The last thing I’d want is for her to feel pressured into anything. What good would that do for any relationship?” He says and your father is looking over at him dumbfounded.
You silently thank the man.
“Now,” he begins, directing his unnatural gaze back to you. “I’d like for you to reconsider. I’ve been offered many suitors and I must say you by far are the most enthralling.”
You’re uncomfortable, to say the least.
“Your words are flattering… but I still decline. I apologize,” you say quietly, looking away from him now. You find it hard to continue looking him in the eyes. It was as if he had been draining your energy.
“That’s quite alright. I’ll be in the area for about two weeks. You were correct, the journey was quite long so to prepare my men for another we shall stay to recuperate. I hope that is alright?” Michizane says as he looks over to your father.
“Be my guest. My estate has many rooms and your men can stay among mine in their living area.”
Your father’s words make your heart drop into your stomach. He’d be staying in your home?
“You,” your father says as he points a finger to the servant standing by the door. “See that Michizane is taken care of and that his needs are met.”
You hear your father say your name.
“As for you,” the sternness of his voice makes you flinch. “You have time to reconsider.”
You understood what that meant. He’d be expecting you to accept Michizane Sugawara as your husband or else he’d force you. It was finally that time.
“Yes father,” you say quietly, not looking at him. Your attention is fixed on the flames of the fire in front of you.
So be it, you thought to yourself. What good would it be to retaliate against it. After all, your father was kind enough to put up with you for this long. You were his only child, solely due to the fact your mother became unable to bear any more children. Though you weren’t a son, a nobleman’s daughter was also highly looked up at.
Being the sole child meant a lot was expected of you. Especially when it came to furthering the blood line.
After he’d dismissed you to leave so he could further discuss topics with Michizane, you stand.
You bid them farewell with a short bow, walking towards the door. Yet, before you step into the hall; blue eyes catch your own. It sends a mixture of fear and warning through you. Michizane projects his emotions to you in one look; determination.
You’re met by Aiko in the hall. Her wide eyes showing you she’d heard every word. She held her combined hands to her chest as she approached you.
You don’t speak until you hear the sliding of the door, signaling that it’s closed.
“It’s quite alright,” you inform her, still quietly to be careful. “It was eventually going to come to this.”
“Well,” you hear Aiko say as the two of you venture back to your quarters. “He’s not all that bad to look at.”
You’re staring at her as she walks beside you, one of your eyebrows raised. “That man was probably the most handsome suitor I’ve seen here. I mean did you see his eyes?” She gushes as she holds her cheeks. “Oh please,” you say, rolling your eyes as you look ahead.
“He’s average.”
“I wouldn’t say that… while you were in there one of the kitchen maids had walked by and said Michizane Sugawara possessed a rare ability. Unique to his clan. It’s probably why your father insists you marry him. How that maid knew that… I have no idea,” Aiko rambles on and you sigh. “Great. He wants to use me for breeding. Why else would I marry into the clan? Having children and marriage are the last thing I ever wanted to do…” you groan and you hear Aiko chuckle.
“Well, like I said… at least he is handsome,” she tells you with a warm smile. She’d always known how to lighten the mood. You appreciated her charm. “If you’re so intrigued maybe you should marry him,” you suggest and she scoffs. “That’s cruel. You know I can’t,” she says as she rolls her eyes.
It’s quiet the rest of the way back.
Lost in your thoughts; you think of Sukuna.
His face floats around in your mind as you let Aiko undress you from your formal clothing.
What would he say about Michizane? In all honesty, would he even care?
Sure Sukuna showed you respect, at times… but it wasn’t like you were automatically together now. You weren’t even sure there were legitimate feelings on his end anyways. What he had- what you two had done… it felt like that was what had been building up for some time. At least on your end.
Sukuna was a difficult person to read.
All of the countless petty arguments where tension would be so high you felt like you could explode… it finally bubbled to the conclusion.
The way he had held you and took care of you hours ago… it left a permanent heat raging inside of you. Your knees feel weak as you remember the mere ghost feeling of his lips against your neck. For someone so large and brute; he handled you softly.
His large hands holding you like a small wildflower, careful not to bruise the bright petals.
“My lady,” you hear Aiko’s soft voice break you from your scandalous thoughts. “If I may recommend… you should seek Sukuna out.” She looks nervous as she tells you that. Her hands balled into fists in her lap as she sits in front of you. You’re both sitting in the floor of your room. “I feel like he should know,” she adds.
“Maybe you’re right,” you say.
You think about how he’d left his haori with you.
In the back of your mind you see him walking across the village without it in the fresh snow. He’d willingly left his barrier from the cold with you. The gesture had warmed your heart and you really tried to keep yourself from looking too deep into it… but it was too late. Why else would he have done that if he didn’t care for you deeply even just a bit?
You told Aiko that he’d left it, explaining to her how great it made you feel.
“It’s cruel,” you hear her mutter. “I can see how deeply you’ve cared for him over the many years I’ve known you. Seeing you now, I can definitely see it plain as day. You hold deep affection for Sukuna. The many times you’d have me help you sneak him in to care for his training wounds and the times I’d help you sneak out to join him to train… It isn’t fair.”
Her words touch your heart and you drop your head, staring at your hands in your lap. “Aiko,” your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to marry that man.”
“I know.”
“What do I do?” You ask hopelessly.
“Get over it.”
Her tone shocks you, making you glance back up at her. “What?” You ask, confused by her sudden sternness. “What else can you do besides your father’s demands? Unless you run away now, you’re stuck here.”
You’re shocked, but she’s right. What else could you do? This was your fate.
Running would only prove useless as you didn’t know how to survive on your own. You weren’t even sure Sukuna would go with you…
“Accompany me across the village so my father doesn’t gain suspicion. I will say it’s to see Itsuki… it’s believable,” you say to Aiko. She nods, running one of her hands over her face, “I’m not allowed to say no.” Her words make you frown. “Yes you are. You’re not my slave,” you tell her and she removes her hand. “I technically am, my lady.”
“You’re allowed to refuse me.”
“As you wish.”
After readying for the outer elements, you’d gone to your father to inform him of your future whereabouts. Itsuki’s estate. Though a lie, you didn’t care.
Itsuki was your cousin, daughter of your father’s younger brother.
All you wanted was the heavy feeling in your chest to subside. You wondered if seeing Sukuna again would put it at ease.
“My lady,” you hear your title being called as you step out into the snow of the courtyard. It’s incredibly cold out. Though sunny, the ground that was covered in powdery snow. It reflected the sunlight from it, making it unbelievably bright out. “Wear this.”
As you turn to her, you’re handed the black fabric of Sukuna’s haori and your eyes widen. “You found this?” You ask her shockingly and she nods. “I organize your things almost daily. Of course I did. You’d also mentioned him leaving it behind and it was nowhere in sight.”
When she helps you slip it on you are immediately granted immunity from the cold. The warmth spreads through your body like wild fire and you smile.
The many layers don’t bother you as much now.
The both of you make it across the village, seeking out Sukuna’s home. It had been quite a long time since you’d seen it; you’d forgotten what it looked like. You were pretty certain the last time you’d visited was around your teenage years.
“Aiko,” you catch her attention as she walks ahead of you. She glances over her shoulder. “Yes?” She asks, looking back ahead. “How do I even bring it up?” You ask her. The nervousness was obvious by the dread that laced itself within your voice. It made Aiko stop in her tracks.
“I’m not sure. If I’m being honest… I’ve never been in a situation like this,” she snickers as she turns around to face you and you groan. “You’re the least helpful person I know,” you say and she crosses her arms. “We all know that’s a lie-“
The two of you freeze at the sudden sound of a rich, resounding voice. It says your name and your arms prickle with goosebumps when you realize who the voice belonged to. You forget the chilling snow as your stomach flips.
The intense presence stood behind you, radiating his energy towards your form.
“If you may excuse me I’ll be off to run some errands,” Aiko quickly lies as she bows. Your eyes widen, watching your friend scurry off. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour!”
Of course she’d abandon you now. You felt betrayed as you watch her disappear into the crowd of merchants that lined the street. Even in the snow they were busy to sell.
Your heart beats rapidly and you feel your body buzzing with embarrassment.
It’s when you turn around that you’re faced with the man you’d been searching for. He was standing a few feet away; a bag of some sort slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy.
“Ryo-“ he cuts you off almost instantly. His sharp eyes locking with your own. “Why are you here?” He asks you, voice the usual bluntness. It makes your insides twist uncomfortably. He hadn’t said it harshly but you weren’t expecting it. “I…” you’re at a loss of words. Completely hopeless in explaining why you had sought him out.
Yet, you were stuck. Aiko had left and you didn’t want to leave her behind if you walked off now.
“To see you,” you told him boldly. You weren’t lying. He isn’t effected by your words; face holding the usual stoic expression.
On the inside you felt like a mess. Your hands were clammy as you stared over at the large man, clenching them inside your clothing as you hid them from the cold. “Alright,” he huffs, walking past you.
You hear the crunching of the snow under his heavy footsteps.
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you watch him walk by, wondering what- “Come with me,” he adds. It puts your thoughts asides Your expression drops as you nod, swiftly following behind him. His longer legs make it easier to trek along the snow, but your clothing had proven quite difficult to move in the first place. With snow added, it was tremendously more challenging.
“We can talk here,” he says as he stops in front of a small building that hadn’t been far from where he found you. It resembled that of a farmer’s home, a lot more bare and smaller in size than your own… you assumed it was his.
Perhaps it’d been his family home, passed down to him.
As you step inside after him, you notice how simple it was. Not much cluttered the single room. A single, but much simpler, irori sits in the center.
When he shuts the door; he places the sack he had down. The contents inside shuffling about as it rests on the wooden floor. He removes his shoes, which you do the same.
You’re uncomfortable where you stand. You finally found him and now you weren’t sure what to do next.
All you do is watch as he immediately goes to light the fire for warmth. You selfishly assumed it was for you, considering how he’d acted just last night. His back is facing you as he sits, striking his flint and steal to strike at the dry contents.
“Sit,” he suddenly says, nudging his head towards the empty spot next to him. He doesn’t look at you but you nod anyways.
As you settle beside him, leaving about two feet of room; you take in a deep breath. “I apologize for the sudden visit,” you start. “I hope it didn’t bother you.”
For a few seconds it’s grown quiet. Only the sound of the growing fire cackling as you ponder on what to say next. You were just glad it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it would.
You hear a slight shuffle of fabric which makes you glance over at the large man beside you.
He’s looking down at you, sitting crisscross as he rests his left elbow on his knee. His face is in his hand.
The sight is ungodly attractive, you think to yourself. As the irori’s fire grows, it projects the orange glow across his features. He looked just like he did before… it makes you nervously swallow. Your mouth felt dry.
How dare this man be as handsome as he was. It felt sinful to look at him. As if being in his presence would damn you to hell.
He extends his free arm, reaching towards your face with his hand. His fingers grasp at your chin, tilting your face to look at him better. “I was wondering when you’d show up today,” he mutters, a slight smirk on his features. Through his touch on your chin you could feel the sparks that shoot through you.
You sigh, closing your eyes in relief from his words. He wasn’t upset and you were glad.
“Last night,” you started, staring at the back of your eyelids. It was easier than looking him in the eye. “What does that mean for us?” You ask; your voice barely a whisper. You wondered if he was even able to hear your shaking voice. In your lap, your fists clench.
“What do you want it to mean?” He replies with a question. You open your eyes, finally looking into his. Almost instantly you find the cracks in his wall where it shows in his eyes. The deep, longing look you’d seen him look at you before right in front of you once again. You notice the way his eyebrows furrow together as if he’s thinking hard himself. It makes your heart flip anxiously but excitedly.
Yet, as you search your thoughts for the answer to his question… you think about Michizane. You dread bringing the news up to him.
Ashamed, you turn your head away from him; his fingers falling from your chin as you now stare at the fire.
The feeling in the room immediately turns, becoming insufferable. It’s now uncomfortable.
“I am to be married,” you let out. There was no point in keeping it inside. “His name is Michizane Sugawara.”
With a deep breath, you look at Sukuna again.
He’s in his same position, but his hand that he had on your face is now tucked away in his lap. It’s almost comical, seeing how relaxed he was. “The name is familiar,” he huffs out as he finally looks away from you only to add fuel to the fire. “Good for you. You’ll be taken in by some big shot.”
His words hurt. Your face twists as you watch him poke at the Irori with a stick.
“You don’t care.”
He’s now looking at you again, a bit of shock on his sharp features as he registers what you had just said.
It’s then when you see a bit of his walls crumble; a look of pure amusement shining on his face. As his expression twists into that of a smirk; In the glow of the small fire you see how his white teeth reflect the light. His canines are sharp, you notice.
You vividly remember the way they felt latched onto your skin. The spot on your neck burns.
Your chest twists longingly at the golden sight of him.
The expanse of his broad shoulders and chest lure you in as you drink in the sight. You wanted so badly to just fall into his lap, tangling yourself into him.
In the many years you’d known Ryomen Sukuna you could count on one hand how many times you’d seen him smile. Did this even count as a smile? He looked genuinely amused from what you could tell.
“Stupid girl…” you hear Sukuna mumble as he raises his hand once again to reach towards your face. “You could have anything,” he tells you as his large hand takes hold of the side of your face, “but your eyes are yearning for the one thing you can’t have.”
His thumb rests softly against your cheek as he holds it. Your heartbeat quickens in a burst, thumping against your chest. The heat from his hand instantly absorbs into your pining skin. You lean into the touch.
“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper honestly. Sukuna sits up straight as you speak, leaning towards you. “I’d marry-“ he cuts you off, “I would think about what you’re about to say.”
“It’s unattainable. I can see it in your eyes and what you want simply won’t come to be. At least, not here.” Sukuna is incredibly close as he says it all. His towering form leaning over you as he gazes down. The deepness of his voice rumbles into your ears smoothly.
His words are like a kick to the stomach, making your teeth clench together. “What do you mean ‘not here’?” You ask him. “As long as you’re part of this village, under the rule of your father; you are to obey his requests,” he says and you sigh. “Are you saying I should leave?” You ask him; confused. “That wouldn’t be smart,” he tells you and you’re beginning to grow annoyed by his responses.
He speaks as if he doesn’t yearn for you as you do him.
“Where would you even go?” He asks you, looking down at you intensely. You think about his question, searching your thoughts, but you find it’s only plagued with him.
“I would go anywhere you go,” you answer him truthfully, raising one of your hands to grasp at the wrist of the hand on your face. Your fingers clench around it.
When you search his eyes, it’s like looking into an abyss. The fire illuminates parts you hadn’t seen before, showing the rich brown that could be mistaken for black from a distance. He was mesmerizing.
“Don’t say such foolish things,” he mumbles.
“Don’t call me a fool,” you retort; scowling. Sukuna sighs before speaking, “I never said you were, but a fool you would be if you were to follow me.”
It’s silent now; all that could be heard was the faint crackling of the flames beside you.
Sukuna’s free hand raises to take hold of something. Your eyes glance down to see he’d grasped at the fabric of his haori, looking at it with furrowed brows. “If you want it back I can leave it before I leave,” you suggest and his eyes glance back up to yours. “It’s yours,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen as you cheeks heat up.
“I can’t have you returning home without something equivalent. You’d freeze to death,” he says further and you sigh. He was probably right; you got cold easily. “How dare you perceive me as some helpless child,” you joke and he’s moved his hand that was latched to the haori to the curve of your waist. His long fingers hook into your flesh even through your layers.
You gasp when he pulls you closer, causing you to basically stumble into his lap. His size swallows you, having him effortlessly pull you in as he sits straight. He extends his legs, letting you sit atop one of his large thighs as he pulls you flush against his chest. Both of his hands hold at your hips now.
Your clothing prevents you from sitting comfortably, so you pull up the fabric of your gown to the tops of your knees. You plant a knee on either side of his leg, sitting flush to his thigh.
You feel his warmth radiating directly into you.
“A child needs someone to take care of them,” he says as soon as you’re settled. “You wouldn’t know the first thing to do if you were to leave here. Without your help, you’d be helpless.” He means your servants. Your estate.
Though reluctant to admit it, even to yourself, he was right. You frown, taking hold of the kimono he was wearing. It’s soft in your hands.
“You’re insulting me now,” you say quietly. One of his hands moves from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your back. “I only speak the truth,” he tells you as he presses your further against him. It causes you to take in a deep breath, feeling the way your body heats up by his touch. You’re trembling now.
His face is inches from your own. You can smell his intoxicating scent as it attacks your senses. It almost makes you drool, feeling him so closely and basking in his presence.
It’s when you feel the tension inside of you running directly to spot between your legs. The heat that bubbled in the bottom of your stomach had grown unbearable at this point. On instinct, you move yourself against the top of his thigh to relieve the pressure.
In the back of your mind you were glad you decided against warm under clothing.
The movement makes Sukuna groan when he realizes what you’re doing.
“You got one taste and now you’re aching for more?” He asks, dipping his face down to press his lips against the exposed part of your neck. His lips press a soft kiss to your skin, almost as if they were making their presence known before attacking. You let out a shaking breath, moving your right hand to the back of his neck.
“Filthy,” he mumbles into your skin before he nips lightly. You whimper, pressing your chest further into his as you shift atop his thigh eagerly. The sensation has you breathing heavily, leaning your head into the side of his as he indulges himself in your neck.
He’s so close to you. It’s driving you mad that you simply can’t crawl inside of him; stay there forever.
“How can such a filthy thing taste so sweet?” He says. It’s muffled as he licks the spot under your ear.
His hand on your hip takes control as you try and grind yourself against him again. He’s guiding you, putting more pressure against your core. You gasp, clenching your shaking fingers into his pink hair as he chuckles.
Even through his clothing you could feel the well defined muscles of his thigh. The ridges acting as a tool to further bring you over the edge.
You feel hot. Your body throbbing in rhythm with your erratic heartbeat as you grind hungrily into his thigh.
Sukuna pulls his head back from your neck to look at you, gazing into your eyes with his own lustful gaze. He looks hungry.
He’s now removing the haori, placing it in a pile beside you away from the fire. Yet, when he glances down at your outfit; you can see he immediately gives up. It almost makes you laugh but when he flexes his large muscles underneath your aching clit, you’re moaning.
Whimpers follow after the surprised moan, which make him release a pleased grin.
You can feel the warm feeling building up. The same one you’d chased with him before. Its addicting sensation was heavenly, causing you to squint your eyes as you felt tears begin to form.
In his hair your fingers twitched, having trouble staying latched as you tried to ground yourself. He used both of his hands to press your hips further into him once more. “Keep singing for me,” he grunts into your jawline as he presses light kisses along it. You’re gasping a moan when he takes one hand to squeeze at your ass.
“Just like that,” he says into the corner of your mouth. Your lips are parted as you pant, feeling your hips twitch and lose rhythm as you almost reach your limit. His guiding hands help keep you in pace.
Your clothes feel restricting and you want them off. Yet, when you think about how difficult it would be to put them back on… you decide against it.
You feel his wandering lips finally brushing over yours. His warmth breath fanning against your skin as he speaks, “you close?”
Close to what? You weren’t sure what you were feeling. It was euphoric. Your mind radiated a white light as you closed your eyes. It grew as it built itself up. “Y-yes,” you gasp into his lips.
He’s pressing his lips to yours, hungrily stealing your breath away as his tongue connects with yours. You whimper into him, clutching his hair into a fist as you clutch his kimono in your other. It earns a hungry grunt from him that comes from deep within his chest.
Your eyes roll back into your head behind your closed eyelids. You suck in a breath through your nostrils between kisses, feeling your lungs ache at the lack of oxygen.
He clenches the muscles in his thigh again, making you gasp into his mouth.
It’s when you suddenly tear your lips from his, feeling your body jerk into his as the climax hits. It’s an uninhibited release of control, of self-consciousness, of everything. As you let go, you’re sticking your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent with each heave of your chest.
A heat radiates its way through you in waves as you move against him sloppily.
“Ride it out,” he purrs softly into your ear, holding your trembling hips slow their dragging movement. His words make you whimper again, which gets a grunt from him. He’s helping you and you finally stop, slumping into his form without shame. Your hand falls from his hair to lay flat against his chest.
All you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and your labored breathing. You dig your face into his fiery skin even further.
It’s when he shifts, moving his leg just slightly, you release a pained whimper. The overstimulation has you clenching your teeth as he chuckles.
As you come down from your high, you’re noticing the way his chest heaves. The muscles in his neck tense under your touch as you press a short kiss to the area below his sharp jawline.
“What would your husband say if he found out you were riding another man’s thigh?” He asks quietly, taking your chin in his hand to make you look up at him. “He isn’t my husband,” you say instantly and he grins. “Not yet,” he adds and you sigh.
When you shift your knees, only because of the ache they shoot through you from sitting on them; you feel the hardness between his legs with your right leg. Your shifting makes his breath hitch, which you eye him questioningly for.
Of course he was hard, you’d just came undone on his thigh.
“It’s your turn,” you whisper, moving your right hand to take hold of his face. He hums, leaning into your touch. “Don’t you have to meet that girl soon?” He asks, helping you to remember. You nod, shrugging, “she can wait.”
Your words cause him to take in a deep breath before he basically pounces on you. In his movements he shares his hunger, showing you how badly he wants you.
His lips are on yours once more as he moves to take hold of your kimono at your hips, moving it up further to expose yourself completely. It has you sighing into his mouth, pressing your body back to his.
Lost in his lips, kissing him like it would be the last time ever… you hear a soft rasp of a knock on the door. It has you tearing away from him, staring at him in shock. He’s looking at the door, not at you. You catch the feral look in his eyes; anger radiating off of him.
In a daze, you blink.
When the knocking continues, Sukuna looks back towards you, sighing. “It’s her,” he says lowly and you raise and eyebrow. Her?
He removes himself from you as he stands, which makes you frown. He’d taken his warmth with him, leaving you in disheveled mess. Dark eyes glance down at you and he turns to help you up.
As you stand, your kimono returns back to your ankles as it falls.
You’d also noticed the way his erection shows through his clothing. Impressive in size that it shown through that many layers. It made you lick your lips.
“Your servant girl,” he adds, noticing your confusion. Your eyes widen. “Oh!” You gasp, walking to the door but you feel a hand grabbing your upper arm. “Hold on,” he says, pulling you back to him. His deep voice sends electricity through you as you feel him pull you to his body. Large arms envelope you, holding you close. You could feel his cock pressed against your lower stomach.
“I’m not finished with you,” he says, “I can come by tonight?”
You shake your head, closing your eyes in disappointment. “You can’t. That man is staying in my home until he leaves-“ he cuts you off, squeezing his arms firmly around you. Almost warningly, but when he speaks, “if I find out he so much as touches you… I’ll kill him.”
Your eyes widen. The unhinged gaze he’d look down at you with convinced you he was telling the truth. Every part of you burned with desire from his frightening words… relighting the fire within you. He was warning, but you weren’t sure if it was directed towards Michizane or you.
“You are mine and mine alone,” he adds, taking a hold of your chin. “I don’t share.”
He kisses you deeply, marking his place.
You fully accepted his words. His declaration.
If any other man had declared you as their’s you would have laughed in their face… but as you let him lick his way into your mouth; you fully give in. You were his. In all ways possible.
When he releases your lips from his, he pulls away. His form walks away from you, retrieving something from the floor. Your eyes catch the black fabric and you smile, walking towards him to take it.
Yet, he places it on you himself.
The haori envelopes you in a permanent hug, acting as the pair of arms you wished to be wrapped in forever.
#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#fanfic#jjk smut#SMUT#sukuna#ao3 fanfic#jujutsu#jjk spoilers#angst#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#sukuna ryomen smut#ryomen x reader#jjk ryomen#sukuna x y/n#human sukuna#writers on tumblr#ao3 writer#writerscommunity#jjk fanart
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Princess
Summary: He becomes obsessed with you, forgotten princess.
Pairing: Rasputin × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut, violence, Black magic and obsession.
Author's Notes: Buckle up, folks, we're diving into another adventure! And can I let you in on a little secret? I might have gone off the rails a bit with Rasputin's character—oopsie! So, if I've strayed too far from the path of Rasputin-ness, let me know! Your feedback is like the GPS for my writing journey, guiding me back on track! 🚀🗺️
Request made by @eccentricchick here
In the kingdom of Czarist Russia, nestled in the heart of the vast Russian Empire, the halls of the royal palace echoed with whispers of intrigue and betrayal. It was a kingdom steeped in tradition and hierarchy, where bloodlines determined destiny and the pursuit of power knew no bounds.
And within the walls of the palace, hidden away from the prying eyes of the courtiers and nobles, lived the second princess—a forgotten soul cast aside by her family, deemed unworthy of the throne due to a cruel twist of fate.
Unlike your younger sister Anna, the heir to the throne, you, the second princess was unable to conceive children. In a kingdom where lineage was everything, your inability to produce an heir was seen as a fatal flaw, a stain upon your honor and your worth.
Dismissed from your rightful role as heir apparent, you was relegated to the shadows, overshadowed by your sister's brilliance and beauty. You was a mere footnote in the annals of history, a forgotten relic of a bygone era, your existence deemed inconsequential by those who held the reins of power.
Resigned to a life of solitude and obscurity, you had long accepted your fate as the forgotten princess, destined to languish in the shadows while your sister basked in the glory of her position as heir to the throne. With no prospects for marriage and no hope of ever bearing children, you had resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and isolation, your existence deemed worthless by those who held the reins of power.
But fate had other plans in store for you, as one day, the king made a fateful decision that would change the course of your life forever. Hearing tales of a mystic healer named Rasputin, renowned for his purported ability to commune with the divine, the king saw an opportunity to bring spiritual guidance to the palace and hired him to serve as the royal spiritual advisor.
Initially intended to provide guidance and counsel to your sister Anna, the king surprised everyone by decreeing that both princesses would receive instruction from Rasputin. And so, the enigmatic mystic was summoned to the palace, his arrival heralding a new chapter in your life.
As Rasputin entered the hallowed halls of the palace, his presence seemed to command the attention of all who beheld him. With his piercing gaze, unkempt mane of hair, and rugged beard, he exuded an aura of mystery and power, his baritone voice resonating with authority as he greeted the royal family.
Despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and intrigue as Rasputin began his teachings. His words were like poetry, weaving tales of spirituality and redemption that captivated your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.
As the days turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings delved deeper into the spiritual realm, captivating both you and Anna in different ways. While Anna seemed more enchanted by his charismatic presence, you remained reserved yet attentive, your curiosity growing with each passing lesson.
And despite Anna's uninhibited attempts to seduce Rasputin, he remained unfazed, enjoying the attention but never succumbing to her advances. Instead, his focus seemed to gravitate towards you, the forgotten princess, whose sweetness and sadness intrigued him more than Anna's boldness ever could.
Your family's disregard for your feelings and opinions did not go unnoticed by Rasputin. He observed how you were often left behind, ignored, and forgotten, yet you continued to display kindness and grace in the face of such neglect. This purity of heart only served to deepen Rasputin's fascination with you, contrasting sharply with the sinful women he was accustomed to.
In his eyes, you were a beacon of purity in a world tainted by ambition and deceit. He was drawn to the idea of making you his own, of protecting you from the cruelties of the world and showering you with the love and attention you so desperately deserved.
But Rasputin's intentions were not entirely altruistic. His desires were driven by a complex mix of genuine affection and a hunger for power, a hunger that could only be satiated by possessing something as pure and untainted as your soul.
And as Rasputin's teachings continued to enthrall both you and Anna, his attention towards you became increasingly intense, bordering on obsession. While Anna basked in his charismatic presence, you became the subject of Rasputin's fascination, his thoughts consumed by visions of you.
In the dead of night, as he lay in the embrace of nameless women, their bodies intertwined in a dance of desire, it was not their faces he saw, but yours. With each whispered breath and sinful caress, he imagined it was you beneath him, your purity tarnished by his touch, your innocence corrupted by his desires.
"Such sweet innocence," he murmured, his baritone voice laced with hunger as he traced imaginary lines upon your skin, his fingers tingling with anticipation. "I shall be the one to pluck the forbidden fruit, to taste the nectar of your purity and revel in the ecstasy of your corruption."
His dreams were filled with visions of you, your image haunting him even in the depths of his slumber. In his mind's eye, he saw himself as the serpent, tempting you with promises of enlightenment and ecstasy, leading you down the path of sin and salvation.
But his desires were not merely confined to the realm of dreams. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin found himself consumed by thoughts of you, his mind ablaze with fantasies of conquest and domination.
"I shall be your savior and your downfall," he whispered to the shadows, his voice a seductive lure that beckoned you into his embrace. "For in your innocence lies the key to my salvation, and in your corruption, the promise of eternal damnation."
And so, fueled by his insatiable hunger and boundless ambition, Rasputin set out to claim you as his own, using every ounce of charm and influence at his disposal to bend you to his will. For in the forgotten princess, he saw not just a vessel for his desires, but a pawn in his game of power and manipulation, a pawn he was all too willing to sacrifice on the altar of his own ambition.
That day, following another session of Rasputin imparting God's precepts, your sister, Anna, departed, leaving you alone with the man. Summoning all your courage, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a muffled murmur. "Rasputin, may I have a moment of your time?"
Surprised by the request, Rasputin turned his piercing gaze towards you, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Of course, my dear princess. What is it that troubles you?"
You hesitated, the weight of your words heavy upon your tongue, but with a deep breath, you found the resolve to speak. "I... I wish to learn about economics and life outside the castle."
Rasputin arched an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Economics, you say? A curious choice for a princess."
You glanced down at the floor, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you spoke. "My sister is learning about it from my father, and... and I fear for my future. If I am to be cast aside, I wish to be prepared."
Rasputin's expression softened, a glimmer of empathy shining through his enigmatic facade. "I see. You wish to carve your own path, regardless of the obstacles in your way."
You nodded, a sense of relief washing over you as Rasputin seemed to understand your plight. "Yes, precisely. Will you... will you teach me?"
A smile tugged at the corners of Rasputin's lips, his eyes alight with newfound admiration. "It would be my honor, Princess. I shall impart upon you the knowledge you seek, and together, we shall navigate the intricacies of the world beyond these walls."
With a sense of gratitude swelling within your heart, you stepped forward, surprising Rasputin with a brief embrace before bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, Rasputin. You have given me hope where there was none."
Rasputin returned the gesture, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he inhaled the sweet scent of your perfume, committing it to memory. "It is my pleasure, Princess. Fear not, for I shall be your guide in this journey of discovery."
And as you departed, a newfound sense of purpose burning within your soul, Rasputin watched you with a mixture of fascination and desire, knowing that this encounter had sealed your fates together in ways neither of you could have anticipated.
He closed his eyes, your scent still lingering in the air, a sweet temptation that beckoned to him. It was as if you had left a part of yourself behind, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and sweetness you brought into his life. With a soft sigh, Rasputin relished in the memory, savoring the fleeting sensation of your presence before it dissipated into the ether.
Woman was made for man, Rasputin mused, his thoughts drifting towards the biblical tale of Adam and Eve. Just as Eve was fair for Adam, you were made for him, his sweet temptation, a forbidden fruit that he longed to taste again and again.
But there was no time for lingering indulgence. With a sense of purpose burning within him, Rasputin quickly left the chamber, his steps echoing against the marble floors as he made his way to his quarters. The warmth of your touch still lingered upon his skin, igniting a fire within him that refused to be extinguished.
As he entered his private chambers, Rasputin wasted no time in undressing, his movements swift and purposeful as he discarded his clothes with practiced ease. His pants fell around his ankles, pooling at his feet, while he bit the hem of his shirt, pulling it high to reveal his semi-hard penis.
With a hunger that bordered on desperation, Rasputin took himself in hand, his touch firm and demanding as he stroked himself to full hardness. His mind was consumed by thoughts of you, kneeling before him, your eyes filled with devotion as you eagerly awaited his instruction.
Imagining your scent, your touch, Rasputin lost himself in a whirlwind of desire, his fantasies taking on a life of their own as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating pleasure of his own touch. With each stroke, he imagined your lips trailing kisses along his length, your hands exploring every inch of his body with a hunger that mirrored his own.
"Oh, my sweet princess," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he imagined you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with adoration as you worshipped at his feet. "You are my greatest temptation, my deepest desire. I shall make you mine, body and soul, and together, we shall conquer the world."
Driven by a primal need for release, Rasputin quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached the brink of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, he succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his climax washing over him in a tidal wave of ecstasy as he spilled himself onto the floor below.
As he lay there, spent and sated, Rasputin's mind was filled with visions of you, your image burning brightly in the darkness of his thoughts. For in that moment, he knew that you were not just a princess to be conquered, but a queen to be crowned, a partner in his quest for power and domination.
And as he drifted off to sleep, Rasputin whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, grateful for the sweet temptation that had entered his life and forever altered the course of his destiny.
The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, Rasputin made his way to the Palace library, where you awaited his arrival with a sense of eager anticipation. Dressed in his usual attire of flowing robes and unkempt hair, Rasputin exuded an air of mystery and authority as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention as he took his seat across from you.
With a soft smile, you greeted him, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you presented him with the gift—a delicate necklace adorned with a small cross. Rasputin's gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns before meeting your eyes with a look of genuine gratitude.
"Thank you, my princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a warm embrace. "This is a most thoughtful gift, and I shall cherish it always."
As you stepped forward to place the necklace around his neck, Rasputin allowed you to do so, relishing in the warmth of your touch as you arranged it in his robes. His heart swelled with affection as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with genuine fondness as he beheld your innocence and purity.
With a gentle smile, Rasputin blessed you, making the sign of the cross and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before the start of your lesson. Despite the temptation to indulge in more intimate gestures, Rasputin restrained himself, contenting himself with the simple pleasure of your company as you embarked on your journey of learning together.
As the lessons progressed, you found yourself drawn to Rasputin's enigmatic presence, your curiosity piqued by the tales of his past and the rumors that surrounded him. With a shy yet earnest expression, you broached the subject, your voice barely above a whisper as you dared to ask about his life outside the palace walls.
Rasputin's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes as he considered your question. "Ah, my dear princess, the rumors you have heard are but fragments of the truth, distorted by the whispers of those who seek to tarnish my reputation."
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Yes, it is true that I have wandered far and wide, seeking enlightenment and guidance from the divine. But depraved? No, my dear, I am merely a humble servant of God, seeking to fulfill my purpose in this world."
You listened intently, hanging on his every word as he shared glimpses of his past and the trials he had faced along the way. Despite the shadows that lingered in his past, you couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion and understanding towards him, drawn to the complexity of his character and the depth of his soul.
As the evening drew to a close, Rasputin bid you farewell with a kind smile, his eyes alight with warmth and affection as he promised to continue your lessons in the days to come. And as you watched him depart, a sense of gratitude welled within you, grateful for the opportunity to learn from a man whose wisdom and guidance would shape your destiny in ways you could never have imagined.
In the days that followed, Rasputin reveled in your presence, relishing the opportunity to share his knowledge with you under the veil of secrecy. Late into the night, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin would summon you to the library, where he would teach you about life beyond the castle walls.
With each lesson, you drank in his words like a parched traveler in the desert, eager to quench your thirst for knowledge and understanding. Rasputin proved to be an engaging teacher, his baritone voice weaving tales of far-off lands and exotic cultures that captured your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.
As the nights turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings became increasingly intimate, his lessons delving into the mysteries of the flesh and the pleasures of the senses. With each whispered confession and lingering touch, he awakened something primal within you, a hunger that burned with a fierce intensity.
And then, one fateful night, as the candles flickered and cast long shadows across the library shelves, Rasputin could resist you no longer. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he pinned you against the nearest shelf, his body pressed against yours as he accused you of consuming his thoughts, of tempting him away from God.
"I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. "Why would you say such things?"
Rasputin's expression softened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in his eyes as he gazed down at you. "Because it's true, my dear princess. You consume my thoughts, cloud my prayers, tempt me away from the path of righteousness with your sweet innocence."
You shook your head, a sense of disbelief washing over you as you struggled to comprehend his words. "But... but I never meant to..."
Before you could finish your sentence, Rasputin's hands found their way to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he held you in place. "You may deny it, my dear, but I see the truth in your eyes. You long for my touch, crave my kiss, even as you try to push me away."
You swallowed hard, the weight of his words bearing down upon you like a heavy burden. "But these are things I should only do with my husband," you protested weakly, your hands instinctively moving to push him away.
Rasputin stood firm, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he refused to let you go. "And what husband would want you?" he countered, his voice low and husky with desire. "An infertile, useless woman like yourself?"
You stammered, your mind racing as you struggled to find a response. "But... but there are women in the Bible who were infertile and still got married because their husbands wanted them," you argued, desperate to find some semblance of reason in the chaos of your thoughts.
Rasputin nodded, his eyes alight with a fierce intensity as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my dear, and I want you," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I desire you, I love you. Only I can give you what you desire, what you deserve."
You recoiled in surprise, the shock of his words reverberating through your very being. "But... but I'm sterile," you protested weakly, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "How could you possibly..."
Rasputin cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his expression unwavering in its determination. "It matters not," he declared, his voice filled with conviction. "With my seed, I can give you a child, fulfill your deepest desires. You need only let me."
You stared up at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in like a heavy anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Could it be true? Could Rasputin truly possess such power?
But as you looked into his eyes, burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, you knew that you had no choice but to believe. For in that moment, Rasputin was not just a man, but a force of nature, a tempest of desire and passion that threatened to consume you whole.
And as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you made a decision. With a trembling breath, you closed the distance between you, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating allure of Rasputin's embrace. For in his arms, you found not just desire, but salvation, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounded you.
Rasputin moaned against your mouth, his lips hungrily seeking yours as he savored the taste of your kiss. To him, your embrace was like water in the desert, a sweet temptation that he had longed to taste. With a fierce determination, he pressed you harder against the shelf, his hands roaming over your body with an urgency that mirrored his own desires.
As the books fell around you, you grasped onto the shelf for support, one hand holding it above you while the other clutched onto Rasputin's shoulder. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume your very soul.
Feeling your response, Rasputin picked you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs. With a sense of surrender, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you moaned his name against his lips.
"Rasputin," you whispered, the name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. "I don't know what's happening, but I want you."
Rasputin's eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and determination as he reassured you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I will guide you, my dear princess," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Trust in me, and I will show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."
With a sense of anticipation coursing through your veins, you surrendered yourself to Rasputin's embrace, allowing him to lead you into a world of forbidden desire and ecstasy. Together, you embarked on a journey of passion and exploration, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you that refused to be extinguished.
As Rasputin laid you against the table, sweeping aside the books with a careless gesture, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mingled with trepidation. Was this how you would lose your virginity? At a table in the library, with Rasputin's hungry gaze upon you?
Your thoughts were interrupted as Rasputin pulled the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sudden exposure, but Rasputin paid no mind, his lips descending upon your skin with a fervent hunger.
With a low moan, you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking against your sensitive flesh in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.
"Rasputin," you gasped, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the ecstasy of his touch. "Please, I need you."
Rasputin grunted against your breast, his lips trailing kisses along your skin with a fervent hunger, you felt a sense of overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. His touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a passion within you that threatened to consume your very soul.
"Call me Grigori," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "That's my name."
You nodded, your mind clouded with desire as you struggled to comprehend the intensity of your feelings. "I... I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed your lack of knowledge to him.
Rasputin's eyes gleamed with amusement, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "That's quite all right, my dear," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "I shall teach you."
With his guidance, you helped him remove his clothes, your fingers trembling with anticipation as you undid the buttons of his tunic. As the fabric fell away, leaving him clad only in his pants and the necklace you had given him, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you.
But when Rasputin undid his pants, exposing his enormous penis wrapped in dark, coarse curls like his beard, you couldn't help but gasp in surprise and fear at its size. "Is... is it supposed to be like that?" you questioned, your eyes wide with uncertainty as you looked up at him.
Rasputin chuckled, a deep rumble of amusement that reverberated through your very core. "No, my dear princess, not all men are gifted like me," he explained, his voice a seductive purr as he took your hand and led it to his throbbing member.
With his guidance, you began to caress him, your fingers exploring every inch of his length with a curiosity that bordered on fascination. Rasputin's breath hitched with pleasure as you spread the pre-cum to lubricate it, his hips rocking against your touch in a rhythm that mirrored your own desires.
Encouraged by his response, you pressed your thumb against the small hole of his red penis, marveling at its size and texture. "It's so large," you whispered, your voice filled with wonder as you continued to explore him with a newfound sense of curiosity.
Rasputin groaned in response, his eyes dark with desire as he urged you on with a husky whisper. "Yes, my princess, it is," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he guided your hand with a firm yet gentle touch. "But fear not, for I shall show you how to please me. Press a little harder, yes... just like that."
Emboldened by his encouragement, you pressed a little harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Rasputin's breath hitched in his chest. With each stroke, you became more curious, more eager to explore the depths of his desire and pleasure.
"Such a good girl," Rasputin praised, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of excitement coursing through your body
As Rasputin's penis leaked more pre-cum, you couldn't help but notice the glistening liquid coating your hand. Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "What is this liquid, Grigori? It's... slippery."
Rasputin took a moment to process your question, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he focused on the sensation of your hand on him. With a low chuckle, he finally responded, his voice husky with desire, "Ah, my dear princess, that is pre-cum. It's a natural lubricant that the body produces to prepare for intercourse."
Your eyes widened with surprise at his explanation, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the realization of what his body was preparing for. "I see," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued to stroke him, feeling the slickness of the pre-cum between your fingers.
But then, a curious glint entered your eyes as a thought occurred to you. "Do... do women produce this type of liquid too?" you questioned, a hint of innocence lacing your words.
Rasputin's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your question, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he realized where your thoughts were leading. "Oh, my princess, women have their own special way of preparing for intercourse," he replied, his voice dripping with suggestive intent. "But perhaps I should show you rather than explain."
With a sly grin, Rasputin guided your hand to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers tracing light circles against your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver running down your spine as he teased you with feather-light touches.
"Feel that, my dear?" Rasputin murmured, his voice a seductive purr as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "That's your body's way of preparing for pleasure, of inviting me inside you."
You moaned softly at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as desire surged through your veins. "I... I want you, Grigori," you whispered, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch.
Rasputin chuckled darkly, a hunger burning in his eyes as he pressed himself against you, his hardness pressing against your core. "Then let me show you, my dear princess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you how good it can feel to be mine."
He helped you remove your panties and lie down on the table. He maintained his reassuring demeanor, acknowledging the fear and uncertainty clouding your mind. With gentle yet firm hands, he positioned himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours as he spoke with honesty and candor.
"Princess, I won't lie to you. This may hurt at first," Rasputin admitted, his voice a soothing murmur that washed over you like a warm embrace. "But as you get used to it, you may find that you enjoy it. Trust me, my dear."
With a trembling nod, you clung to his shoulders, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. As Rasputin leaned down to kiss your collarbone and suck your breasts once more, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, mingled with the primal fear of the unknown.
But then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Rasputin guided himself inside you, his entry careful yet determined. As he predicted, you felt a sharp pain rippling through your body, causing tears to well up in your eyes as you cried out in discomfort.
"Please, Rasputin, it hurts," you whimpered, your voice trembling with anguish as you clung to him for support. "Make it stop."
Rasputin's heart ached at the sight of your tears, but he knew that he had to be strong for both of you. With a hoarse voice filled with reassurance, he whispered words of comfort as he continued to sink deeper into you, his movements slow and deliberate.
"It will get better, my dear. I promise," Rasputin murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he brushed away your tears with gentle kisses. "Just hold on to me, and trust in the pleasure that awaits you."
Despite the pain, you found solace in Rasputin's words, clinging to him with a fierce determination as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch. With each thrust, the pain began to subside, replaced by a faint glimmer of pleasure that stirred something deep within your soul.
And then, as if by magic, you felt a shift in sensation, a spark of pleasure igniting within you as Rasputin's penis brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside your core. With a gasp of surprise, you realized that the pain was fading, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure that threatened to consume your very being.
"Grigori," you moaned, your voice thick with desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with each thrust. "Don't stop, please."
Rasputin groaned in response, his movements becoming more urgent as he surrendered himself to the primal hunger that burned within him. With each thrust, he felt himself drawn deeper into you, his desire mingling with yours in a frenzy of passion and ecstasy.
"Gods, you feel so good, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you. "So tight, so hot. I never want to leave this place."
You moaned in response, the scrape of his penis against your pussy sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.
As Rasputin increased his thrusts, making the cross of his necklace bang against your chin with each movement, he seemed to go wild, his baritone voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Oh, my sweet temptation," he groaned, his words punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I'll fill you with my babies, hmm? You'll carry my seed, my mark, deep inside you."
His messy hair and beard framed his face as he leaned in closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "Your pussy, my dear princess, it's the best I've ever had. So sweet, so tight. You're mine now, mine alone."
With each thrust, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment becoming more explicit with each passing moment. "I'll give you everything you want, everything you desire," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I'll put the world at your feet, my dear. Just let me fill you, claim you as mine."
Rasputin slowed his movements, allowing you to savor the sensation of his cock dragging inside you. He gazed into your eyes with a mixture of desire and curiosity. His baritone voice was thick with anticipation as he posed the question that hung heavy in the air between you.
"Do you want my baby, my princess?" Rasputin whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he waited for your response. "Only I can give you that. Only I can fill you with my seed."
Your heart raced at his words, a mixture of desire and fear swirling within you as you struggled to find the words to respond. But before you could form a coherent thought, a whimper escaped your lips, a desperate plea for the fulfillment that only Rasputin could provide.
"Yes," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of the moment. "Yes, Rasputin, please. I don't want to be barren. I don't want to be a useless woman."
But Rasputin silenced your fears with a trail of kisses down your chin to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he declared his intentions with a fervent determination.
"You are not useless to me, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice laced with sincerity as he held you close, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "I will put a baby inside you. I will give you as many children as you want, whatever you desire. For now, you are mine, my sweet temptation."
With each word, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment echoing in the air around you. And as he closed his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily at your sweet breasts, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his touch.
"Such sweet breasts," Rasputin murmured between sucks, his voice thick with desire as he reveled in the pleasure of your virgin flesh. "So untouched, so pure. You are mine now, my dear. Mine to mold, mine to possess."
But then, in the midst of his ecstasy, Rasputin's pleasure was interrupted by a sudden scream of pain as his hair was yanked back and he was thrown onto the floor. With a startled cry, he looked up to see the king, your father, standing over him with a look of rage in his eyes.
"Father, no!" you screamed in shame, covering your breasts with your arms as you rushed to his side, only to be met with a sharp slap that sent you sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain.
"Silence, you wretched girl!" the king thundered, his voice filled with contempt as he glared down at you. "You are no daughter of mine, no princess of this kingdom. You are nothing but a disgrace, a stain upon our noble bloodline."
As your father's foot connected with your side, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath, Rasputin roared in fury, his voice reverberating off the walls of the library. "How dare you touch my sweet temptation!" he thundered, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.
With a primal growl, Rasputin launched himself at the king, his hands curled into fists as he sought to strike back against the man who dared to harm you. But the guards were quick to react, their grip tightening around Rasputin's arms as they delivered swift kicks to his legs, forcing him to his knees before the king.
"What do you think you're doing, Rasputin?" the king demanded, his voice laced with contempt as he glared down at the fallen man. "How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? I've heard rumors of your depravity, but I never expected such audacity from you."
Rasputin's nostrils flared with anger as he struggled against the guards, his eyes never leaving the king's face. "She is mine," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "And I will not let anyone stand in the way of what is rightfully mine."
As the king's fist collided with Rasputin's jaw, the sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the library, followed by a low grunt of pain from Rasputin. You screamed from the ground, begging your father to stop, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for mercy, but the king ignored you, his gaze fixed on Rasputin with a mixture of contempt and rage.
Ignoring your cries, the king grabbed a handful of Rasputin's hair, yanking his head back with a cruel force that made blood trickle down from Rasputin's nose. With a sneer of disgust, the king leaned in close, his voice dripping with disdain as he delivered his ultimatum.
"Leave this kingdom, Rasputin," the king spat, his breath hot against Rasputin's face. "Or I'll have you killed like the vermin you are."
Rasputin's eyes blazed with defiance, his voice a low growl of anger. "I'll go nowhere without her," he declared, his baritone voice resonating with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "She belongs to me, and I will not leave her behind."
The king's lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he pushed Rasputin away, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "She is of no use to me," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "But she is certainly not yours to claim."
Rasputin's gaze darkened with a hint of menace, his voice low and dangerous. "I will have her, one way or another," he threatened, his eyes flashing with an otherworldly intensity. "And if you stand in my way, I will unleash a curse upon this kingdom that will make your blood run cold."
Suddenly, the air in the library grew thick with a palpable tension, the lights dimming as if a shadow had fallen over the room. Books tumbled from their shelves, glass shattered on the floor, and a bone-chilling cold swept through the air, causing the king and his guards to recoil in fear.
With a triumphant smirk, Rasputin raised his hand, his voice echoing with a dark power as he summoned forth the spirits of the unseen world. "Feel the wrath of the unseen," he intoned, his voice a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine. "And know that I am not to be trifled with."
As the king and his guards stumbled back in fear, the guards holding Rasputin suddenly began to choke, their faces turning purple as if they were being deprived of air.
"You see, Your Majesty," Rasputin murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "You cannot control me. I am beyond your reach, beyond your power. And now, I demand that you give her to me. She belongs to me, body and soul."
The king's face contorted with rage as he stared at Rasputin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Never," he spat, his voice filled with fury. "She is my daughter, and I will not let her fall into the clutches of a madman like you."
Rasputin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intensity as he gazed down at the king, who was now struggling to breathe. "You should have listened to reason, Your Majesty," Rasputin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But now, you shall pay the price for your arrogance."
With a swift motion, Rasputin closed his fist, his fingers curling into a tight grip as he exerted his will upon the king. The air grew thick with a suffocating pressure, and the king fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck as he gasped for air.
You, still recovering from the shock of the confrontation, scrambled to your feet, your dress now hastily arranged as you rushed to your father's side. "Father, please!" you cried, tears streaming down your face as you tried to help him. "Stop this, Grigori!"
But Rasputin paid you no heed, his eyes fixed on the king as he continued to exert his dark power. "You dare to defy me, Your Majesty?" Rasputin growled, his voice low and menacing. "You are but a puppet in my hands, a pawn in my game."
As the king's struggles grew weaker, you found yourself torn between loyalty to your father and fear of Rasputin's wrath. Desperate to save your father, you crawled on your knees to Rasputin, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.
"Please, Rasputin," you begged, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "He's my father. I can't bear to see him suffer. Please, spare him."
For a moment, Rasputin hesitated, his intense gaze softening as he looked at you, his sweet temptation, pleading for mercy. The memory of his promise to give you anything you desired flashed through his mind, and with a sigh, he relented, his grip on your hand loosening.
"It's okay," he murmured, his baritone voice a soothing balm against the chaos surrounding you. "I won't kill your father."
You breathed a sigh of relief, tears still streaming down your face as you clung to Rasputin, grateful for his mercy. Behind you, your father coughed and struggled to catch his breath, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as Rasputin picked up his pants from the floor, hastily putting them on.
As Rasputin grabbed your hand, determination burning in his eyes, he gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my dear," he urged, his voice urgent yet reassuring. "We must leave before your father calls for the guards."
Your father, still catching his breath, shouted breathlessly for the guards as Rasputin pulled you along, running through the halls towards the stables. With each step, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement, knowing that your fate was now intertwined with Rasputin's.
As you reached the stables, Rasputin quickly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning the rows of horses for the fastest steed. Spotting a sleek black stallion in the corner, he wasted no time in approaching it, his movements confident and purposeful.
"This one," Rasputin declared, his voice authoritative as he reached out to stroke the horse's mane. "He will do."
With practiced ease, Rasputin saddled the horse, his movements swift and efficient as he prepared to make his escape. As he helped you onto the horse's back, he climbed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a protective embrace.
"Hold on tight, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice low and reassuring as he urged the horse into a gallop. "We have a long journey ahead of us, but together, we will overcome whatever challenges lie in our path."
And as the horse galloped away from the castle, Rasputin's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you close to him as you clung to him for dear life. With each beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, you felt yourself leaving behind the chaos and danger of the castle, riding towards an uncertain future with Rasputin by your side.
107 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hii I'm a new follower to your blog, but a quick question (this is after I read your 5 most hated Harry Potter characters, and I agree mostly, ESPECIALLY on Dumbledore): what's your opinion on Darco Malfoy?
Just curious...
Hi there! Thanks for following!! ^^
So, let’s talk about Draco. I always tread carefully when it comes to him because I don’t want to romanticize the character, but at the same time, reducing him (as Rowling does) to this über-evil bully feels shallow and shortsighted.
Draco is essentially a James Potter. He’s a rich, spoiled kid whose parents have always given him everything he wanted and treated him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And yes, lots of people claim Lucius was abusive, but I don’t think that’s accurate. Lucius was a classist fanatic with terrible ideas, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a bad parent. Some folks don’t understand that you can be a terrible human being while still treating your kids well. History is full of examples of people who were absolute trash as human beings but were doting parents, and vice versa: people revered for their contributions to peace or human rights but who, behind closed doors, were awful to their families (looking at you, Gandhi and Mother Teresa).
Draco trusted his father to the point that he felt comfortable writing to him and complaining about every minor inconvenience at Hogwarts. That’s not indicative of abusive or neglectful parenting—it’s quite the opposite. It shows a kid so confident in his parents’ support and protection that he doesn’t hesitate to make a fuss over, say, the Saturday meal in the dining hall. Draco, like James, also believes he has the right to pick on certain people based on what identifies them. Draco mocks people for being Gryffindors or Muggle-born, while James bullied Severus for being a Slytherin and having an interest in the Dark Arts. Both of them feel justified within their own moral frameworks to target specific groups. However, one thing we can say in Draco’s favor is that he never publicly stripped anyone or orchestrated a “prank” that nearly got someone killed by a werewolf (that was Sirius but still-)
That said, if there’s one way Draco differs from James, it’s in the political alignment of his parents. But ultimately, it’s the same situation: rich parents fervently instilling a set of values in their upper-class kids who, because of their privilege and never having been told “no,” completely believe in these ideas and stomp over anyone who challenges them. The only difference is that the values James’s parents passed on were “the good ones,” while Draco’s upbringing trained him to be a massive bigot.
Draco is the typical smug, self-satisfied kid from an ultra-conservative family who has never stopped to question those ideas—and why would he? They’re part of his privileged world. He has a comfortable, conflict-free life. His parents love and support him, his friends share the same beliefs, and in his social circle, these ideologies are considered virtuous. Why would he question them? Nothing in his life sets off any alarms. He’s never suffered, and this ideology has never negatively impacted him or his family.
Then Voldemort returns. The chaos in the Department of Mysteries happens, and Lucius falls from grace. Suddenly, Voldemort’s followers aren’t these wealthy, powerful wizards he always thought they were. They’re pawns to a psychopath who severely punishes anyone who becomes useless. That’s when Draco begins to realize this isn’t a game. It’s not something to joke about with his friends or mock other kids over during recess. This is war, and war costs lives. And he’s on the side of a madman who wants him to kill Dumbledore. But Draco doesn’t want to kill Dumbledore. Sure, Dumbledore’s a dick, and maybe he shouldn’t be headmaster because he clearly plays favorites, but just because Draco dislikes him doesn’t mean he wants him dead—let alone that he wants to be the one to do it.
Draco can be nasty, petty, and insufferable, but he’s not a murderer. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, but he has no choice because if he doesn’t, Voldemort will kill him and his family—or worse, kill his family first and then him, just to drive the point home.
Draco never particularly interested me as a character until this moment when he realizes what his ideology truly entails and what it means to follow someone like Voldemort. That’s when he stops being a kid playing at being a dark wizard and starts seeing the real consequences of it—and he doesn’t like what he sees. There’s a big difference between holding certain political ideas and being dragged into a spiral of gratuitous violence. He doesn’t want to be part of it. And I think that makes him incredibly human (despite whatever Rowling might say, because she can eat my ass). It’s something that happens to a lot of kids who grow up in environments like his.
I went to a Catholic school full of kids from ultra-conservative families, and I knew people like Draco. People who, as they grew older, started to realize that the ideas they’d been taught to repeat without much thought could become genuinely dangerous. I don’t think Rowling intended this—because she’s pretty one-dimensional when it comes to aligning her characters into good and bad camps—but what she ended up doing with Draco in the end was turning him from a caricature of a bratty bully into a painfully realistic character.
I have a lot of compassion for Draco. He learned his lesson the hard way. But honestly? That’s fine. He needed a reality check, and he got one.
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy meta#draco#lucius malfoy#narcissa malfoy#the malfoys#voldemort#death eaters#james potter#harry potter#harry potter meta#slytherin
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)
read essays ↓
1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.
2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.
3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.
4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.
5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.
6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.
7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.
8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.
9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe.
10.BODY My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.
— Sufjan Stevens
351 notes
·
View notes
Text
Since The First Shadow has folks talking about Henry’s queerness (or lack thereof), I wanted to share my take on it as someone who tends to interpret him as gay.
I’m not going to be talking about his relationship with Patty, though -- I can’t afford to see the play and don’t want to rely on secondary sources for this, so I simply can’t comment on it. (I’m sure they’re lovely together, though.)
To me, Henry’s queer-coding isn’t a question of whether he’s literally gay -- it’s a question of what role his villainy plays in the story.
The biggest non-Patty-related criticism against queer interpretations of Henry is that it would carry an uncomfortably homophobic implication: that queers are dangerous predators.
This was a common belief in the 80s, and the show references it by having Troy chuckle at the idea of Will getting "killed by some other queer" -- a prediction that comes symbolically and unpleasantly true when Joyce finds him with one of Vecna’s vines literally shoved down his throat.
It's tempting to try and solve this problem by interpreting Henry as straight -- the homophobic implications of his child-assaulting villainy will disappear if he's not queer, right?
Well... in my opinion, no.
A key aspect of Henry's character is that he's different. Whether you interpret that difference as queerness, neurodivergence, or simply that he has powers -- the fact remains that he is fundamentally the sort of person whom society looks down upon with fear and suspicion.
If he’s not a predatory queer, then he's a remorseless psychopath. If he's not a remorseless psychopath, then he's a vessel for an evil alien. There's no way to escape the implication that he’s dangerous because he’s different.
Eddie’s character resonates with this principle too. Indeed, our introduction to him is a monologue in which he complains about being treated with suspicion just because he’s different.
Given their similarities in this regard, I think it’s interesting that the show endears us to Eddie in the same breath it makes us fear Vecna. It almost feels like a test--
We know you’ll sympathize with a weirdo who sells drugs to troubled minors when you get to see things from his perspective, but can you sympathize with a weirdo who hurts troubled minors when you don’t get to see things from his perspective? Will you jump to unfair conclusions about Henry in the same way the town jumps to unfair conclusions about Eddie?
My point here isn’t that Henry did nothing wrong or that his villainy is justified -- I’m pretty sure he did commit the murders Eddie was scapegoated for and I’m pretty sure that’s a bad thing -- but he’s always held at arm’s length from the audience. The show plays the role of Jason, encouraging us to blindly hate him on gut instinct instead of giving him a fair trial.
It’s an easy test to fail, because it does seem like we get to see Henry’s perspective -- he has a whole villain speech, after all.
But the trouble is, this speech takes place within NINA. What we’re watching is footage that has been curated by his abuser and shown through the eyes of a traumatized girl who barely understands what happened -- secondary sources who are invested in viewing him as a threat.
Consider that Henry’s hairstyle mysteriously changes during the massacre. It’s one of those subtle costuming choices that isn’t meant to be consciously picked up on, but which registers at the back of our minds and leaves us feeling unsettled -- this Henry isn’t like the Henry we were looking at before.
The obvious way of interpreting this is that the mask has finally slipped -- the “nice” Henry was fake, and now we see him for who he “really” is. But I’m not inclined to interpret it that way, because of all the hairstyles they could have chosen... they just so happened to opt for one that resembles Brenner. (Pun intended.)
This isn’t Henry with his mask off -- this is Henry as Brenner wants him to be.
Fear-mongering over the existence of queer people has long been a useful tool for those in power -- in the 80s, fear of AIDS did the job nicely -- and so too has Brenner forged Henry into a tool to further his own goals, no regard given to the harm he causes in the process.
Like the “predatory queer”, Henry is defined on his oppressor’s terms, and like Eddie, it makes him a useful scapegoat. He only became what he did because of an unethical institution, and treating him as the problem is just as short-sighted as blaming gay men for the AIDS crisis.
That isn’t to say Vecna hasn’t become a genuine threat, though. Will makes a prediction as to how S5 is going to end--
--and while I’m not expecting things to end as violently as Will implies here -- that’s not Will’s thing -- I do believe that Vecna is going to be defeated by his hand. As tragic as Vecna’s origin was, he still made his own choices once he was free from Brenner, and he’s likely too far gone at this point to be capable of earning his happy ending.
But that’s what makes it so important that Will gets his happy ending.
Queer characters have been exclusively cast as villains or tragic sadbois for so long that I can completely sympathize with people’s hesitance to embrace Henry as a tragic queer villain.
But villains only exist within the context of the heroes who challenge them... and in a show about a queer-coded villain who personifies the anger and despair of being abused for what you are, a loving gay boy who breaks the cycle of abuse by learning that he has the right to be the hero of his own story is the perfect foil for him.
#stranger things#the first shadow#byler#henry creel#eddie munson#martin brenner#will byers#my analysis#tfs spoilers
182 notes
·
View notes
Note
I just wanna know why so many adult mha smut creators say they age up minors as if it justifies their attraction to them. Would you say it's okay to age up Eri too?
Ah, aging-up fictional characters, my favorite controversial topic! ♥ You know, I was low-key anticipating an anon to drop this kind of question, sooner nor later (what a pity you didn't have balls to come off-anon tho!). I've had my fair share of childish anons before, and trust me, those went straight into the digital dumpster. But hey, this time, I've decided to lay it all out on the table, crystal clear 🙅
You know, I've done it all – murder, rape, summoned demons, even glorified Satan and had several children killed in my stories. But guess what? Not a single pair of handcuffs in sight! 😎 And don't get me started on the horror section at any bookstore - it's like a buffet of dreadful deeds.
Let's be real, the purity police can take a hike. There's something oddly fishy about the fact that fanfic, mostly crafted by awesome writers, gets the brunt of the criticism or some ridiculous accusations, especially the smutty bits, while the gruesome stuff gets a free pass 🤷
Look, folks, it's all about context. Fiction is a realm where creativity knows no bounds, right? So, if I want to age-up a character for a mature storyline, I'll go for it 🤷 Look, it's all a part of the creative process. Fiction is like a playground where we can swing from the monkey bars of imagination, right? Aging-up fictional characters is a common practice in creative communities, and it's important to remember that these characters exist solely within the realm of fiction - they are not real, so it doesn't hurt them in any single way. It allows creators to explore different scenarios and relationships without crossing any ethical boundaries :) Also! Aging-up characters isn't some sneaky scheme to write "inappropriate" content about youngsters. It's about taking characters you adore or find fascinating and giving them a new lease on life. It's like those college AU fanfics for characters in their late 30s or kidfic for full-grown adults. It's all about exploring different phases of their lives. So, whether it's smutty or not, the essence remains the same 😎 You see, the whole "aging-up" thing in fanfic/fanart is just common sense. We're not into the whole "let's sexualize kids" scene, so we gracefully turn our characters into adults. It's all about creating content featuring responsible, grown-up folks. And let's get real, if reading about something meant you were all in on it, then every mystery novel reader out there would have to be either an undercover detective nor a murderer 😎 So let's dial down the judgment and just enjoy our creative freedom, shall we?
But you know, trying to equate aging-up with things like grooming/pedophilia is like saying eating a banana is the same as piloting a spaceship because they're both hands-on activities. Let's keep our perspective here, folks, and not get too carried away with the terminology 😂
If you don’t want to read those stories (containing aged-up characters/dark content/smut with aged-up characters) - then don’t read them - problem solved!
Oh, how times have changed, my friend! Back in the day, I used to let all those comments and anonymous hate bring me down. But guess what? I've evolved, and I've got news for the critics: I write what I want to write, and nobody's gonna tell me otherwise. I've got this little thing called free will, and I'm not about to hand it over to anyone who thinks they can dictate what I should or shouldn't put on paper. If that means ruffling a few feathers, so be it. I've shed my tear-soaked days and embraced the fact that I couldn't care less about those sensitive souls who can't handle a bit of fiction. So, to all you "snowflakes" out there, if you're trying to stifle my creativity, good luck, because I'm just going to crank up the heat and write even smuttier storylines with aged-up characters! Thanks for the encouragement, dear Nonnie – you've only fueled my fire! 🔥😎 I might even consider writing some very dark-themed fic with aged-up Eri, why not! 😈
Oh, hey Anon! Quick question for you. Have you ever picked up a Stephen King book? You know, the master of horror and suspense? Well, if you have, you might've noticed that he doesn't shy away from some pretty explicit content, and not just with adults. Sometimes he writes about kids too, and they're sometimes off legal age as well! Surprise, surprise. You can stroll into a bookstore, grab a book off the shelf, and guess what? There's a good chance that some of those books contain content that would make a sailor blush! Yet, the world isn't collapsing because of it. The point is, even in mainstream literature, you'll find situations that might make you raise an eyebrow. So, let's not throw stones at age-up fiction creators when the literary giants sometimes walk on the same edge, right? 😏
In the conclusion, if you've got a problem with aging-up fictional characters, dear Nonnie, you might want to take a chill pill and remember that it's all just a bit of fun in the end ♥ Well, you know what would truly make my day? If you took the liberty to hit that "block" button with glee and gracefully vanished from my interactions. And if, by some chance, you decide to stick around, don't hold your breath for a response. I'll be too busy conjuring up some fiery, smutty tales featuring Bakugo or Shoto or any other character I like to bother with your, shall we say, less-than-enlightening queries. But hey, chin up, pal – here's a little nugget of wisdom from your "older and wiser" friend: go get a life. It's an absolute game-changer 😜 I'm tagging some content creators who write dark fics or use aged-up characters and might face similar anons/anon hate: @mrskokushibo @ectologia @kyojurismo @bakubunny
#aged up characters#asked and answered#anonymous#go get a life#your ask made my day though#I'v been waiting for so long for an anon like you! ♥#i'm being sarcastic
203 notes
·
View notes
Note
You might be too busy to see this, but I'm curious about your writing process. How were you able to come up with your poems and short stories? :0 Do you search for some inspirations as well? Writing poems and stories are something that I'm kind of struggling with but it's a skill that I wanted to master, I would like to practice it again sometime :')
Love lots!
I just love to write, so its mostly easy. But I like to write an idea down first let’s say — “A cold heart in an electrical outlet.”
Then I imagine a tone. Who is talking about this cold heart in the electrical outlet? Am I phrasing it like an angry wife? Is it an ad? Somber? Abstract? Infantile?
A infantile abstract ad could be something like → someone selling the sensation of the cold meeting the electricity? Or saying that the best way to stay warm (for cold hearted folks) is to do that action? So it could be like:
“Plug that cold, mean heart into a socket— feel the buzz-buzz-buzz of the mystery-wonder! Of excitement within. Feel sparks in the air as you give your chest, your love, your life to an unknown hole in the wall…..!”
That connects the emotionality of “heart”, is also abstract, but keeps the schlocky speech of advertisements, while also feeling a little infantile in its descriptions.
If it’s angry wife who’s also somber— why’s the wife angry? It’s with her husband, right? Does she feel he has a cold heart? Is it her heart that’s cold? Is she so mad he keeps bugging her to clean up after him, she just wants to take him and shove him into the fucking electrical socket—!!!!!!
“My dearest, that cold heart of yours is a barren wasteland, not even the spark from a thousand electrical outlets could ignite the embers of warmth inside you…. If such things even exist.”
:) I hope that makes sense
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Musings On Sacrifice And Happiness Regarding Ram & Bheem
@hag-lad this snowballed a bit and took me a few days, but I was not making empty promises in the tags; it is done.
All right folks. This little analysis was inspired by this post by @enigma-the-mysterious and is an exploration of Ram and Bheem's attitudes toward their mortality and potential deaths. Neither of these two knuckleheads (affectionate) seem even the least bit apprehensive at the thought of their own deaths and I want to unpack that.
Content warning for talk of death, and disregard for personal safety, as per the movie.
Bheem: "I'll die with pride."
[Note: this section will be a little less of a deep dive into subtext and deeper meaning/conjecture and more a general explanation of the text, mainly because Bheem, barring the necessity of his Akhtar persona, functions narratively as the "what you see is what you get/I said what I meant" type. But it's fun to talk about him, and I'm making a culminating point at the end of this so I need this here for the sake of ✨️balance✨️]
Given his role as the protector for the Gond people, I would argue that it's reasonable to assume Bheem is, at any given point, ready to sacrifice himself for those he considers to be under his protection, whether directly a part of his tribe or not, especially based on the description of the protector given by Venkat Avadhani; yes Bheem is often likened to a tiger within the fandom (I do this too), but I think the imagery presented of a man willing to break a tiger's teeth and pry open its jaws to save someone is incredibly visceral and indicative of how far Bheem is willing to go as just one person.
Bheem lives with the knowledge that there's always a high chance that he will die as a natural outcome of his role among his people, as evidenced by how he doesn't promise his return when comforting Ram, saying instead "If we get out safely, I'll come meet you again."
And if he dies for the sake of ensuring that others get to live, that's a net positive for him; his purpose as protector fulfilled.
His entire line to Ram before he leaves to rescue Malli is a verbal acknowledgement of how much love he holds for his friend and an assurance to Ram that he'll have comfort in his final moments should they come to pass; he's not actively seeking to die, and he'll do his best to avoid dying, but he won't deem it an untimely tragedy should it happen. And having forged such a close friendship with Ram, that's another net positive he's been party to, so he can die with pride having done his job and holding the memory of Ram in his heart in his final moments.
Ram: "I will die gladly, Uncle."
I'm not gonna ease into this idea, I'm too eager so I'm just going to lay it out: Alluri Rama Raju does not live for himself and does not pursue his mission with his wellbeing in mind. Ram operates under the notion of being an instrument of the revolution and, even in times of his most heinous acts, regards himself as such rather than as a person. This is ultimately a topic for another dissection, but to tie it into the point of this post: when a tool breaks, do you weep? Does the tool?
I'm not going to wax poetic about material loss versus emotional loss; there is a nuance there that begs for a much longer word count. However, I will underline the point I'm making about Ram and how he regards his life.
Ram is given the mantle of being the weapon of the revolution at a very young age and we are told that he has worked for 15 years toward his (and his father's) goal; if you subscribe to the ideology that your life is that of a tool meant to achieve a goal, rather than as evidence of a living being, how will that change how you regard that life? Is it something precious outside of the mission?
Ram has a severe reckless disregard for his personal safety; jumping into a throng of protesters with nothing but a lathi as his weapon/protection being the biggest example of this.
(look at him go. wild. i'm armchair diagnosing him as clinically unwell.)
Ram is well aware of his prowess as a weapon and that gives him the confidence and internal permission to take wild risks without a moment's hesitation; he also knows that, ultimately, a weapon, if broken beyond repair, is replaceable; while he isn't looking to break himself, he certainly isn't being precious with his existence either.
And I would posit that he functions on a day to day basis under the need to accomplish his mission, get the weapons for his people and expel the British; beyond that? I wouldn't put money on Ram having planned for the future, or even having thought of making it to whatever future might be there for him. Though this idea is more of a headcanon than anything else; feel free to agree with or dismiss it as you like.
Then comes his ideological shift in the face of Bheem's rousing defiance of the Empire, and Ram's participation in it, in front of the people of Delhi at the whipping post.
Ram is forced to reckon with the fact that in his bid to be the weapon that brings about the downfall of the British Empire, he has effectively put that weapon into the hands of the enemy and allowed it to be wielded against the people he has been trying to liberate, and he knows this. The thought has been building for some time, as evidenced by his letter to Sita, but being ordered to flog Bheem expedited the process of cementing it as truth, with the final acknowledgement of that truth happening during Komuram Bheemudo.
But what to do with that realization?
What do you do when your purpose is thrown at your feet and you're forced to look at the culmination of your life's efforts as something that has been horribly corrupted and been rendered ultimately impotent? Let's me be specific with this rhetorical bit: What is Ram meant to do when looking at his guilt made manifest in the wounds littering Bheem's body, put there by his hand? Guilt that has been looming over his actions since his final shot in his village at his father's back?
(do you ever think about the fact that they show us the moment Ram stopped genuinely smiling until the day he met Bheem?...i do)
After the flogging Ram says Bheem is a volcano; I want to take that metaphor and turn it in my hands a bit to say I'd regard Bheem more as the catalyst for the eruption of people in Delhi, the introduction of magma into the chamber that triggers the previous buildup to come rushing forth; again another analysis for another time. Suffice it to say Bheem's actions and defiance in the face of the British and his torture incite immediate and tangible results in a way that Ram's methods from the inside never have and never would have been able to.
Here's where I'm going to bring it back to the idea of Ram and his happiness to potentially die for Bheem
Ram pins his hopes of a successful revolution onto Bheem. He doesn't seem the type to excuse failure in any capacity in regard to himself, and he has just been made painfully and undeniably aware that what he has been doing for the past 4 years has not been working; time to effectively decommission himself as the weapon. And if he dies, well, such is the way of things, no? Ram is beyond skilled in a great many things, especially combat, but I doubt he's ever regarded himself as invincible, he gets hurt too badly and far too often for that to make sense. Luck eventually runs out. He can do what needs to be done, he has every confidence in that, but he's aware of the possibility that doing so will come at the cost of his life. And with all that he has done up to the point of his about face after Bheem's flogging, he's more than ready to pay that price in his own blood.
Ram's life is not his, at least not by his estimation, and if he can keep Bheem alive, his own life is fine to be forfeit. He can die happy knowing Bheem still lives, with the added bonus of knowing the revolution will continue in his absence. At least in death he will have successfully done something good for his people and country.
To Summarize:
Both men are at peace with the idea of their respective deaths: Ram ultimately because he doesn't see his death as a loss if Bheem is still alive, and Bheem because he doesn't see his death as a tragedy if it means saving the life of another, especially with the knowledge that he can hold his friendship with Ram in his heart as he dies.
Though of course, within the context of the movie, neither of them has to die for the other, and I like to think that after the events of the movie they will gladly keep each other alive and never even think to regard doing so as a burden.
And that's where I'll end this analysis. If you made it this far, or just skipped to the summary, thank you for reading!
#long post#rrr meta#rrr analysis#rrr#rise roar revolt#komuram bheem#my post#cw mention of death#alluri rama raju
44 notes
·
View notes