#thinking i value more in someone else's life is horrifying for this i merely have to assume i start at zero nay negative so i do not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ailelie · 2 years ago

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Not!Fic: Jiang Yanli to the Rescue

While in seclusion, Lan Xichen decides to try something dangerous. Empathy should not be attempted alone, but he needs to know how he missed A-Yao's true nature. He needs to see. Not yet ready enough to call forth either of his sworn brothers, he decides to call forth someone of a more gentle temperament, but who knew A-Yao during his years in Koi Tower.

At first, Lan Xichen cannot reach Jiang Yanli. That makes sense; she is at rest. She is likely on her way to being reborn if she hasn't already been, but he tries once more. This time his desperation for answers, love, betrayal, and resentment thread through the music.

This time Jiang Yanli answers. However, the music has tied a tight bond between them and as he views her life, she views his. She watches the world turn against her brother. She watches as the news of her husband's death spreads. As she dies. As her son is raised partially by the man who orchestrated so many deaths. And she says no.

Jiang Yanli pulls on Lan Xichen's core, wraps it in her own resentment, and pushes them both backward in time. She does not do this thoughtfully or knowingly. The actions are all instinctual, the actions of a mother and a sister who refuses to allow her family pain.

Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen awaken tangled together in the Hanshi. Lan Xichen is horrified, but Jiang Yanli is not. She doesn't know what she did, but she knows where and when they are. Before they can make plans, however, they are discovered.

Jiang Yanli acts quickly on her feet and explains that she and Lan Xichen had been discussing an alliance between their families. Then she turns to Lan Xichen and adds, "A-Xian will not marry out, not completely."

Lan Xichen turns to those who found them and says, "As you can see, we still have much to discuss. Perhaps we are at an advanced enough stage to take this to my uncle?"

Jiang Yanli nods. "We may as well."

As they leave and begin walking toward his uncle's study, Jiang Yanli says quietly, "I will fight for our brothers, but you must fight for A-Yao. Besides his mother, I do not know he ever had much love."

Lan Xichen chokes at that and stops walking. "I loved him."

Jiang Yanli looks down and sighs. "I love my brother, but I never stopped my mother from whipping him. Every time Zidian broke his skin, he knew I was choosing her over him. He still loved me, but I do not think he ever believed A-Cheng and I loved and valued him in the same way. Did your A-Yao ever see you choose him over anyone else? We're peacekeepers, you and I. We strive to maintain harmony, but by doing so, we hurt the ones we love because we choose what is easy and calm over changing the situation that is harming them."

"So it was my fault."

Jiang Yanli shakes her head. "No. It was not. It is not. We merely stepped aside, allowing those who are at fault access to our loved ones. We will not do that again, though."

"We will not," Lan Xichen agrees.

They reach Lan Qiren and go inside to talk with him. They do not speak of traveling to the past. Instead, both discuss how they've noticed an attachment between Lan Wanji and Wei Wuxian, but how neither boy yet seems to understand what they are feeling.

When Lan Qiren refuses to accept this, Jiang Yanli bows her head and requests permission to speak of her brother as she knows him. She explains him as a child who has always wished to belong, who is brilliant, but too often chastised for his genius. She explains that his mind moves quickly and he is too often bored, which inevitably leads to trouble. "If you give him a challenge, you will be pleased by the results."

Lan Qiren turns to Lan Xichen. "You agree with Maiden Jiang's assessment?"

"I do," he answers, "if only for my brother's sake."

Lan Qiren agrees to set a challenge. After class, he calls Wei Wuxian back and gives him a partially destroyed journal, a poetry scroll, and an old book. Each one has partial information on a lost talisman. He asks Wei Wuxian to recreate the talisman. Then he leaves while the young man is sputtering questions and already thumbing through the journal. When he leaves, he notices Lan Wanji hovering nearby and realizes that Lan Xichen may have been correct about the nascent attachment.

"Do not help Wei Wuxian with his task," he tells his nephew, "but if he asks for additional books, you may locate them for him. If he needs someone to talk with, you may listen."

Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen begin making plans. Jiang Yanli has decided to help both of her brothers. Neither one will lose their cores. Her parents will not die. Lotus Pier will not fall to the Wen. She urges Lan Xichen to focus on Meng Yao. She basically pushes him out the gate and when he protests that they do not know each other yet, she points out that if the Cloud Recesses do not fall, they will not meet and spend those weeks together. He cannot wait for fate; he must act.

(Selfishly, Jiang Yanli wants Meng Yao neutralized. She does not think Lan Xichen can kill him, but love and affection can sometimes win over swords. She wants Meng Yao to choose Lan Xichen over his father because then this scary, horrifying man will be fighting for her family, rather than against it).

Once Lan Xichen is gone, Jiang Yanli spends some time thinking in the kitchen. Then she seeks out her fiance while his cousin is occupied elsewhere and tells him that she will ask her parents to dissolve the agreement between them.

"Why?" Jin Zixuan asks, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I have already chosen you, but I want you to choose me," Jiang Yanli explains. "We both deserve a happy, loving marriage, do we not?"

"We do," her future husband says slowly, still waiting for the catch.

"I will woo you," she says, startling him. She hands him a small basket of his second-favorite sweets. Inside the basket is a note explaining how she first began to like him when she saw him helping train the young disciples at the Tower.

Before I saw you, I was simply making the best of the situation. I had hoped that I would find someway to love you, that we would find someway to be happy. Then I saw your patience and gentleness teaching those children. You encouraged them without belittling them. I did not fall in love with you then, but I did realize that I someday could.

Quietly Jiang Yanli works to gather information. She talks with teachers and shares laughing stories of how teachers at Lotus Pier had despaired over her brothers. She weaves in a story about fire repelling talismans. She compliments the library and comments how proud the children might be to see their talisman work adorning the walls.

She sets a task for her brothers as well. She asks them to create additional defenses for Lotus Pier, describing the nightmare of her first life. "You will think of something impossible," she tells Wei Wuxian. Then she turns to Jiang Cheng, "But you will make it work. You understand our home the best of us. You know how to improve the defenses we already have. Wei Wuxian will dream up new ones with his talisman work or some array. Then you will find a way to get his work into place."

Both of her brothers puff up at her praise.

Jiang Yanli is not a mastermind, but from Lan Xichen's memories she knows who is. She seeks out Nie Huaisang. She does not tell him of the future, but instead tells him of Wen Qing. She knows that Wen Qing conducted a core transfer and that Nie Mingjue died from a Qi deviation. She tells Nie Huaisang that Wen Qing can save his brother's life if he can manage to free her from the Wen. "Save her family," she urges him, "And she may be willing to testify against her uncle and explain how he killed your father."

Finally, she seeks out Lan Wanji and tells him that Wei Wuxian, while genius in many areas, understands little of love. "He will always assume the worst, because he fears he is not worthy," she tells him. "Sometimes he does not believe even Jiang Cheng and I love him. Be blunt. Be shameless. Be clear. Do not break my brother's heart."

Lan Wanji gapes at her, his ears burning. Then she remembers that Lan Wanji is inexperienced as well and does not yet know how to read Wei Wuxian either. "My brother talks a lot. He says what is most important casually and deflects when he wants something."

She remembers then listening years upon years ago when Jiang Cheng grouched at Wei Wuxian and asked why he'd invited the Second Jade to Lotus Pier and whether he really thought Lan Wanji would want to find a girl, as if Lan Wanji were capable of such desires. "He may ask you to visit, but treat it as a joke so that it hurts less when you refuse. If he offers to find you companionship, please know that he only wants to make you unattainable so that it hurts less when you do not choose him. Do you understand?"

"He lies."

She shakes her head. "No, he does not. If you visited, if you showed interest in meeting a local girl, he would follow through and hide the pain of his heart behind a smile. He always puts himself last. He does not let himself hope because he has known far too much disappointment. Do you understand?"

"Wei Ying hides."

"Exactly."

Jiang Yanli continues her soft wooing of her husband, brainstorms ways to neutralize his cousin, and cultivates a friendship with Wen Qing. Her brothers present their ideas for saving Lotus Pier from the attack of her nightmares and she tasks them with implementing it without their parents' knowledge. Then she tasks them with protecting the Cloud Recesses and asks them to work with Lan Wanji. She sees Nie Huaisang scheming and trusts that he will be able to spirit the Dafan Wen away from danger.

When Lan Wanji is confused by her brother, she listens and helps him interpret what Wei Wuxian really means. When Lan Qiren shows her Wei Wuxian's successful reconstruction of the lost talisman, she only smiles and says it is as expected. We Wuxian can be infuriating in what he accomplishes; he does not understand what is easy or complex.

She watches as Lan Qiren commands more of a baffled Wei Wuxian's time and watches Lan Wanji begin to pine. She is pleased, though, to overhear him being blunt with his praise and refusing to let Wei Wuxian wriggle free from compliments.

She tells Wei Wuxian that it is okay to like and want Lan Wanji. He gapes at her she advises him to watch his ears for his blushes. The two are adorably awkward around each other and she regrets she sent Lan Xichen away because he would enjoy watching this as well.

She writes him letters.

She finally decides on how to handle Jin Zixun. She asks him for help wooing Jin Zixuan. "You are his cousin. If we do eventually wed, you will remain one of his closest advisors. Why shouldn't I seek out your expertise?"

She builds up the future he would have when Jin Zixuan is Sect Leader--all the prestige with none of the work, a trusted advisor rather than an errand boy. She mourns how his uncle misuses him. She asks for his help choosing a gift and laments how her mother's family is best known for its poisons. She describes learning how to make one of the poisons.

She is turning Jin Zixun into a weapon and aiming him at her future father-in-law. The action sickens her, but she does not sway from her course.

The future will be a better one.

(Meanwhile, in the Unclean Realms, Lan Xichen seeks out Meng Yao's company and defends him against slander. He finds he enjoys flustering his younger sworn brother. He helps him with his work. He knows now that Meng Yao is slow to trust. Once he learns that Meng Shi yet lives, he immediately leaves to purchase her freedom. He buys Sisi's as well. Then he brings them both to Meng Yao and promises them all a home in Gusu should they ever wish to leave Qinghe. He asks Meng Shi for permission to woo her son. He tells her that Meng Yao does not need to be the son of a famed cultivator for him to love him, that he does not care for legitimacy. He cares only for Meng Yao.)

The war still happens, but this time the Cloud Recesses do not burn. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng's protections hold for the most part, funneling the invaders into smaller points. The library, now covered with various safety talisman from the young disciples, does not burn down. The Yin iron remains hidden and safe. After the Cloud Recesses stand firm, the Wen call for indoctrination.

Her father refuses to send anyone and so the Wen come to Lotus Pier early. Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu enter her home, but they do not leave it. Jiang Yanli saves Wei Wuxian from her mother's whip. (The scar now on her back is one she wears proudly). When Wen Chao's awful woman sends her flare for help, her brothers' new defenses hold extremely well.

Lotus Pier does not fall. No one loses their Core.

The war still happens. This time, though, Wei Wuxian does not learn to wield resentment. The thought experiment remains only a thought experiment. Jiang Yanli refuses to remain home and safe while her family fights.

But Jiang Yanli remembers wielding resentment as a spirit and she remembers how Lan Xichen's own resentment had called to her.

"If the Ghost Path is the way to win," she tells him, "then we must walk it, not my brother."

Lan Xichen reluctantly agrees. In this world, Meng Yao is not their spy. She tells Jin Zixuan about him and wrangles a promise to be kind. Then she basically grabs Meng Yao and forcibly introduces them.

"I know you're a Nie," she tells Meng Yao, "but your brother needs help. His father will lose this war for us without you." Then she leaves and trusts the man she knows her future husband to be.

She and Lan Xichen try to figure out how to walk the Ghost Path. Jiang Yanli refuses to give in when Lan Xichen is ready to give up. "I don't think controlling them is in either of our natures," Jiang Yanli says one evening. "But perhaps we can help them control themselves. The Yin Iron must be very loud. We cannot be louder or stronger, but perhaps we can cut through the melody with a catchier counterpoint."

The answer ends up being a form of Empathy. They take on the resentment, fury, and despair of the corpses and ghosts, but offer back relentless love and hope. They share their own pain and affirm again and again that the spirits are not alone.

Wei Wuxian figures out what they're doing and demands to help. Jiang Yanli knows her brother too well to refuse, but she requests he bring Lan Wanji and Jiang Cheng as well. Then, glancing at Lan Xichen, she adds Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang.

"Nie Huaisang will mediate between Meng Yao and his brother if needed," she says.

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli share their method of freeing the corpses from Wen Ruohan's control. Surprisingly, only Nie Huaisang manages to replicate their results. The others, she realizes while talking with Lan Xichen later, have not touched resentment yet.

Wei Wuxian appoints himself their bodyguard while they play. Lan Wanji insists on playing Cleansing each night. Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao keep the rest of the camp from figuring out the secret. Nie Huaisang continues to practice.

(She catches Lan Wanji and Wei Wuxian talking one evening and watches when Lan Wanji kisses her brother. Wei Wuxian is useless for a full day afterwards. But then he and Lan Wanji are nearly inseparable).

(She continues wooing her future husband. He talks with her more now. When the war ends, he asks her in private to marry him. With no Lotus Pier to rebuild or brothers in crisis over Sect management or a secret lost core, she agrees).

The war is still bloody and awful. Her father dies in one battle, but her mother lives and they still win. Instead of a sword through Wen Ruohan's back, it is a needle in his neck that fells him. He remains alive, but paralyzed so that the other Sects may prosecute and execute him.

Nie Huaisang's plans finally come to fruition. The Dafan Wen and anyone else who was a civilian or noncombatant are allowed to live. They still lose their lands, but Jiang Cheng surprises her by offering Yunmeng for new settlements. Jiang Yanli sees the blush staining his cheeks when he looks at Wen Qing and realizes she'd missed his affections before. She stands before her mother can object and reiterates the invitation.

Wen Qing agrees on the behalf of her people, but states she will remain behind for a time. She has a promise to keep and she gives Nie Huaisang a small nod.

Jin Guangshan does not become Chief Cultivator. Lan Xichen asks Meng Yao to marry him.

The work is not yet over, but the world is already a better one.

#mdzs #jiang yanli #time travel fix-it #not!fic

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yoonalgc · 1 year ago

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( ... ) “Oh, uh, that’s the classmate I was telling you about! The one that has my yoga notes? Be right back!” He rips his arm away from the cheerleader dragging him towards the DJ booth with an apologetic nod ( the chick was hellbent on requesting some slow song by some artist he’d already forgotten a second after she said it ) and shuffles over to Yoona, a hand pressed to his stomach. “Yoona! Hey! I was just… I was just heading back to the bathroom! You didn’t try any of that weird dip did you? It really messed me up. Is someone holding our place in line? Better get back there or we’ll be waiting all ni - Oh… Ow, ugh…” At least if he learned nothing else from this night, he’d leave with the knowledge that switching his major to acting was always an option. He takes a few more steps in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be, uh, right back - “

Yoona struggles with her choice to be offended. First, she is partially aware of Byeongkwan's status as a bit of a pity date. That much is clear now that she thinks back on it. The clumsily arranged proposal too bombastic for her liking and his befuddled expression.

( Oh, she would not go on to mention the shirts. What a horrifying concept — to have her deadpan face plastered on fabric for everyone on campus to see. At least one could pass it off as an artistic indie band graphic tee in their spare time. The mere thought still bubbles up a desire to hide away in the nearest cave for all of eternity, more content to live life as a hideous wretch. )

But another thing emerges throughout the night. It has already been observed that Byeongkwan was discontent to stay in one place for too long, floating around the building doing who knows what before reappearing at her side fifteen minutes later. Naturally, she would grow suspicious of his motives, as well as the state of his conscience.

"Hey," she spits out again. "Don't think you can just get away so easy this time!" A long nail gestures in his direction. It is slathered in black matte nail polish like the rest, slightly pointed at the end. "If you run off again... Then I'll really know that you're full of shit... and not just literally... Probably," she huffs with disdain but her expression hardly shifts. "I mean, I think you are bullshitting me. You were going to go dance with another girl. The loud one in the gaudy pink dress." Nevermind that she, herself, highly considered donning colors for once in her life for this 'special' night.

Yoona grabs onto his arm... but she is no desperate woman. He grip subsequently loosens, dropping it as if she had just picked up a rotten banana peel.

"If you were so repulsed by me that you didn't want to be seen with me here, why did you bother asking me? Unless you did it just because ... you felt sorry for me or something." She pauses to give his face a once over. Of course, it had all been too good to be true. Bare minimum, she at least expected to get something of value out of the night, but given his frequent absences, there would never be a chance to at least cop a feel during a slow dance. ( Either which way, frankly. )

She turns on her heel, arms loosely crossed over her torso. "I'm going to go get a drink. With my luck, maybe the punch will be spiked."

#t / punch and a punch #lgcbk #lgc:shapn

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deepdarkdelights · 3 years ago

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Lady of The Night (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 13.3k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Victorian Era, Time Travel, Misogyny, Jack The Ripper Murders, Forced Relationships, Forced Stripping and Dressing, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of dead bodies, Depictions of a corpse, Depictions of Wounds, Use of Drugs, Illicit Behaviors

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was.

You knew nothing about time travel regardless of the pop culture you had consumed. For all you knew, changing the events of the past would not create a ripple effect but instead a branch. And, as horrifying as this scenario was, your curiosity was going to get the better of you. You needed to know, even if it meant following around the egotistical self proclaimed genius that had sheltered you.

A/N: Yay! It’s my first fic up after my two week break! So, this is pertaining to the Jack The Ripper Murders. For storytelling purposes, the timeline of events has been altered as well as details of the crimes. This story may not be for everyone so please read the warnings and take them into consideration before reading. Your mental health and wellbeing should always be your number one priority. That being said, I hope you enjoy! 💜💜💜

You could see your blurry reflection in the glass of the watch face you held in your hands.

You wiped away your tears with the heel of your palm violently as you sniffled tiredly. It had been a long day.

You were coming to terms with the fact that you were the last living member of your family, everyone else had died and moved on. Your mother had been young when she had you, but she was also young when she left you. Mere moments after you had been given life and were brought into the world, she had departed shortly after.

All you had ever known was the warm, comforting embrace of your grandfather. He had been more like your father your entire life and now he had left too. And all you had to remember him by was his old, Victorian house, some grainy photographs, and his pocket watch.

Today had been the day you learned of his last will and testament, and he had left you everything he had ever owned, especially that pocket watch. He had carried it everywhere with him for as long as you could remember, the long, silver chain neatly clipped to his vest at all times. He would often remove the watch from his pocket, swiping his thumb over the sealed lid fondly before flicking it open and tracking the time. He had never once been late to anything, something he bragged about often.

If you closed your eyes, you could visualize a scene that was not unfamiliar to you. You would be seated on the floor in a pile of pillows by the fireplace, the flames crackling and emanating a comforting warmth. The scent of black cherry tobacco wafting under your nose as your grandfather settled a thick book on his knees, pausing his reading aloud to puff at his tobacco pipe. You would giggle happily, wrapping your quilt tighter around your body as you watched him attempt to blow smoke rings. He would then slip his hand into his pocket and remove the watch, the chain clinking about as he flipped the watch open.

“It’s almost half past nine, don’t you have school tomorrow?” He would ask you, raising one eyebrow in questioning.

You, at ten years old, were familiar with what this meant, and you absolutely refused to head up those creaky stairs to bed when the two of you were in the middle of embarking on an adventure.

“Please, just one more chapter!” You would beg, eyes wide and watery with a pout settled on your lips.

“Alright,” He would concede after a long pause of faux thinking, “We do have time, don’t we?”

But that's where your grandfather was wrong. You didn’t have nearly enough time. You were twenty two when time came and took a hold of your grandfather and left you in the dust. That was the thing about time, it moved quickly and was unforgiving. Twenty two years was not enough, you were far too young when you said your last goodbyes.

Fuck, and now you were crying again.

You laughed humorlessly to yourself, pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and wiping your tears away again. Crying would do you no good, he would want you to be happy. Death did not mean the end of a life, it meant the celebration of one, was something he had once told you.

It was time to start celebrating then.

You uncorked a bottle of wine, throwing the cork into the sink and having a staring match with a wine glass before you sighed and grabbed the bottle by its neck and left the room. You lit the fireplace before sitting down in your grandfather’s chair, throwing a leg up on his ottoman and taking a swig from the bottle. That made you feel a little better.

You tilted your head back before turning your face into the fabric, the scent of black cherry tobacco still clung to the chair. Your eyes burned again with unshed tears as you nestled your head closer to it, breathing the scent in deeply before taking a longer swig of wine from the bottle. You were sure you looked pathetic.

You groaned in irritation, the last thing you had wanted to do was throw yourself a pity party yet here you were, drowning your problems in wine like a young mom who is questioning why she didn’t use protection.

You sat up, grabbing the neck of the bottle and setting it on the side table before standing up on weak knees. It was too weird being in that room without him. You weren’t ready to move on so quickly. So, you killed the fire and shuffled up the creaky stairs and headed to your bedroom down the hall.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, you flung your clothes off into the corner of the room and grabbed an old, large, band shirt you tended to use as pajamas. After you slipped the raggedy fabric over your head you slid beneath your sheets, fisting the comforter in your hand and pulling it up to your nose.

You could see the silver of the watch glinting under the moonlight on your night stand. Without much thought you reached across your bed and grabbed it, pulling it under the blanket with you. You twirled the delicate chain around your fingers as you pressed the latched watch to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as sleep tugged at your mind. But, despite that, your head was still filled with the memories of him that you tried to shake away.

You missed him, and you wanted to go back and see him again.

~~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of warm food wafting throughout the house. In your delirium you rolled over and buried your face into your pillow, you were sure it was just your grandfather whipping something up.

And then you were jolting awake. There were two things you knew: one, your grandfather was a terrible cook who considered spam as breakfast, and two: he was dead.

You shot up in bed, your sheets pooling around your waist as you cocked your head towards the door, listening in silence. You could faintly hear the sound of pots and pans clinking and the clacking of heels along the wood floor of the hallway.

Someone was in the house.

You snatched your phone from your bedside table and slipped free from the warmth of your bed. The pocket watch swung into your thigh, the chain still wrapped around your fingers from the night before. You kept your phone on the ready, prepared to dial the emergency line in seconds.

When you opened the door you stuck your head out into the hallway, swinging it from right to left. You couldn’t see anybody, but the scent of food had gotten stronger.

You allowed your door to swing shut behind you, the knob clicking with an air of finality. The floorboards were cold beneath your bare feet as you made your way down the stairs, dodging each squeaky board from years of practice. You knew this house like the back of your hand.

Once you had descended the stairs you found yourself in the first floor hallway, the kitchen door to your right. Your eyes fluttered shut and you took in a deep breath before tensing your body with determination and flinging the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall.

A cry of shock echoed through the kitchen, the clash of pot and pans forcing a scream from your throat in response. Standing in front of you was what appeared to be a maid, her wispy brown hair tied into a bun at the base of her neck beneath a hat matching the long black dress and crisp white apron she donned. She looked like she had been pulled straight out of the nineteenth century.

The two of you stared at each other in shock for a moment after your scream had died down and fizzled out. Her hand laid limply on her chest over her heart as her shoulders heaved with surprised breaths.

Her gaze flickered up and down your form, her cheeks quickly reddening at your state of undress.

“I cannot believe this!” She suddenly cried, throwing down the spatula she held in her other hand. “I’ve told the young master numerous times to stop consorting with heathens like yourself!”

“Heathen?” You echoed in confusion. “Hold on, what the fuck are you doing in my house?!”

“In your home? The audacity! You lay with the young master once and you believe yourself to be the lady of the estate? I will not have a harlot like you traipsing around!” She yelled back.

“Lady, what the fuck are you on? You’re the one who broke into my house! Get out!” You screamed.

“Emmett, Emmett come quickly! The young master let in another stray!” She called.

In a matter of seconds a man entered the room dressed in a three piece suit and gloves, he looked much like a butler.

“Again? This is the third one this month, Mary.” He sighed in disgust, eyeing your form. “The indecency of this one, running around naked.”

You were speechless, all you could do was dumbly look down at your bare legs. The shirt you wore was fairly big, it covered everything important. Still, you grabbed at the hem and harshly pulled it down further, your mouth agape at his words.

“Come now...miss. It’ll do you little good to linger here, we wouldn’t want to get the authorities mixed up in this, they aren’t fond of your kind as you know I’m sure.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say until he approached you, gripping your arm roughly and tugging you out of the kitchen.

“Get your fucking hands of off me, fucker!” You yelled, struggling to free yourself from his grasp.

He tutted to himself as he ripped the front door open, “Such colorful language and such poor manners. Well, I suppose that is to be expected from women of your status.”

“Stop!” You cried, digging your heels into the floor. “You can’t throw me out of my own house! If you don’t leave I’ll call the cops, I swear!”

The butler merely shook his head, tired and annoyed with your antics. “Have a pleasant day, and for your own sake, find yourself a husband and stay off of the streets.”

And with that, he threw you out onto the front porch and slammed the heavy, mahogany door shut, the lock clicking into place. You spent the following moments banging your fists against the door and demanding to be let back in, once you realized how futile that was you unlocked your phone and dialed the emergency line.

But you weren’t met with anything, no ringing, no voicemail, nothing. Your face scrunched up in confusion, your phone didn’t have a signal...how was that even possible?

And that was when you realized, for certain, that something was very wrong. When you finally looked up from your phone, you were surrounded by trees.

You stumbled backwards in surprise, knocking into the front door behind you. All of the houses that once lined your street were gone. For miles around you all you could see was a dense forest and dirt and gravel roads. Your sweet, elderly neighbors house was gone, the ice cream shop that you could once see from your house was gone, the sidewalks and the fire hydrants were missing. It was as if they had never been there in the first place.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, your stomach turning and your heartbeat thundering violently in your chest.

Everything was gone, how was that possible? Where did everyone go? Where did all of the buildings go? There was no way that they could all have been decimated and replaced with trees that towered higher than your house in one night. What in the absolute fuck was happening?

You crouched down to your knees, weaving your fingers through your messy hair as panicked sobs wracked your body. You had no explanation for what was happening, you had no idea what the hell was going on. Your phone wasn’t working, you were kicked out of your own home, and everyone was missing.

You sat there for a moment, crying to yourself in a complete and utter panic before you realized that you needed to at least try and find someone who could help you. You allowed yourself a few more moments to squeeze out some more tears, heave your last sobs, and dry your wet face. You had done a lot of crying the past few days, enough tears to last you a lifetime. It was time to get to work now and figure out what was going on.

So, you stepped foot onto the manicured lawn before you and made your way to the dilapidated road ahead of you. The dirt and gravel dug into the bare skin of your feet causing you to wince and jump in pain. It was better and easier to walk alongside the road rather than on it.

The more you walked, and the further you walked, it became apparent that it was not only your street that had suffered changes overnight, but your entire town. What had once been a shopping district you frequented often in your teens was now a sea of never-ending trees. You hadn’t seen this much greenery since you went hiking years ago.

The home that you remembered was much different from the sights you were seeing now. Your house had been the only Victorian on the street, the others newer builds that had popped up over the decades. It looked like any other street you had ever seen, an amalgamation of history in a couple blocks. But now, it appeared to be a clean slate, devoid of noise, devoid of life, and devoid of structure.

In an eerie way, you felt like you were at the beginning of time, back before humanity had cultivated the earth and turned vibrant greenery into concrete jungles. It was as beautiful and it was lonely, if you hadn’t had that run in with the maid and the butler earlier, you could have assumed you were the only person on earth. How startling and stifling that would have been, to be just a house plopped in the middle of nowhere, with not a person in sight.

It was not unlike how you felt now, alone walking alongside an empty road surrounded by trees. You could feel the miles passing as dirt clung to the soles of your feet, the skin burning in protest as you continued walking aimlessly in search of any signs of another person or house in the area.

The thick layer of dark clouds hanging in the sky was not doing anything for your mood. You were certain you would be doomed to spend the day or possibly even the night in the trees trying to take cover from the onslaught of rain that was sure to come.

And, just as you had predicted, all it took was one roll of thunder through the sky before the clouds let loose a torrent of rain. Your only saving grace was that the rainfall was not ice cold, but lukewarm. Your other concern was that where there was thunder, there would be lightning. At least you weren’t the tallest thing in the area though, a tree was more likely to be struck than you were. But that would be the cherry on top of your shitty day wouldn’t it, to be struck by lighting as well?

But, just as your hopes were about as low and hell, you spotted something in the distance. The structure was familiar, you were certain you had seen those peaked roofs and stone walls many times before. Yesterday you had been driving on the highway when you passed the country club, and now you were certain that’s where you were. Where you stood now and once been home to a highway, and mere miles away was the country club you had passed everyday on your way to work.

If you were lucky, the staff would take pity on you and maybe you could shower and get some food in you before you called the authorities to deal with those intruders of yours.

By the time you finally made it up to the country club, you were completely soaked to the bone. The only pieces of clothing you had on, being your underwear and your oversized t-shirt, were drenched with water. You looked like a drowned rat if you were being honest with yourself.

But, even in your panicked and miserable state, you took notice of a few things. The signs that once held directions and the name of the club were gone, nothing there that even hinted at their prior existence. The parking lot was long gone as well, not to mention the caged in tennis courts and the golf grounds. It was all missing. The only thing that stood as familiar to you was the large, Victorian manor itself, and the grand water fountain in the center of the roundabout. This roundabout was made of gravel though, instead of the cement you remembered it being. And, to your disdain, the tiny pieces of gravel had returned to puncture the delicate skin of our feet once more.

You were tired, you were cranky, and you were wet. All you wanted to do at this point was run inside and collapse on the polished floor.

You sped over the gravel as fast as you could before running up the stone steps, sliding under the cover of the roof that was fixed over the front door. You raised your hand up and curled your numb fingers around the door knocker. And, with difficulty, you swung the door knocker against the rich wood of the front door frantically. If there was a doorbell you would have been annoyingly ringing it nonstop, so you had to settle for banging the door knocker violently instead.

While you were mid swing the door was ripped open violently, your soaked form almost being tugged inside as you were still attached to the knocker. A man stood in front of you, he too was dressed in a three piece suit, gloves adorning his hands and polished oxfords sitting under the hem of his pant legs. His suit was much finer than the butler’s from before, but the expression on his face was just as, if not even more, stern than the butler that came before him.

“Please,” You huffed out, using your best pleading gaze. “I need help.”

“I think you are mistaken, miss. I do not believe you have any business with the master of this estate.” He responded coolly, a harsh edge to his tone.

“Wait please!” You cried as he backed away and attempted to shut the door. You gripped the door frame, wedging your arm in place to keep it from closing. “I just need to use your phone.”

“I’m sorry miss, but -”

“Claude? Who’s at the door?” Another voice echoed from inside.

“Please, can I come in for just a second?!” You called inside as you heard the click of footsteps approaching the door.

“Master, I think it would be best if you let me take care of this.”

“It’s alright, Claude, step aside.” The voice responded. The butler, Claude, edged away from the door in uncertainty before disappearing inside the depths of the club.

Seconds later, a new man replaced him, opening the door much wider than the butler had. Your heart dropped into your stomach in astonishment and embarrassment. He was probably the most attractive man you had ever had the privilege of seeing and for a moment you were convinced you had fallen into an alternate universe because all of the men you had seen on a daily basis were nothing in comparison to him.

He was rather tall with tan skin, dark hair, and a set of dangerous dimples. It took everything in you to restrain yourself from delicately poking one of those smooth craters in his cheeks that was calling out to you.

With a sudden jolt you realized he had been staring at you just as intently as you had been staring at him. His lips had parted and his eyes had darkened. You could feel his gaze traveling over the dips of your collarbones and the exposed flesh of your legs and arms before settling on the thin fabric that stretched over your chest.

Heat instantly flooded beneath the skin of your face, your arms crossing over your chest. In your moment of hysteria you had forgotten your lack of bra and the rain. You were sure this man had seen more than you had wanted to show him.

His tongue swiped over his lower lip at your action, his dark, half lidded eyes flicking up to meet your own in a rather sensual stare.

“Are you a lady of the night?” He asked, his voice deeper than before.

Ah, that was a term that you had become rather accustomed to today. Well it’s synonyms at least: heathen, harlot, and now lady of the night.

“No!” You cried in frustration, you had no issues with sex workers, what you did have an issue with was that because of your state of dress everyone had come to assume you were looking for some!

“Please, I just need help.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping from the stress you had endured all day.

The look in his eyes had all but disappeared after your omission of the truth. You were not a lady of the night, you were just scared, confused, and in need of help.

“Come inside.” He said, opening the door wider.

You looked up at him in surprise, shocked to see a gentle smile gracing his lips. Before he could regret offering you shelter, you hastily entered the front room, your arms still wrapped securely around you as you felt the warmth of the building rush through you.

Yet again, though, you noticed things were different. The front desk was gone, the signs pointing to the bathrooms and the changing rooms were missing, and there weren’t any people other than yourself and the man that stood before you.

“Where is everyone?” You asked him, turning to face the man as he closed the door behind the two of you.

“What do you mean?” He asked you, equally as confused as you were.

“This is a country club...where are all of the guests?”

“Country club?” He laughed, his dimples becoming more prominent as his eyes filled with mirth. “This is my home, there isn’t a country club for miles.”

“What?” You whispered to yourself, the water from your shirt sliding off of you and tapping against the wood of the floor rhythmically.

“They’re still fairly new after all, not many around here I’m afraid. You must be lost then?” He mused.

“What do you mean they’re new? They’ve been around for years, this is one. I’ve been here numerous times!” You explained, exasperated.

“Are you feeling well, miss?” He asked, stepping closer to you without letting his gaze wander as it had before.

No, you weren’t feeling well at all, you were incredibly fucking confused. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, none at all. Country clubs weren’t new, they had been around for over a century now.

And that was when it all began to make sense. All of the pieces suddenly had fallen into place. All the houses on your street were gone, the shopping center, the highway, the signs and the parking lot were missing from the country club. Your phone was unable to get a signal in the hours that had passed. You had encountered four strangers that spoke in a manner you had not heard often and dressed like they were from a different era.

“What - what year is it?” You asked, your body trembling now from anxiety and from your wet shirt.

“1891, of course.” He responded, his face appearing even more confused than it had before. He was looking at you in concern as well, he wasn’t sure why you would be asking him such an obvious and ridiculous question.

“Oh.” Was all you managed to say as you began to stumble backwards, your legs going weak underneath you as you slumped to the ground. Your vision was focusing and un-focusing, your head feeling light as you could faintly hear his panicked voice in front of you. It was beginning to sound further and further away though as your bare thighs met the cold, wood floor beneath you.

You were having a stressful day.

~~~~~~~

When you woke it was to a cold compress against your forehead and the feeling of a plush mattress beneath you. For a moment you thought that you were at home again, that the past few hours had all been some fever dream and your grandfather was taking care of you in your state.

But the feeling of the thin, silver chain still wrapped around your fingers assured you otherwise. That had not been a dream in the slightest.

You jerked forward, the cold cloth flying onto your lap as your hands scrambled across the top of the duvet reflexively searching for your phone.

“It’s alright, relax, you’ll only worsen your condition!” A voice seethed as hands settled on your shoulders and coaxed you back against the pillows behind you.

It was him again, the man with the dimples.

“You have a fever, it won’t do you any good to move around too much.” He lectured you, his hand waving around as he scolded you.

You quickly caught sight of something wrapped up in his ringed fingers, it was your phone.

“Give that back!” You yelled, snatching your phone back from his hands and holding it tight against your chest. You were glad that your phone was password protected, not that he would ever know what to do with it even if he managed to unlock it by accident.

“What is it exactly?” He asked you as he relented, taking a seat in a chair that had been moved to your bedside.

“It’s none of your business, that’s what it is.” You replied, shooting him a look that he reciprocated with shock and astoundment. He probably had never been spoken to like that before, a man with what you could only assume held power, status, and wealth. There was a part of you while still shocked at your predicament enjoyed the idea of fucking with some rich people.

“As a guest in my home I think I have every right to know.” He shot back with a quirk of his brow, jerking his chin up.

The audacity. So, as petty as it was, you refused to dignify his statement with a response.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me then I’ll have to assume you don’t know what it is either and you stole it just like you did that watch. It’s to be expected of someone of your...nature.” He insinuated, his gaze flicking over your form from head to toe.

“My nature?” You replied, your skin going hot with untapped irritation.

“Well, a prostitute of course.” He answered with such certainty it made you want to scream.

“For fuck’s sake how many times do I have to say I’m not!” You yelled, throwing your head back against the pillows.

“Well of course you are, with that way you looked coming up here you were practically naked, how could you not be a pros-”

“First of all,” you interrupted, “The proper term is sex worker and you have no right judging women who have no other choice and even if they did choose it you still have no right to demean them for taking up a profession that employs a service and receives payment for it like any other job!”

“Secondly, the manner in which I am dressed does not mean you get to make baseless assumptions about me or my job without knowing why I look this way in the first place.”

He sat there for a moment, stunned. A long pause of silence passed between the two of you before a smile split across his face, those dimples returning in full force.

“I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did I ask?” You retorted, annoyed, and overall confused from his sudden change in demeanor. A voice echoed in the back of your mind that maybe he had a thing for women putting him in his place but you quickly shoved that down in embarrassment.

“Well it’s only proper, you’re already in my bed anyways I figured you should know my name.” He replied with a boyish smirk.

You choked in confusion and shock before softly muttering your name in response. You did owe him that much, he had taken you in and taken care of you. That was the only thing you would give him though, his prior attitude still stung.

“I’d like to inform you that despite your progressive thoughts not everyone will see eye to eye with you, miss. You’re lucky you found your way here, there’s a murderer stalking these streets.”

“A murderer?” You echoed, your blood chilling in your veins.

“You don’t know of Jack the Ripper? That’s what the public titled him at least.” He explained.

Holy shit, the timing was perfect. Namjoon had told you the year was 1891, whatever had caused your slip through time sent you right back into the tailend of the Jack the Ripper murders. You had been lucky that he hadn’t stumbled across you, because despite your beliefs that your attire didn’t mean anything, everyone you had met had mistaken you for a sex worker. It would be expected that the infamous ripper himself would have thought the same and your name would have joined the list of victims.

That was too close of a call for you.

“Has he killed recently?” You asked out of morbid curiosity, you were hoping, selfishly, that you had arrived after his last victim.

“He’s been rather active, I should know, I’m the one investigating him.” He said, a look of irritation falling over his features as he crossed his leg over the other, his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“You’re an officer, then?” You asked.

He responded with an annoyed snort, rolling his eyes. “Thankfully no, I’m more of a private investigator. I’ve been employed by some officials high in the government to do the work the police have been ruining as of late. How embarrassing, three years and they still haven’t managed to pin the murderer.”

Ah, so you had struck a nerve. He didn’t like the police, noted.

“Tell me more.” You probed, your genuine curiosity winning over your unease.

Namjoon appeared to gather himself, his gaze that had once been far off returning to you. “Detail such grizzly deaths to a lady? I’m afraid not.”

“Where I come from we don’t take sexism lightly, Namjoon. And, not to mention, I’m a journalist. Trust me, I can handle it.” What you said was true, as a journalist you were receiving a once in a lifetime opportunity, you were given the chance to witness the investigation of the world’s most well known cold case.

“You’re a strange woman, unlike any other I’ve ever met before.” He said softly, an amused light in his eyes.

“You’d be surprised just how much we are capable of.” You shot back.

“Fair enough,” He smiled, enthralled with the back and forth the two of you had engaged in. “I’ll tell you more in my study, I’ll send for a maid to help you dress.” He said before standing up and heading towards the bedroom door.

“I’m interested to hear your thoughts.” He called over his shoulder before the door clicked shut.

As soon as he left, you felt like you could breathe freely, a deep exhale of air passing between your lips.

So, you had slipped through time. Your thumb rested between your lips as you nervously chewed at your nail. You were coming to terms with the fact that somehow, some way, you had retreated into the year 1891. The next issue that you needed to resolve was how you were going to get back to your own timeline. You didn't belong here, that was for sure. Just from your previous conversation with Namjoon you knew that you were drastically different from anyone of this era. At this point, you were sure that was bound to get you in some sort of trouble. It was probably best to lay low around people other than Namjoon who had already been exposed to your modern ideals.

As you sat, stewing in your thoughts, a series of gentle knocks echoed from the door to the bedroom. You peeled the sheets away from your body and stilled for a moment. Somebody had changed your clothes. Where you had once worn your faded tour shirt you were now dressed in a long, flowing, silk nightgown that just brushed the tops of your toes. It was rather pretty and ridiculously comfortable but that didn't lessen your anxiety from having a new state of dress from what you had passed out in.

Another set of knocks, less gentle ones this time, spurred you to move faster. As soon as your bare feet met the plush carpet beneath you, you rushed to the door. Upon opening it, a maid stood there. She held a few items in her arms, her face obscured by the dense pile of fabric she cradled. Without saying a word you moved aside and held the door open for her. You could faintly hear her mumble out a weak thank you, muffled by what she held.

She shuffled over to the bed and dropped everything on top of the mattress with a heave that swung her small body with it.

"Alright, Miss. Are you ready?" She asked, turning to face you with a pleasant smile.

"Ready for what exactly?" You replied.

"Well, to dress you of course."

Your face flushed in embarrassment, that was something you had conveniently forgotten, people of higher status like your host did not dress themselves in this period.

"Oh, that's alright, I can manage on my own."

"Are you certain?" She asked, an apprehensive look crossing her features as she stopped laying out the clothing items, her hands halting over a corset.

Fuck.

"On second thought I would love the help." Yeah, there was no fucking way you were learning to lace that thing on your own.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a struggle it would have been to dress yourself had you not appreciated the help the maid had given you. In Victorian fashion, layers were undeniable and you couldn’t help but flinch at the thought of how hot these women had to get in the warmer months.

You had also assumed the corset would have been troublesome, given how you always heard about its bad rep via movies and literature. In reality, it was quite comfortable. It wasn’t overbearingly tight and you could breathe perfectly fine without a single hint of dizziness. You couldn’t help but ask the maid about this in astonishment.

She giggled as she smoothed your dress, “Tightlacing you mean? Why, is there someone you’re trying to impress?”

Your face burned with heat at her insinuation, “No, no, I was just curious.”

“It is quite fashionable, but not very practical, no?” She said with a hint of a smile as she stepped back from you. “Well, if that’s all you’ll be needing of me the master is waiting for you in his study, would you like me to escort you? It’s not very far.”

“Oh no, I’m sure I’ve distracted you enough, if you could just point the way that’d be very much appreciated.”

“Of course!” She chirped, guiding you into the hallway of the manor. “Just head straight down that way, it’s the door at the very end of the hall!”

“Thank you for all of your help.” You smiled gratefully before your turn and began your walk through the hallway.

The manor was gorgeous with pane glass windows that stretched from the length of the floor to just below the ceiling that were framed with thick, velvet curtains. The floor beneath your shoes was parquet and a deep mahogany that shone proudly in the daylight that filtered into the hallway. You had not seen all of the manor but you knew, just from this glimpse, that the rest of it radiated wealth and power just like its master.

The clicking of your shoes against the polished hardwood echoed down the length of the corridor as you approached the doors to the study. You had never been to this floor of the manor in your timeline, it had been long since roped off and only elite members were allowed access. Now, it appeared you could roam freely to your heart's content.

Your knuckles brushed against the door, three knocks in quick succession sounding out into the quiet hallways and study.

“Come in.” Namjoon called, his voice steady yet distracted.

You pulled the heavy doors open and slipped into the study. Upon entering you noticed a number of things, for one the study resembled that of a library. The space was vast with bookshelves towering over you as well as everything else in the room.

Namjoon was seated behind a desk, his fingers resting at his temples while he flipped through a set of papers placed on the surface of the table. While the rest of the manor had appeared clean, almost sterile really, this space had gone untouched by the staff. Various books laid open or bookmarked on the floors, couches, and his desk.

Upon further inspection you noticed textbooks and medical journals strewn about, anatomy pages glaring back at you.

“Are you a doctor, Namjoon?” You asked, lifting one of the textbooks up to get a closer look at what he had been reading.

“A doctor?” He laughed, “I consider myself to be more of a scholar, really-”

Whatever else he had meant to say ceased, the words failing to part his lips. He was looking at you again, not unlike the way he had looked at you when you had appeared on his doorstep scantily clad and drowning in a torrent of rain.

He made you uncomfortable.

“Look at you, looking like a lady. You could have fooled me if I did not know any better.” He said, the corner of his lips tugging up into a sarcastic grin.

“Such a gentleman.” You huffed with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “If you’re not a doctor then what is the point in reading things like this?”

“To catch a killer, you must think like a killer.” He hummed, tapping the tip of his forefinger against the side of his head.

“You’ll never catch him.” You said, the words escaping you before you could even think about the repercussions they would have.

“And why would you think that?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with a challenging look to them, the irises were dark and sent a cold chill down the length of your spine.

“Call it intuition.” You replied, thinking quickly on your feet. “If countless others who are far more qualified and knowledgeable have failed to find him, it’s improbable one individual will bring him down.”

You had unknowingly just challenged his intellect, if this were a dance you would have quite literally just stepped on your partner's toes.

Namjoon stood quickly, his chair shooting back as he rounded the desk and approached you. You stumbled backwards in surprise but did not manage to dodge him as he matched your pace. His hands had settled on your waist, spinning you around to pull you back into his chest.

His voice was soft and mellow beside your ear as he spoke, “Each victim was a prostitute, all found in the east end of town. Already there is a location and a motive, no?”

“Now, here is what I find interesting.” He hummed, swiftly gripping your chin and pushing your head back onto his shoulder. His fingers ever so lightly brushed down the column of your throat before drawing a line across it from left to right.

“Immediately he slits their throat, and right after? Disembowelment.” He said, his other hand that was settled on your waist migrated to your lower abdomen, his fingers caressing another line over the clothed flesh.

“Most people, those ‘investigators’ for example, would say he hates women. But on the contrary, I think he is quite fascinated. With every murder he takes something that is uniquely theirs, would you happen to know what that is?”

“Their womb.” You managed to say. You were trembling and you were certain that he could feel it. He was scaring you, the reality of your situation was suddenly becoming rather apparent.

That could have been you.

“Exactly, and to do something like that you would need some medical background, especially considering the speed and technique with which he does it.” He confirmed, his hands resting on your waist once more, this time turning you to face him.

“So, if I were a ripper who was fascinated by women, where would I be?”

“Well...everywhere?” You replied, stepping out of his hold.

“Yes and no. We have a pattern and a motive, someone who is targeting prostitutes in the East End. My money would be on a hub for illicit activities, and with my sources I have a clue as to where he will strike next.”

That piqued your interest. “And where would that be?”

“If I know anything, it’s that the rich don’t like to follow rules and love a good party. Every now and then viscounts, dukes, and aristocrats alike will gather and dabble in illicit activities together. These parties change location every now and again, but most commonly we see them in the East End. Chances are, we can find a doctor with devious intentions at the hub of them. So, do I seem qualified to you?”

“This was your way of proving your capability to me?” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Yes, and it appeared to work.” He smiled, leaning back against his desk with his arms spread behind him on its surface.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m interested.” You responded, jutting your chin out as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Interested?” He echoed.

“If you want to catch a killer, what better way is there to do so than draw him out?”

“You’re offering yourself as bait? Are you neurotic?!” He laughed, shaking his head from side to side as he popped off of his desk. “Do you really think I would allow that in good conscience?”

“I don’t need your permission to do anything, Namjoon. What I am offering is an agreement of mutual satisfaction. You get a way to bait the killer and I get the story of a lifetime.”

You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was.

“So, do we have a deal? You asked, extending your hand out to him.

The silence that hung between the two of you was unsettling. His dark eyes lingered on your hand for a moment before flicking up to your face and back down. His lips were pursed in thought and you could tell he was debating with himself heavily. There was a soft ringing in your ears as the quiet stretched on.

A sudden smile spread over his face, one that you thought almost appeared devious. He laughed to himself and then shook his head before breaching the space between you and gripping your much smaller hand in his own. He gave your hand a firm shake before tugging you forwards and pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand with a grin.

“We have a deal.” He confirmed.

“What a fucking flirt.” You grumbled to yourself beneath your breath, anxiously sliding your hand over the fabric of your skirt. “So, when will this party take place?”

“One week from now.” He said, raising his hand to hold up one finger.

That was much longer than you had wanted to spend in the Victorian era. Far much longer.

“And what will we do in the meantime?”

“Well investigate, of course.”

~~~~~~~

Days had passed in Namjoon’s company, and for all of the investigating the three of you (Namjoon, Claude, and yourself) had done, no results were accomplished. But, on the other hand no murders had been committed in the East End.

You were halfway through the week until the party, and despite your efforts there was absolutely nothing. You were becoming as frustrated as the inhabitants of the East End as well as your fellow investigators. Among all of your “resources,” you were caught at a dead end just as the police were.

You had heard of Jack the Ripper in your youth, you were once an avid true crime fan. But, for the life of you, you could not remember who the next victim was and where their corpses would be found. And for all you knew, protecting that individual would only cause someone else to lose their life. Time was tricky and fickle, and if it was set in stone, it did not matter who would die so long as someone was drafted into the void.

You assumed.

Your host had been...strange, to put it simply. You had thought to yourself that that was just in his nature, he was easily distracted, unfocused, yet insanely intelligent. But his mannerisms were unusual. He seemed completely unfazed by the case he had been assigned to, the only moments in which he showed a visceral response were when he dealt with you, or the police force. He hated them intensely, you could only assume because of how ineptly they were handling the case itself.

And, most frequently, you found yourself going head to head with him. And boy, did he enjoy the challenge. And, if you were bold enough to admit it, you would say he derived pleasure from the arguments the two of you would get into. He would constantly fix you with that confident smirk, the one that told you he believed he was always one step ahead of you. And fuck, did it piss you off. And he was very much aware of that. He loved a good challenge and you were far different from any of the women he knew of.

He often wondered how far he could push you before you snapped.

And if his cocky behavior wasn’t enough to piss you off, it was how much of a blatant flirt he was. There was nothing more frustrating than someone arguing with you while flirting with you at the same time. And your constant refusal and rebuttal to his advances only seemed to fuel the fire.

The cover of night time became your one refuge, that was when you had an excuse to stay away from him. You could have the whole night to yourself and be free of him until the morning.

Usually.

Normally, you slept through the night. But for some reason your body woke you. It was either late at night or extremely early in the morning. No sunlight entered the room, it was still incredibly dark.

At first, everything appeared to be perfectly normal. That was of course until you noticed a figure seated in the chair by your window mere feet away. You immediately jumped and began to scramble backwards out of the bed, the sheets twisting around your legs and slowing you down.

It was the call of your name that made you freeze.

Namjoon was sitting in your room at an ungodly hour...watching you.

“Namjoon?” You hissed, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He answered, pressing his palms onto the armrests and pushing himself up to stand.

“I really wish you would have.” You grunted, pulling the blanket around you even tighter. “Do you know how creepy you -”

“Two more women are dead.”

Silence.

“What happened?” You whispered, your fingers going limp.

“One woman was murdered late last night and the other an hour ago. It was a double event.” His tone was flat, completely absent of affect.

The three of you could only hold him off for so long, and it looks like he lashed out as soon as he was given the chance. Two women within the span of a few hours were killed, and you couldn’t help but feel like that was your fault.

No matter what you do, someone will die.

“What do we do now?” You asked, sullenly looking to him from your point on the bed.

“We have to go meet with the authorities.” He answered, distaste evident in his voice when he uttered the word ‘authorities.’

“Come, we don’t have much time.” He urged you, snapping the sheets back to the foot of the bed while pulling you up to your feet.

You stumbled as he tugged you forward, your head spinning from the sudden motion. You were struggling to see, your eyes still heavy with sleep despite the dreadful news you had heard. The feeling of his hands at the back of your nightdress certainly shocked you awake.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You snapped, smacking his hands away from you.

He appeared frustrated, his eyes dark and his face set in irritation at your refusal. “I just told you, we don’t have much time. All of the maids are still asleep, it’s far too early to call one of them for help and you certainly don’t know how to dress yourself.”

“I can manage on my own, I don’t need your ‘help’.” You argued, stepping away from him in an attempt to create some distance between the two of you. “You don’t know the first thing about women’s clothes anyways.”

His jaw tensed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before releasing an annoyed sigh. “Trust me I have undone a few corsets in my time, it’s not as difficult as you make it out to be.”

“And just as I said, I can dress myself I am not a fucking child.”

Before you could move his arm shot forward and his hand wrapped around your forearm tightly. Despite your struggling he yanked you towards him, his other hand gripping your elbow.

“As stupid and insufferable as you like to think I am, I know you are not from here.” He said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. “You don’t speak, act, or even walk like you are from here. The more you hide from me the harder this is going to be. You need help, now you can either be a brat and I have to force you to do as I say, or you can play along and we can get this done and get to work. It’s up to you.”

He had just told you he knew you were a time traveler without explicitly saying it. At least that was the way you took it. But the way in which he spoke to you did not seem to insinuate that he meant that you were a foreigner. Many of your interactions with him would have led him to believe you were from a different time and, not to mention, you had done a terrible job of hiding your phone from him the first day you arrived. You had done a poor job of concealing that from someone as smart as him.

“And what if I don’t want you to see me?” You tried one last time.

“It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t already seen.”

So, he was the one who had changed you the first day you had arrived in 1891. There were many red flags waving in the back of your head, and like an idiotic bull you had failed to recognize a single one of them. Some journalist you were, you had missed all of the finite details.

“Turn around.” He finally said, his voice firm.

And, with no other choice, you did. It was incredibly awkward on your end. Despite the attractiveness of your host, you had no desire for him to strip and dress you. Unfortunately for you, he did not care. You understood the urgency to leave and your little spat had already delayed your departure. But you were a person who valued your dignity and autonomy, you weren’t built to live in a society such as this one.

You tried your best not to focus on the feeling of his touch, but it was incredibly hard to ignore. Instead of touching you as little as possible, it felt like he took every chance to caress, graze, and linger on every inch of bared skin.

For a moment, all movement stilled. You were only halfway dressed, your corset exposing everything upwards of your chest leaving your collarbones, arms, shoulders, and neck on display. You shuddered at the sudden feeling of fingers smoothing over the column of your throat, not unlike the incident in Namjoon’s study.

He was absolutely quiet as he pressed his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, softly breathing in and out as his fingers continued to stroke the skin of your throat from left to right in a gentle, slow, sawing motion. Your heart was pumping frantically in your chest in what could only be described as fear. Your back was ramrod straight, a harsh line in comparison to the relaxed form behind you.

Why were you so afraid of him? It was like every nerve and muscle in your form was begging you to leap away and run for your life. But he wasn’t dangerous, right?

You jolted at the feeling of lips just brushing against your shoulder as he pulled away from you and finished helping you dress, far quicker than he had been before. His demeanor was suddenly resigned, professional, and cold. It was like he had suddenly mustered a sense of self control in mere seconds.

Who exactly was Kim Namjoon?

Said man was retreating in the direction of your bedroom door, his hand grasping the doorknob as he called over his shoulder, “Meet me out front, and please be quick about it.”

That was when a thought suddenly intruded your mind.

“Namjoon? How did you get into my room? The door was locked.”

He stiffened for a moment, his hand tightening around the doorknob causing the muscle to strain and his knuckles to whiten. He said nothing, his head jerked to the side for a moment like he was gesturing in disbelief.

He raised his head and stared at you, and then without saying anything, he left.

~~~~~~~

You stared at the face of your pocket watch, the delicate chain wrapped around your gloved fingers. The hands of the watch were still, the familiar ticking of the watch was silent. It was like time had completely stopped. And in a way, maybe it had.

The carriage halted to a stop spurring you to snap the watch cover closed and pin it back into place.

Your companion quickly exited and stood outside, reaching his hand out to you to help guide you from the compartment. Despite the sudden animosity between the two of you, you placed your hand in his own and allowed him to help you down. The layered skirts of your dress swirled around your ankles, they were heavy and made it hard to climb in and out of transportation. Begrudgingly, you managed to say your thanks between gritted teeth.

“Try to behave.” He whispered beside your ear offering his arm to you.

You hooked your arm into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead the way. If you had it your way you would be fifteen feet in front of him carving your own path through the East End. But, your lack of knowledge of Victorian etiquette had already managed to get you in trouble and the last thing that you needed was more trouble.

“Where are we going?” You asked, quickening your pace to match his long strides.

“The previous crime scene has already been cleaned up by the task force, but the one from this morning is still intact. I have been instructed to go over their findings as well as conduct my own investigation.” He explained.

“Alright, what can I do?”

“What you can do is stay right here.” He instructed, bringing the two of you to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. It was already blocked off, warning the public to steer clear of the area.

“You have to be kidding? You really expect me to wait here for you while you go and investigate? I don’t take kindly to being told to just sit and look pretty, Namjoon.” You glared.

Namjoon titled his head back and let out a sound of annoyance, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically with an exasperated sigh. “For once, will you please listen to me? This is an active investigation and I am asking you, a civilian, to stay put. I swear, I will tell you everything you need to know for your story, alright?”

Another bitter silence passed between the two of you. He knew you were incredibly dissatisfied with what he had said. But he was just as stubborn as you were, that being the reason the two of you butted heads so often.

He shook his head, jaw tensed with anger as he stepped away from you heading in the direction of the alley way.

“Stay put!” He called over his shoulder, waving his hand at you as he disappeared, his form melting into the darkness of the alley that had yet to see the glow of the early morning sunrise.

Now that, that pissed you off. You were not some dog that would obey his every command, the more he told you not to do something the more it made you want to do it.

You waited for a few moments, for his sake and for the very fact that it would piss him off that you refused to listen. You were an impatient woman, and you would be damned if you listened to a single thing he said.

The air was crisp and cool with the lack of sunlight, your breath fogging the space in front of you as you slunk down the dark alleyway. You could hear Namjoon’s voice echoing down the brick tunnel, he sounded enraged. There were several other voices attempting to speak over him, but they were evidently failing.

And then there was the smell, it was horrid. The cramped space was packed full of the scent, it was indescribable. The only prominent smell that was familiar was the tangy, coppery odor of blood thick in the morning air.

But what you hadn’t been expecting was that the body was still there, slumped against the ground haphazardly like it was nothing more than trash. An officer was still there, knelt down next to her body. He was prodding her flesh with a grimace, holding a handkerchief over his nose to block out the scent.

“Christ, she’s still warm!” He called out, jumping up to head back to the investigators while giving you a full view of the carnage laid out before you. “He could still be close by!”

Multiple sensations bombarded you at once. A scream was caught in your throat as your stomach began to churn from the sight before you. You raised a gloved hand to cover your nose and mouth as you leaned against the wall, your knees feeling weak.

It was bad, worse than you could have possibly imagined.

There was blood, more blood than you had ever seen in your entire life. And whatever it was that was laying before you just barely looked human. But the parts that did look familiar was what made it so unsettling, so wrong, so horrifying.

Namjoon was calling your name.

You were still in shock when he grabbed you, his hand cupping the back of your neck and forcing your face into his chest blocking the grotesque view you once had. His other arm wrapped around your shoulders, cradling you closer to him.

“Her...her face.” You stuttered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you that inept at your jobs that you couldn’t keep a civilian from entering a fucking crime scene?!” He yelled over your head, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.

“I told you to stay put.” He mumbled, his lips pressed to the crown of your head while his thumb stroked the side of your face as you shook in his hold. This was the gentlest he had ever been with you.

You had never seen anything like that before. Whatever words he had spoken were falling on deaf ears, a sharp ring was echoing throughout your head, numb tears streaking your face and ruining his jacket.

You could feel his hands slide to the curve of your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him and only him.

“From now on, you listen to me, okay?” He said, his eyes darting over your face to make sure you were retaining what he was saying.

You weren’t sure what was more concerning to you. The fact that he was suddenly so gentle with you, or the fact that he paid no mind to the corpse mere feet away from the two of you.

There was something wrong with Kim Namjoon.

~~~~~~~

Whatever investigation Namjoon had managed to conduct during your moments of shellshock provided nothing new. The choice of murder was the same, albeit the brutality was by far the worst of all the victims before.

Her body had been warm indicating the perpetrator could still have been close by, but despite that knowledge the search parties could not find the culprit that had been described. There was no man covered in blood hiding in the shadows of the East End, he had disappeared like he had never been there in the first place.

A few days after the murder had taken place, Namjoon had informed you the killer had made contact. His face was grim as he described what had transpired. A letter and a parcel had arrived addressed to the taskforce, inside was what appeared to be a human kidney and a letter signed with a flourish, “Jack The Ripper.”

He was playing with them.

Your dreams were plagued with the memories of the sights you had seen that day in the early morning light of the alleyway. And instead of forcing you into submission, it made you angry. The initial sight had rendered you imobile, weak, and defenseless. You had never seen a human look like that. But with each dream you dreamt as the week melted away, you festered in guilt and rage.

Your fellow Victorian journalists had called him a monster, but you knew better. He was not a monster, he was a coward preying on women in the veil of darkness. Cowards harmed the weak and the defenseless, he was a caricature of a monster.

And you wanted nothing more than to rip the Halloween mask off of that faux monster.

This thought is what lent you strength as you and Namjoon reentered the East End, prepared to once and for all unmask the killer that had escaped the two of you.

You were dressed expensively, and rather salaciously, to blend in with the aristocrats around you. Namjoon and Claude appeared comfortable in the environment and it made you wonder if this had not been their first time attending an illicit party. Namjoon had explained to you before that he was often hired by government officials to do the jobs the police often failed to do, so it would not be unexpected if he had been there more than once.

You were bombarded by various sights that had you sticking close to your companions. When Namjoon said “illicit” parties, he meant it. The amount of illegal activities taking place was astounding. No matter where you looked, something was going on. Various partygoers were drinking unmarked liquids, inhaling unidentified substances, or swapping large amounts of money for some unknown service (although you had an inkling as to what they may be).

At one point in the night you had tried to locate a bathroom only for Namjoon to pull you away from the door you had attempted to open.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” He said with an all knowing, tight lipped grin.

“Really, and why not?” You asked, your hand resting on your cinched waist.

“I didn’t picture you as one for...group activities.”

“Group activities...there’s an orgy in there?!” You whisper yelled, frantically wiping your hand on your skirts with wide eyes.

Namjoon wheezed out a laugh, guiding you away from the room and back towards the center of the pseudo ballroom. “What can I say, this is a sinner’s paradise.”

“Sinner’s paradise, more like Chlamydia’s Palace.” You huffed, your cheeks hot.

Namjoon laughed again only to be stopped by the presence of his butler, Claude. His hand concealed his mouth as he whispered something to Namjoon. Whatever it was he said seemed to please Namjoon while also provoking an indescribable look to wash over his handsome features.

As soon as Claude stepped back, Namjoon spoke. “I need you to stay right here, okay? Don’t talk to anyone, don’t drink anything, just keep to yourself until I return.”

Your eyebrows pinched together in irritation and confusion, “But, Namjoon -”

“Remember what happened the last time you refused to listen to me?” He snapped, raising his eyebrows in emphasis.

You pressed your lips together, turning your head to the side. Yes, you did remember what had happened the last time you ignored his instructions.

Namjoon sighed, propping his finger under your chin and turning your head to look at him. “Please, trust me on this one thing.”

You thought to yourself for a moment, the last time you didn’t listen it hadn’t exactly gone well for you. This was just one thing he was asking of you after all of the things he had done for you, he was asking for just one moment of cooperation.

You lowered his hand from your chin and took a breath. “Okay, I trust you.”

A look of pure elation erupted on his face. He gave you a wide grin, his dimples deepening in his cheeks.

“I’ll be back.” He said before retreating into the crowd with Claude following close behind.

And then you were alone, but not alone for nearly long enough.

Your hands fiddled with the pocket watch your grandfather had gifted you as you walked, your head down and your gaze focused on the glass face of the watch. It was almost like everything had gone wrong after he had died and left it in your possession.

Far too distracted from your internal thoughts and the presence of the watch, you missed the incoming form barreling towards you. Within seconds you were knocked to the floor, the layers of your skirts luckily breaking your fall.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, sorry, my bad! In a rush, I’m quite late I’m afraid.” The voice rushed out, a slight wheeze accompanying it as he appeared breathless.

You felt two hands grasp your own and carefully help you into an upright position.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You said, irritation clear in your tone.

“No really! Forgive me, it’s my mistake.” He said.

You adjusted your dress, making sure all of the important bits were in place before finally looking up to see who exactly this man was.

You were not expecting it to be him. Not at all.

“Grandpa?” You asked softly, taken aback.

It was him, he looked years younger than when you had last seen him, but it was him. You had gone through countless scrapbooks as a child and the face that was staring back at you was the younger version of the man that had raised you.

“What?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling as his shoulders shook.

Your gaze zeroed in on the chain of the watch clipped to his pocket. And, without saying a word, you pulled your own watch free and showed it to him.

All mirth completely left his body, like the flame of a candle being snuffed out. His lips parted in shock and distress as his eyes traced over his own initials carved into your watch. His hand patted his own chest frantically as he pulled the watch free and held it beside your own.

They were identical, down to every nick and scratch in the silver finish.

“How did you get here?” He asked, his voice low and serious in a way you had never heard before. “Did they send you?”

“Did who send me? Nobody sent me. I just woke up here, other people were living in my house and everything was gone.” You explained as he pulled you to a corner of the ballroom.

“This isn’t right,” He mumbled, flipping open his own watch. “You’re a time anomaly, there can’t be two of us here at the same time.”

“Two of us?” You echoed.

“Time travelers, dear, it runs in the family I’m afraid. What was I thinking about giving that to you without explaining?” He said, his words flying so quickly to the point that you were struggling to keep up.

“Then let’s leave, show me how to get out of here! There has to be a way!”

“You can’t just leave, you’re here for a purpose, you didn’t just come here by accident.” He said as a blue glow began to steadily thrum and pulse from his watch. “Oh no.”

“Oh no? What, what’s happening?”

“I have to go, I’m being called back. Whatever you do, you cannot change anything, do you understand? Who are you staying with, what have you done?”

“I haven’t changed anything that I know of. I’ve been staying with Kim Namjoon.”

His eyes widened as the watch began to pulse even stronger than before. “Kim Namjoon! Listen to me, you need to go, you need to get as far away as possible he -”

But before he could finish what he was saying he disappeared. It was like he had blipped out of existence, like he had never been there at all.

You spun around in a circle, trying to see if he was truly gone. All of the party goers did not appear to be phased, it was like they hadn’t seen a single thing that occurred. How was that possible? Fuck that, how was any of this possible?

All you knew was that you were going to follow his advice and get the fuck out of there and out of the East End.

You forced yourself through the thick crowds of people, pushing, checking, and elbowing away anyone that got in your way. You winced as one particular shove sent a whole glass of wine pouring down the cleavage and dress of one inebriated woman. It didn’t really matter though, you were sure she could afford another one with the way she had been slamming back drinks all night.

You threw open various doors in an attempt to find a way out, each time you were met with an increasingly more disgusting or disturbing sight. You didn’t even know some of those positions were possible for fuck’s sake.

Finally, when you threw open a door you were met with the smell of crisp, fresh air. A way out.

It was a slim alleyway of the East End, just barely illuminated by the crescent moon that hung in the pitch black darkness of the sky. A sudden sense of paranoia washed over you, the last time you were in an alleyway it had ended poorly. But you knew you didn’t have time to think about that.

Oh, if only you did.

The minute your heeled feet met the ground you were greeted with that all too familiar scent. There was blood nearby and lots of it. You could hear shuffling a few yards away, and you knew that you fucked up.

Your throat felt tight as you attempted to swallow, you were certain you could taste the blood on your tongue from how strong the smell was. And, when you finally turned to face whatever was in that alley, you were horrified.

A few yards away you spotted three figures, two on the ground and one leaning against the wall. And beneath the three of them, a crimson river steadily flowed through the cobblestone.

You took a step back, your heels scuffing the stone spurring only two of the figures to look up at you. A scream bubbled in your chest at what you saw. Claude was hunched over the figure of a woman, blood splattered over his face and down the leather apron he wore over his clothes. You could see bloodied tools in his grip as he settled back on his hunches, pausing his motions mid incision.

And then there was Namjoon, the once blank look he wore on his face suddenly lighting up with intrigue at the sight of you.

“Claude? Why don’t you take the lady home.” He spoke, gesturing to the corpse.

Claude looked between you and Namjoon for a moment, appearing conflicted. But he did not hesitate any longer as he scooped up the woman’s corpse and retreated down in the dark depths of the alley.

Namjoon was quick as he approached you, you barely made it a few feet away before he grabbed you by your forearms and pinned you up against the wall, hushing you as panicked cries parted your painted lips.

“I’m sorry, darling. But, I did tell you to stay put didn’t I?”

“Why?” You managed to say as you trembled in his hold, ugly sobs wracking your entire form.

“Women only want me for one thing I’m afraid. My money. I thought that maybe I could help those women who had nothing, that they could give me love in return if they didn’t know who I was. But they were just the same, motivated by money. I would give them my love and beg them to stop selling themselves but they just wouldn’t listen to me. Every single one of them failed my little test. They were greedy, and selfish. They didn’t deserve to be women. So, I hurt them just like they hurt me.”

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, you could only focus on the rising feeling of panic in your chest.

“I knew someone would eventually catch on to what was happening. But how ironic was it that they assigned me to the case out of all people? Those fucking investigators are so inept they never saw it coming. And Claude, well his loyalty was extremely helpful. If you don’t want to be caught, don’t commit the crime yourself.” He whispered.

“All I wanted was to give them my love, but each and every single one of them broke my heart. All of them except for you.” He said, pressing a kiss to your cheek that made you violently flinch.

“You were such a little spitfire, and when you showed up to my door I thought I was going to have to kill you on sight. But you proved me wrong, you’re the only one deserving of my love.”

A blue light suddenly lit up the space between you, the glow of the watch casting sinister shadows over the ripper's face.

Immediately he reached for the watch at the same time as you, and without much effort he wrenched the watch free from your hands and shoved you down to the ground. Your head met the stone first and on impact black spots blurred your vision.

The watch pulsed vibrantly in his hands, humming like a heartbeat. A wicked laugh shook his shoulders as he flipped the face open.

“So this is how you did it?” He asked, swinging the watch by it’s chain recklessly.

“Namjoon, don't’!” You cried, struggling to stand.

But it was too late. A feral scream ripped its way out of your throat as you watched him slam the watch into the ground and violently dig the heel of his shoe into it. The glass shattered, the metal bent, and the blue glow stuttered, weakly thrumming before fizzling out and plunging the alley into darkness.

The ripper stalked down the alley and stood over you, a viscous smile pulling at his cheeks as he slowly tilted his head to the side.

“Don’t look so surprised my love, there is only one way I’d ever let you leave me.”

#bts #bts namjoon #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #yander #yandere bts #yandere namjoon #bts fanfic #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader #bts rm #rm x reade #yandere rm x reader #jack the ripper au #victorian au

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along-came-atsushi · 4 years ago

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Akutagawa – Dazai – Atsushi: An analysis about their relationship

And why Dazai treats them so differently.

The symbolism of Atsushi and Akutagawa:

From their outward appearance and their design alone, Atsushi and Akutagawa are meant as opposites, but they’re also a duality:

Both wear black and white clothes, but whereas Atsushi is mostly white with a streak of black, Akutagawa wears mostly black with a streak of white. It’s even represented in their hair colours.

Besides this, there are many other things that mark their oppositeness and their duality to each other:

Atsushi is a member of the ADA, while Akutagawa is a member of the PM. Atsushi’s ability colour is blue, Akutagawa’s ability colour is red. Being a member of the ADA makes Atsushi someone who works for the “light and day”, Akutagawa is someone who works for the “darkness and night.” Atsushi loves cats, Akutagawa hates dogs. Atsushi’s ability takes the form of a tiger, Akutagawa’s ability represents a dragon, both creatures are important elements in Asian mythology. Ultimately, Atsushi symbolizes life or is associated with life, while Akutagawa symbolizes death or is associated with death.

Considering this, the title Shin Soukoku (Double Black) isn’t even a fitting name for them, since they both aren’t simply a double, as both Mori and Fukuzawa or Dazai and Chuuya were.

[Beware: Spoilers starting from chapter 83]

Dazai’s mindset and his relationship with Akutagawa:

1.) One of the reasons why Dazai’s treatment towards Akutagawa as a mentor was so cruel and brutal, firstly lies in his overall negative mental state during his PM time. He was visibly unhappy, constantly surrounded by death and violence, and more than now struggled with his suicidal thoughts.

Is it an explanation for his treatment of Akutagawa? −Yes, it is.

Is it an excuse for his treatment of Akutagawa? −No, it isn’t.

2.) Another reason is that this is just how things are done in the Mafia. There is no sense in handling someone with kid gloves in the PM, a place where you get killed for disobeying orders, where you shouldn’t see your peers as friends or get to intimate with anyone:

“It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within.” – Odasaku

If it wouldn’t have been Dazai who taught Akutagawa in such a cruel way, with high probability, it would’ve been someone else. Or as Dazai explained, a sign of weakness will get you killed in the PM:

And Dazai had the absolute chance to kill Akutagawa after he disobeyed orders and killed a person captured for interrogation. His ability can nullify all other abilities by mere touch. He could’ve simply touched Akutagawa, so that he wouldn’t have been able to use his ability to protect himself, and then shot him on the spot. But he didn’t do that, because:

“Akutagawa – he’s like a sword without a sheath.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “He’ll surely become the Mafia’s strongest skill user in the not-so-distant future. But for now he needs someone who can teach him how to put that sword away.” [...]

“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.” – Dazai to Odasaku

He already valued Akutagawa’s skill and saw the huge potential in him:

I was surprised. I had never heard Dazai openly speak so highly of one of his men like that before. [...]

Dazai didn’t freely make people work under him, period; much less a boy on the verge of starvation in the slums. But Dazai seemed to have his own reasons for doing it. – Odasaku about Dazai

Something which is also later confirmed by Atsushi:

“I believe Dazai-san has acknowledged you long ago.”

Why is it then that Dazai still treats Akutagawa so badly and doesn’t tell his approval right to his face? Something that becomes Akutagawa’s main purpose for a long time, even after Dazai left PM.

Dazai’s relationship with Odasaku and Ango:

Dazai’s behaviour and actions when he’s with Ango and Odasaku clearly shows that he can be different and doesn’t treat everyone with cruelty and coldness, if he wants to.

But what’s the difference between the two people he considers his friends and the people who are his subordinates?

-> Ango and Odasaku value and respect life.

The reason Dazai becomes and is attached to Odasaku and Ango is their viewpoint about death and life:

“I would become a novelist and write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. – Odasaku

“You’re quite the interesting fellow, Ango. Doing that isn’t going to make the boss happy. […]” “You’re making records of the lives of the deceased. Am I right?” […] “The line between human losses and those of money and equipment begin to blur. There is no individual, no soul, and no dignity to death. But you’re fighting back against that.” – Dazai to Ango

This is the reason why he values them so much that he considers them his friends. He’s not friends with them because he gains something from it, or because they have interesting abilities, or because they are on the same intellectual level as him (which they aren’t). Something that gets emphasized by Odasaku’s rank. He descended from an assassin (a high reputation in the PM) to a maid-of-all-work and an errand boy (a low reputation in the PM).

Dazai is attracted to and fascinated by people who value life – something you don’t find in the PM, and something he himself struggles to understand. Probably because there never was a person who taught him this. Like a curious child, he turns to people who he knows have a better understanding in this than him.

He even becomes very irritated when one of his subordinates questions his friendship with Odasaku:

“Dazai, sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but… I saw him [Odasaku] sweeping behind the office the other day. A man of his status isn’t qualified to be your friend, let alone with an enemy like this.” Dazai stared, flabbergasted, at his underling.

“Are you joking? Odasaku’s not qualified?” Dazai asked, thoroughly surprised. […] “You fools!” Dazai’s lips curled into a sneer in genuine disgust.

This respect doesn’t solely concern Odasaku and Ango. Hirotsu is also one of the very few people he respects for this reason. Even though Hirotsu may not value life in the same terms as Odasaku and Ango do, but he also doesn’t lightly throw away his subordinates lives either:

“…Ha-ha! Just kidding!” Dazai abruptly added in a cheery tone. Hirotsu stared back at him, confused. “The reason you have so many people following you is that you don’t turn your back on them. I’ll leave things in your hands. I won’t tell the boss.”

It’s only when Odasaku dies in Dazai’s arms and tells him to go protect the living, that he starts to change his behaviour and viewpoint.

Dazai and his many failed suicide attempts:

Why is it that Dazai − a genius, a manipulator, someone who exactly knows how the human psyche works, someone who’s predictions always come true and who has plans within plans – then always fails when he tries to kill himself?

Dazai has read the book “The Complete Suicide” so often that he can cite it in his sleep. He has engaged in torture and killed many people. He knew exactly how to involve Ango and himself in a car crash without them dying.

If he really wanted to, he could’ve already killed himself many times ago. He claims that “he doesn’t like pain and suffering”, which according to him is the reason why his suicide attempts fail. But there are ways how he could kill himself without just that. It’s just that he doesn’t WANT to die.

„I thought if all went well, I could die a heroic death on the battlefield. But the dozen or so armed guys who showed up were a real scrappy bunch. […] Thus, I unfortunately avoided death once again.”

He always tells that something inconvenient happened that kept him from dying. But sometimes people around him notice that there’s something wrong in his attempts:

“I was walking and reading a book called ‘How To Not Get Hurt Out Of The Blue’ and fell into a drainage ditch.” A surprisingly absurd reason. – Odasaku and Dazai

“I glance at his desk and see the blasphemous book he bought the other day, ‘The Complete Suicide’, opened to a page titled ‘Death by Poisoning Mushrooms.’ Next to the book lies a plate with a half-eaten mushroom on it. However, upon further inspection, it appears to be a slightly different color from the one in the book. – Kunikida about Dazai

“I thought you [Gide] were similar to Dazai at first, rushing into battle and wishing for death without even considering the value of your own life. But he’s different. […] And he’s just a child−a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we’re seeing.” – Odasaku to Gide about Dazai.

Dazai is a person who actively seeks life and wants to be freed from his own philosophy. He’s struggling between seeking death, which he thinks is the only way to free him from his loneliness and suffering, and seeking life for the simple reason that he doesn’t want to die.

Dazai’s relationship with Atsushi:

Atsushi saved Dazai from drowning despite the fact that he himself was on the brink of starvation. The first thing Dazai got attached to Atsushi is his view on life. Despite the abuse he suffered, Atsushi seeks life and wants to live, makes it even his reason to fight and his life motto.

“The lives of those who can’t save anyone have no value”. In that moment an idea suddenly popped into my mind. […] If by any chance I can let the passengers return home save and sound does that prove that it’s okay for me to live?”

Throughout the story, Atsushi transfers his viewpoint and determination to characters who have a connection to death, darkness and/or suffering (e.g. Kyouka, Lucy).

The reason Atsushi values life, being the symbolical personification of it, is the reason why Dazai is able to treat him much better than Akutagawa.

Forming Shin Soukoku:

Dazai says that Akutagawa is a highly skilled student, but he needs someone to sharpen him. He instantly decides and plans to team him up with Atsushi, the moment he meets him. He knows that Atsushi, due to his view on life, is the only one who can teach Akutagawa to value life himself and to change as a person. In other words “the one who can teach him how to put that sword away”.

This is something Dazai in the past couldn’t and still can’t teach Akutagawa (or anyone at all for that matter). Because he himself needs and wants to be taught that, so he seeks people who are able to give him a different understanding in this (see Ango and Odasaku). Vice versa Akutagawa isn’t able to teach Dazai how to value life, because he himself represents death and has a strong connection to it. It’s one of the very first things he says when he gets introduced in the story:

“Fear death. Fear slaughter. Those who desire death have an equal desire to die.”

Even though Atsushi’s words may seem very harsh, but it IS one of the reasons why Dazai so abruptly abandoned Akutagawa. Is it an explanation? −Yes, it is. Is it an excuse? −No, it isn’t.

Another reason is that Dazai tries to flee from his responsibilities, his past and the terrible things he has done (including Akutagawa’s abuse), because he is not able to face them. Not now that is. He is still in need of guidance and of change, in order to be able to do this.

[Side note: Dazai and guilt is something that can be analysed in its very own meta. I’m not expanding on it further here].

Akutagawa’s connection to death gets emphasized by him even disobeying orders to not kill, for the sole reason that in his mind, killing is much simpler and more effective. He lashes out and tries to kill the people who are respected by Dazai and/or considered friends, even though he should know that an action like this will definitely not get him the approval he so wants.

He was willing to kill Atsushi, even though his mission was to capture him alive, ignoring the possible consequences this would have had for him.

But throughout the story Akutagawa changes his viewpoint. He thinks that the reason why Dazai acknowledges Atsushi and puts him above him, is because he is a better (better in the sense of physical and ability strength) subordinate than him. But he realizes that this can’t be the case and questions it more than once:

His former pure jealousy and grudge towards Atsushi (something which he also felt for Odasaku) slowly turns into questioning, trying to understand what differs them from each other. Dazai knows very well that Akutagawa is still obsessed with him and his approval. Therefore if necessary, he uses this to manipulate him, if it’s to either protect/help Atsushi or to get them both to work together:

Akutagawa starts to constantly challenge Atsushi, questioning him, and demanding him for an answer. It’s only when Akutagawa saves Yokohoma from the Moby Dick crash, that Dazai openly tells him “you did well”.

The reason why Dazai does this so hesitantly, shows that he is still in his own metamorphosis. He’s slowly changing as is Akutagawa. He is still afraid to face his responsibilities, but doesn’t treat his former subordinate cruel anymore.

This change in Akutagawa goes so far that Atsushi is able to ask him to not to kill anyone until they meet again. When told about, Dazai is visibly happy, as it is something that he as a mentor wasn’t able to do. He is reminded of Odasaku, comparing Akutagawa now to him:

Due to this, Dazai now has this much faith in Akutagawa that he puts the task to keep an eye on Atsushi and to protect him in his hands:

Mind the difference of his expressions when he talks with Akutagawa then and now:

Dazai doesn’t team Atsushi and Akutagawa up only for strength and fighting reasons. Or because their abilities are compatible in battle. But because Dazai knows that Akutagawa won’t unnecessarily kill anymore, because he is seeking answers through Atsushi and is changing through their interactions:

He keeps his promise, much to Atsushi’s surprise, but it’s out of the question that he is happy about this:

Akutagawa promising not to kill anyone, keeping his promise in the end and even going so far as to protect someone, in other words valuing life, is something which Dazai could’ve never taught him. And again, he still can’t. Dazai is not solely the teacher, but the student himself. And although Atsushi may be a teacher for both of them in his philosophy, he is a student of Akutagawa and Dazai in other things.

Because what Atsushi lacks is self-confidence and his own worth, faith in his own abilities and the mental strength to overcome his past abuse and trauma. Those are things he learns through Dazai and especially, through Akutagawa.

#ryunosuke akutagawa bsd #atsushi nakajima bsd #osamu dazai bsd #shin soukoku #sakunosuke oda bsd #ango sakaguchi bsd #Ryunosuke Akutagawa #Atsushi Nakajima #Osamu Dazai #Sakunosuke Oda #Ango Sakaguchi #Bungou Stray Dogs #bsd meta #my meta

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fallout4reactsblog · 4 years ago

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companions react to news of the institute christmas party courser revolution and the fact that the institute is now apparently populated entirely by festive rogue coursers in elf costumes and also what ramifications this has on the politics of the commonwealth as a whole. father's drowned corpse, still in his silly santa hat, is now impaled on the antlers of the fake reindeer on the sleigh prop by the institute's metaphorical front door as a warning and a symbol of their casting off chains.

Cait: “You have to at least give them some points for creativity.”

Cait pulls a face, but says, “I guess.”

“Come on, Cait. You could at least admit it’s a little funny. I’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall that day.”

“It’s fucked up, is what it is. How are you so calm?”

“How are you so stressed?” They lean back in their chair, folding their arms contentedly. “They basically did our job for us. No more Institute.”

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens, huh? Maybe they’ll retreat to their underground hidey-hole and leave the Commonwealth alone.”

“Not countin’ on it.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you like. The way I see it, this is a good thing both ways. Either the Institute collapses without strict management- which would be good- the coursers decide they don’t believe in what the Institute was doing before and stop- also good- or we go in there and only have to kill half of what was there. A win-win-win situation.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Curie: “The absurdity of the situation is certainly not lost on me, Madam/Monsieur, but surely there are still, ah, consequences for this?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, definitely. I mean, they’ve basically got my son on a pike on the CIT lawn. But, you know, don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things, as the old saying goes.”

“I... do not think this is a ‘petty thing’ anymore.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for the dust to settle, then go check it out. Until then, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

“I am merely saying that, given the evidence, this seems quite disastrous, especially in terms of political instability.”

“Ah, who cares about politics? Unless they or someone else starts a war, it’ll be fine. Let ‘em live a little. Everybody’s gotta have a rebellious teenager phase at some point.”

Curie wasn’t sure this counted as being a rebellious teen, but if that was what brought sole comfort, she would let them have it.

Danse: Listening Post Bravo is quiet. That’s how he likes it, and how it’s going to stay.

Courser uprising. Of course, it was a courser uprising. What else could it have been? Those things are killing machines; death is everything they were designed for, and now they’ve taken the reigns and can do as they see fit across the Commonwealth with no masters to keep them in check.

He pulls himself a little tighter into his corner. God, what a mess. This is over. They needed to go back to DC and forget they had ever heard of the Institute. Tactical retreat. If Arthur wasn’t so far on his warpath, he might have even suggested it, but he was six feet deep in his “now’s the time to strike” speech with no sign of stopping to think about the hole he was digging.

Well, Arthur could do what he wanted. Danse has had enough of this, enough of the goddamn Commonwealth, enough of the synths, enough of it all. This was his home, now, and he was going to sit here and plant potatoes and forget anything that happened outside. Especially the fact that coursers even existed and could, presumably, come knocking on his door at any moment.

He was going to make an effort to forget that first.

Deacon: He lets out a long, low, whistle, then turns to Dez. “We should’ve thought of that one first, Boss. It’s genius.”

“It’s madness.” Desdemona pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I suppose it works in our favor, at least for now. There should be chaos in the Institute right about now.”

“Other synths probably saw the carnage.” Glory pipes up. “They might be getting some similar ideas. This could be our moment.”

“Who would’ve predicted this, though?” Deacon grins. “It’s so out there that I can’t even be surprised that it happened. I mean, tell me “Holiday Office Party Leads to Destruction of Commonwealth Boogeyman” doesn’t sound like a headline you’d see in the Publick these days. It’s the perfect brand of Commonwealth crazy.”

“The Brotherhood is going to want to get on this,” Carrington says, shooting a glare Deacon’s direction. “We need to act before they can get there.”

“I’ve reached out to our man on the inside,” Deacon replies, glaring back. “But until we hear back, we might as well enjoy the show.”

Dez shakes her head. “I suppose so.”

Gage: “Honestly? Can’t blame ‘em. That holiday party sounds like an actual nightmare. I’d kill someone if they stuck elf ears on me, too.”

“Damn. There go my plans for next Christmas.”

Sole’s tone is dry enough he can’t tell if they’re joking. “I’m serious, Overboss. You even look at me with a costume-”

“I value my life, thanks.”

“Just providin’ fair warning. I don’t think any of the others would take kindly to it, either.”

They shake their head. “Mason wouldn’t mind. He practically dresses up in a costume every day.”

“Are you shitting me? He’d be the one that hated it the most.”

“Absolutely not. Mags would hate it the most.”

He thinks about it a moment, then replies, “Fair point, but what about Nisha?”

Sole sucks in a tense breath. “Oh, that’d be a mess. A bloody, ugly mess. Moral of the story: no holiday parties.”

“Good advice.”

Hancock: “I mean, good for them?” He stares at the ceiling, still a little baffled. “I guess?”

“But what does this mean, John?” Fahrenheit lights up a cigarette across from him.

“Well, we’ll be fine. I have that on good authority. Everybody else...” He makes a face.

“Exactly. No one knows.”

“No one even knew this was an option.” Smoke hisses between his teeth. “I mean, it’s fitting that they’d go up in smoke because of their own arrogance, but still.”

“People are losing it.”

He snorts. “Think of the Brotherhood. They must be havin’ a real heyday over there. But us? We’ll be fine. That’s what matters, right?”

“That’s what matters.”

MacCready: “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Sole shrugs. “Then don’t say anything. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“This is a good thing, right?” He looks to them for some explanation. “Right?”

“It’s too early to say, yet.”

“’Too early to say’? It’s a courser uprising for crying out loud. Forget what I said. This is bad.”

“Could turn out to be good, though.”

“Okay, it could, but...” he shakes his head. “What the heck. You’re right. We’ll see.”

Still, it’s a messed-up way to go. The only thing worse than being killed by a courser, he imagines, is being killed by a courser dressed up as a holiday elf.

Nick: He blinks slowly, purses his lips, then carefully folds his newspaper and puts it to the side.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?” Sole pops the cap off a Nuka-Cola and takes a seat on his desk. “All it took was a Christmas party.”

“I gotta say, this wasn’t among the ways I thought the Institute would go. Up in a firey ball, sure, but at the hands of killing machines dressed as Santa’s elves?”

“That’s what makes it so great! No one saw this coming, the Institute least of all, I assume. Can you imagine the mess that must be happening at Boston Airport right now? The Brotherhood is shitting their pants as we speak.”

He just shakes his head. “We can close that case, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be happy for them or horrified at the circumstances. Still, we should be careful; it’ll be hard to know what a change in leadership means for us.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll give ‘em credit for creativity, though.”

Piper: This is the best thing to happen all year.

For once, papers are flying off the shelves. She’s selling copies right off the press, selling them before they’re even printed. She’s on backorder for the story of the festive courser rebellion, which she’d heard all the details about from a Diamond City guard wearing suspiciously Deacon-like sunglasses. But forget him.

People have traveled to get here and get their hands on the Publick. There’s someone from Bunker Hill sitting next to someone from Cambridge next to someone who said they came from the Glowing Sea, of all places. The caps she’s making is more than she could have ever imagined, and she’s glad she faced sleep deprivation to make this one a Publick Occurrences exclusive. It’s been well worth it so far. Nat doesn’t even have to stand on the street to hawk the paper, people are coming right up to her door and knocking, no joke.

She knew the war would be profitable, but it’s made even better by the way it all went down. A holiday party gone wrong is the perfect headline, and if she could find a courser, she’d kiss them for their genius. Because this is the best thing to happen to her since she not-so-subtly implied McDonough was a synth.

Bless the coursers of the Institute for their impeccable sense of style.

Preston: “I have to say, I didn’t expect to be crossing ‘take care of the Institute’ off of my to-do list so quickly.”

Sole cocks their head to the side. “I mean, it’s not gone yet. Just... under new management.”

“New management, new threat in my opinion. You can’t really believe everything is going to stay the same after this. The Institute is going to change in at least a couple of ways.”

“Fair.” They lean up against the workbench. “Kinda crazy how it all went down, though.”

He chuckles. “I’d call that an understatement, General. No one could’ve seen this one coming. Trigger-happy Brotherhood goes on the warpath? I thought we might see that one, but blowing up from the inside?” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one.”

“They kinda had it coming, though. Who thought making killing machines play Barbie was a good idea?”

“Someone who came to regret it, no doubt.”

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rpbetter · 3 years ago

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Today I learned a popular vent blog is repressing submissions about the drama with the now defunct resource blog. They probably have a relationship to the resource blog admin, or they are the admin. I know two people who sent submissions that were not published, but new submissions they made after were. The admin is silent after inquiries about it. They are ignoring everyone who tries to talk about it. It is so hard to find a place in the rpc that is transparent right now, a place that does not censor people who need to get things off their chest. Of all places that should keep their bias in check. It should not be a vent blog. That is one of the last places people go when they can not confide in their rp partners, or people in real life. Sometimes just having a vent post published can be everything. It is more silencing than people think.

Okay, I do know what you're talking about. I've said in the past that I specifically look around the RPC to gauge a rounder set of experiences, problems, etc. That blog is such a place that I have visited in the past to do so, and I have both noticed and been told what you're telling me now. I will admit, because I do believe in honesty here as a part of transparency one should strive to uphold off of their RP and personal blogs, that I have held exactly these suspicions since the blog choose to "handle" recent events the way they did. That is why I was paying attention to the disparity in both original submissions published and the responses to them.

What I have seen is a little uncomfortable feeling. It isn't just The Topic itself, it's also anything relating too closely to that mun's repeatedly expressed positions on things as well. Well, you know, a frightening number of people do feel the same way, do engage in those behaviors, so I am willing to believe that I am merely seeing shit where it doesn't exist. I am, after all, just a person, doing what people do, being fallible. I'm not acting on any information that anyone else out there isn't privy to, I also want t be clear about that. It's the opposite of my interest to withhold information, make it up, or inflame the situation.

Like everyone else in the RPC right now, it's incredibly difficult to not be suspicious. So many really ugly things were revealed and transpired, it was like every three hours there was something horrifying and new going on. And the way that it was left off, with the meme blog mun and with that vent blog just served to chafe those feelings for many.

So, again, while I am not trying to give this all a spritzer of gasoline, and neither am I acting on any knowledge none of you have, I've had suspicions since the time that vent blog decided that it was fully appropriate to refuse action for what went on that there was a bit of a personal connection going on. When your blog has established that it will mass-block people for far less, but suddenly, over this, it's a useless effort not going to help anyone? I'm sorry, that's suspicious to me. If nothing else, it was incredibly shitty to tell muns who were targetted because of interactions on their blog to just get over it and be adults when the adult thing is to approach the mods (hello, it does stand for moderator) with concerns, and this is a serious concern.

One that has done exactly as you say - effectively shut down venting and communication on that blog. I love that the direction is constantly to take things to the comments lmao gee, I wonder why no one is willing to openly comment anymore? Total mystery! Could it be that even you feel you can handle potential harassment, you don't want to endanger anyone else who might not be able to? Possibly.

Venting has a negative connotation here anyway, that doesn't help. Months before this all happened, I was seeing an increasing number of people equating such blogs to burnbooks, or at best, "childish echo chambers."

However, venting on one's own blog is not alright either. We're not supposed to have a visible problem with anyone or anything they're doing, ever. It's supposed to work out every time like this: you approach the person(s) causing you this problem and discuss it maturely with them in private, the issue is resolved, and everyone goes off into the sunset crapping rainbows. Double ones, even.

The problem is...it doesn't work out like that very often. That isn't to say it shouldn't be your first action, it should. Sometimes, especially if you've been both lucky and extremely careful about your writing partners, you'll be wonderfully surprised and it'll be a great conversation that helps both muns. So much of the time though, it instigates a fight because everyone is automatically defensive as hell, or one or both muns are so afraid of that happening that they'll refuse to have a meaningful confrontation (confrontation is not always negative, we need to stop viewing it that way). One or both say whatever is necessary to smooth over the problem, while they change nothing at all, making the feelings of anger so much worse.

And maybe, this problem isn't that big of a deal, one needs to work themselves up into addressing it, or they've cause to actually fear the other mun's response to them.

So, they have three options, and none of them is alright with the RPC:

vent to a friend - this is unacceptable because it is always seen as talking shit behind another mun's back, bringing drama to others, and trying to force people to take sides, no matter how much none of these may be the case and hold a lot of variables depending on the type of venting and the relationship of the muns involved

vent/vague on the dash - not always the same thing, not always occurring at the same time, and not always invalid either, but always viewed as incredibly malicious and wrong. Even if the result was either getting the friend who wouldn't stop refusing to engage to have a meaningful conversation with you or finding a new partner because someone else has been experiencing it too, you know you're not going to do this to each other, and a mutual you've been ignoring is now a valued partner

vent on a vent blog - seen as even worse than venting on one's blog in some corners because it's a more open to visit place, it's just stirring up drama and fights, this makes everyone feel vagued about and suspicions and accusations of being mentioned/mentioning someone run wild. Everyone wants a drama-free dash, no one wants to allow anyone a better place to do it

Venting is important. I think it is necessary to maintaining a less explosive environment. It's called "venting" for a reason!

Maybe it is the most ridiculous complaint in history, but those things do build. And build. And build. Until they blow up all over in someone's face, it might even be someone totally innocent who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time with exactly the worst coincidental words spoken to you. These places allow for people to get it out without hurting anyone's feelings or starting a massive argument when it wasn't even anything that serious. They offer, or used to, different perspectives that let muns feel seen while helping them to decide whether they are just blowing things out of proportion, misunderstanding/potentially unaware of another aspect, or even in a worse situation than they were allowing themselves to be aware of with a harmful relationship.

It goes beyond just venting when there are conversations going on about the topics! Sometimes, people just need to feel like they're not so isolated. Sometimes, they legitimately lack the tools and perspectives to approach a problem more directly or successfully. And yes, sometimes, they even need to see that this is kind of shitty of them and they should reevaluate.

Vent blogs are difficult to manage.

We all have biases, and when it comes to more personal situations we can recognize or see ourselves within, that is never more likely to become a point of extra difficulty to keep in check. This is actually why I left that vent blog the first time around, there was way too much bias being expressed with a mod taking it upon themselves to opine on submissions, fight with people about them, and refuse to post them while vaguing about them. Among other, increasingly perturbing behaviors I had no desire to keep seeing daily on my dash.

When you decide to create or accept a position moderating such a blog, you have to know that you will be thus challenged. Someone is going to vent about someone you'll recognize, a situation you feel passionately about, or say something in a vent that upsets you. You have got to remain visibly impartial. Go on and vent about it yourself to friends, write a post on your personal, do whatever the hell you need to in order to not be visibly biased and acting upon that bias.

I see blogs like this, as well as other places of moderation, often becoming incensed and offering the angry justification that "mods are people." Yes, I should hope you are! No one is saying you must be an impossibly perfect person without opinions, biases, or mistakes. We are holding you to a higher standard of you deal with these things out in the open where you hold this position, yes. That's literally what your job is, my friends. Go off about it, feel your feelings, even cultivate a block list from that blog! But you don't show it, you don't ever make people feel worse when the point of your blog is to allow them a voice.

The only time you need to give a personal opinion is when it is requested or you need to express that a submission was declined/comment had to be moderated due to you exercising your judgment that it violated the rules.

This is supposed to be a safe place for muns to anonymously let it out of their systems and discuss these topics. Not a place where they'll feel exposed, judged by the mods themselves, and denied a voice because of a mod's biases being exercised.

And I'm extremely sorry that people are being made to feel this way, all over again in some cases, because someone cannot handle the position they took up. I'm sorry for the whole community who has lost an important outlet. I wish that I could recommend another place for people to go that might provide a better experience, but as yet, I do not. Hopefully, that'll be changing in the near-enough future, but for right now...all of the vent blogs I was familiar with have long since closed down.

If anyone has any currently running vent blog suggestions, I'd love to know about them and share them! Please, they do have to be legitimate vent blogs. I'm not going to recommend here that might be too close to actually being burnbook-like, deals in publishing URLs, and so on. If you want to engage with that, it's absolutely your choice, but it's not something I want to give certified approval to on this blog, and I hope you understand why. If they're legitimately anonymous, safer places serving as vent blogs, let me know so I can check them out for a few days and publish your ask!

It wasn't my intention with this blog, though I did offer that a couple of times just to get people talking about problems important to them in the past, but if you want to vent here, I'll do my best to publish them (unless you request otherwise) in a relatively timely fashion.

I'm just not a proper vent blog, and people should be aware of that! I do offer opinions on those matters. It's more in line with the point of this blog to do so - I want to be able to give some point of assistance in publishing them. I cannot promise, therefore, to be impartial, but I can promise to not judge you or ignore what you send because I don't agree, am tired of it, etc.

I'd just ask that, once again, everyone realize that sending hateful messages to me isn't going to result in me being nice to you in return. If you've a complaint to lodge, lodge it respectfully if you desire to be treated that way yourself. This blog will publish anon hate, that doesn't mean I'm going to be nice when you send it. Anything else, however, I will genuinely try to offer you the opportunity to be seen and heard, some advice, experiences I might have had with a similar issue, and to approach it fairly.

Sorry that everyone is going through a hard time, that it just doesn't seem to stop, and probably will not for some time now. Thank you for sending this, I hope it made you feel a little better! That has been, and will continue to be, my objective in publishing asks relating to this matter - I just want everyone to feel like they have some agency and respect somewhere, that they're being seen, and that they have the support of others in the community.

#answered #anonymous #vent blogs #tumblr rpc #drama cw

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

Text

Brick Club 1.7.2 “Astuteness Of Master Scaufflaire

Okay. So. I have a lot of feelings about this scene with Valjean at the cure’s door. Valjean is always so hesitant when it comes to interacting with religious figures directly. He can pray to the crucifix for Fantine and for others, he seems okay going to the church for service or for funerals, but actually interacting with a religious figure for himself is something he never really is capable of after Myriel. He can’t bring himself to talk to the cure at M-sur-M, and his later interaction with religious figures is Petit Picpus, where his observance of religion is the fear and awe he feels staring through the window at the prostrate nun. I also always wonder if there’s a sort of apprehension about human vs holy judgement or action. Yes, Myriel was extremely kind to Valjean and essentially transformed his life, but the very next religious figure he met (the priest on the road outside Digne) was wary of him and wanted nothing to do with him or his money. I feel like he is very aware that human judgement is very different from holy judgement, and that most other people are not going to be as accepting/forgiving as Myriel, and that most people, upon learning about his past, would be horrified and mistrustful and judgemental etc. This includes members of the church, who, despite being servants of god, still have their human opinions and biases controlling at least part of what they do. So I think there’s an apprehension for Valjean, that the religious figures he encounters are not like Myriel, and that their judgement will be more clouded by earhtly life and earthly judgement than holy judgement.

Valjean could knock on the door, confess his identity and his conflict to the cure, and let destiny run its course, whether the cure decides to report him or not. But Valjean’s guilt really doesn’t work like that. He believes in god, but I think part of him maybe doesn’t necessarily believe that god will help him, or that his being merely guilty and confessing to a priest is enough guilt. That, plus the wariness about human vs holy judgement, means that both types of judgement (human through confession to a religious figure, or holy through prayer/communion with god) are less reliable. Instead, he’s taking matters into his own hands and going all the way to Arras to reveal his identity. I think there’s also a sort of separation of religious and real life guilt/punishment. If he confesses all of this to the cure, then he’s also confessing to god, and he will have to feel as though god is disappointed in or punishing him. But if he bypasses that altogether, and instead reveals his identity to the court directly, he doesn’t have to feel guilty in the eyes of god, because he’s already punishing himself for his actions.

Now I’m just like constantly on the lookout for horse-and-cart imagery. Here’s another one. Specifically, the horse that cannot be ridden but can be hooked up to the chaise. “To pull, yes, to carry, no: He must have said that to himself.” This feels like a parallel to Valjean’s situation at the moment. At the moment, he is deciding what burdens he carries and who has power over him and how. Technically, his social position as Valjean puts him in a similar place as Fantine, if not lower. But because of his new identity, he has the ability to be stubborn like this horse, to kick out and throw everyone off. Instead, he pulls, suffering in ways that will help others. He suffered to save Fauchelevent, nearly dying himself. His guilt regarding Fantine’s situation was his suffering to save her. Now he’s about to decide to pull a cart that will be far, far too heavy for him, but he’s going to suffer for Champmathieu anyway. And that’s the difference: Valjean cannot stand to suffer in prison, to be “ridden” by society, he will throw it off and escape (or attempt to escape). He prefers to “pull,” to suffer in increments that allow him moments of rest, to suffer in order to help others to continue on.

The entire pull vs carry monologue is also a set up for a joke, which I didn’t understand at first because of the nature of the FMA translation, but the Hapgood translation helped me out. ‘“Monsieur Scaufflaire,” said he, “at what sum do you estimate the value of the horse and tilbury which you are to let to me,—the one bearing the other?” “The one dragging the other, Monsieur le Maire,” said the Fleming, with a broad smile.” Scaufflaire has only just established that his horse doesn’t like to carry people, and here’s Madeleine saying “bearing.” It’s a moment of dumb little semantics humor and I love it.

Hugo’s foreshadowing isn’t just foreshadowing. Madeleine makes sure the affairs with the police are settled before he leaves, he makes sure everyone has instructions to care for Fantine, he makes sure the horse and tilbury are paid in full. This is foreshadowing what’s going to happen at Arras, but it’s also an illustration of Valjean’s powers of foresight as well as his quiet benevolence and awareness of the power he has. Other people might not think to pay Scaufflaire in full in advance. Others might not think to take extra care in instructing the care of Fantine, and might have left the job to the doctors and sisters. But Madeleine is aware of the power he holds as mayor in more ways than one, and I think he takes advantage of it not for himself, but in order to look out for others.

We see a little bit more evidence of the town’s tendency to gossip. Partly in Scaufflaire, though the gossip is only to his wife, but his curiosity is intense enough that it seems to almost mimic Madame Victurnien. We also see it in Madeleine’s servant/concierge and the cashier, as they wonder why Madeleine’s lights are out and if he is sick. Not much comes from their little conversation, but I think it’s important to see that it’s not just Fantine being talked about.

Hugo uses the cashier’s fitful sleep and his repeated waking to show rather than tell the passage of hours or at least long stretches of minutes. I like it as a narrative mechanism, but also I think this is perhaps the first and maybe only time that Valjean’s distress is noticed by another person when he thinks he’s completely alone. The cashier obviously doesn’t do anything about it and has no idea what’s going on, but I think this is the only time Valjean (unconsciously) disturbs someone else because of his own internal torment.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.7.2 #les mis #les mis meta #i'm too lazy to find the e accent aigu so i'm just typing cure

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cogentranting · 4 years ago

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Tracing the Fall of Snow

*Warning: Full Spoilers for the book*

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is a story about human nature. Within it characters embracing different philosophies (Collins cites Rousseau, Locke, Hobbes, and the Romantics) are thrown together and their philosophies tested. While characters like Lucy Gray, Sejanus, and Dr. Gaul are fixed in their outlook, Coriolanus is not. This book asks questions about human nature, while also crafting an origin story for the evil tyrant we see in the original Hunger Games trilogy.

When we meet Coriolanus in this book, he’s not evil. But he’s not good either. He’s closest to being a “blank slate”-- a Locke theory that Collins describes as a “theory in which all we know comes from experience”. Coriolanus at the start of the book is not fully a blank slate, but he’s a mix of his experiences and influences. We’re shown the way he connects with Tigris and the Grandma’am. Generally positive relationships. However, we also see his elitism, his ambition, and his disdain for the districts. In essence, the competing forces can be summed up in two representatives: his parents. His mother was gentle and sweet, and loved music. His father was hard and cold and went to war.

Coriolanus’s development over the book is complicated but generally negative. He’s disgusted by the cruelty of Dr. Gaul, but excels in her way of thinking. He is saddened and horrified by his classmates’ deaths, but quickly moves past his initial grief reaction to focus on his own interests (e.g. writing the proposal for class, or criticizing the portrayal of Arachne at her funeral). It could even be claimed that his initial reaction was not grief at all, merely a reaction to the violence and chaos. Which, as an interpretation, leads us to the central question of his development: his relationship with Lucy Gray.

Coriolanus’s two “closest” connections-- Sejanus and Lucy Gray-- are two characters who are cast in positive light, though to different degrees. Sejanus we are meant to view as good and noble. Coriolanus is perceived as being very close to Sejanus, going from friends, to best friends to “like brothers”. But Coriolanus’s inner monologue, as expressed through the narration, makes it clear that this is all a show. All of the actions that Coriolanus takes which are perceived as demonstrations of support and friendship are really done with his own good in mind: he hands out sandwiches with Sejanus so that his own tribute will get food; he goes into the arena because he is forced to; he goes to check on Sejanus’s injury in the hopes that the Plinths will reward him. The narration never indicates any sort of affection from Coriolanus. The most positive reaction he ever has to Sejanus is when he first joins him in District 12, but even then Coriolanus’s excitement is for the news and ideas that Sejanus brings. Sejanus himself is really only appreciated for being “someone to talk to who knew his world and, more importantly, his true worth in that world” (344). Coriolanus appreciates having someone who can appreciate him; he does not value Sejanus himself.

The same distinctions can be drawn within the more central relationship between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus.However, Lucy Gray is-- as her name suggests-- a more gray character than Sejanus, and the connections between her and Coriolanus are proportionately more complicated. While Sejanus’s motives and actions are generally clear, Lucy Gray is at times ambiguous. She is generally kind, cares for her family, values freedom and beauty. She does not condone or value killing like some characters, but unlike Sejanus she does kill in self defense, and unlike him, she has no noble cause she fights for. There are also points of distinct ambiguity-- what were her intentions with the snake at the reaping? Do Billy Taupe’s comments about her suggest a complicated past? And most significant, did/would she turn on Coriolanus at the end?

Coriolanus believes that he loves Lucy Gray. However, much like with Sejanus, the narration does relatively little to suggest that this is the case. When the narration shows his thoughts, it rarely, if ever, reveals thoughts about him liking her. Most of the time their relationship is discussed in terms of him wanting her to want him. Rather than actual affection we see possessiveness. His strongest emotions come when she sings about or speaks to Billy Taupe. This aggravates Coriolanus because his possession of her feels threatened. During the interviews before the games his mindset is expressed in this way: “Hi girl. His. Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping”(172). When that idea is challenged by a song about another boy-- note: not even current lover, an ex-- Coriolanus feels “betrayed” and “humiliated” as if Lucy Gray has wronged him by existing separate from him. When she does eventually sing a song directed at him, Coriolanus’s first instinct is not to respond directly to her, but to make sure his ownership of her is noted, thinking that “it was nice, after all, to have someone else who knew the significance of the song” and wanting “to tell people around him. I’m her true love. And I saved her life” (367). Throughout the relationship, Coriolanus is paranoid about having Lucy Gray stolen away by Billy Taupe. Even after his rivals death when he and Lucy Gray are planning on running away together “he would have preferred not to meet up at her old lover’s rendezvous spot” (486). Jealousy is still the primary emotion defining their relationship.

In the same way that selfish acts were perceived as being for Sejanus, many of Coriolanus’s actions are interpreted as being for Lucy Gray when they are not. The basis of their relationship is that he helped her survive the games. She sees this as him saving her life and risking everything for her. He even begins to take this view of his own actions himself, seeing it as a grand act of love where he “risked everything to save her in the Games… risked it all again to save her from Mayfair”(480). But his motivations during the actual games were clear; he was trying to win in order to secure his own future. Again in the murder of Mayfair, where his first thought was “with her would go his entire future” (460). In both instances, Lucy Gray’s wellbeing was secondary, if a consideration at all. The truth of his feelings come out when he for the first time is asked to actually give up something solely for her. When the climax of the book comes and he has the choice of giving up the life he’s dreamed of to run away with Lucy Gray, or to go train in District 2, it’s revealed that his love-- the one noble thing he could potentially be credited with at this point-- isn’t real. It’s not even just that the love isn’t strong enough. He doesn’t just choose his ambition over love. If he had he would have just left her. Instead, he instantly turns on her and tries to kill her, suddenly projecting his own deviousness onto her as he convinces himself she would destroy him if he left her alive.

The falseness of Coriolanus’s positive instincts are seen elsewhere as well, even at the start of the novel. He claims that he has a strong moral compass, and Tigris calls him a good person, but this view of Coriolanus is never demonstrated. Similarly, Ma Plinth believes Coriolanus to be compassionate and generous, though the reader knows the truth of his motivations toward Sejanus and the Plinth family. Most people in Coriolanus’s life see him as a better person than he really is. Part of this is because, even before his real descent into evil begins, he’s highly manipulative. This is most clearly demonstrated through his hyperfixation with appearances. The attempts to dress as if his family is still wealthy, and control how he acts around food are harmless enough. The real origin of his downward spiral is in how he manipulates emotions. Particularly in his Academy interactions, Coriolanus’s reactions are more often expressed in terms of what attitude or emotion he’s trying to convey, than what he’s actually feeling. The most glaring early example of this in action comes with Arachne’s death; when she is attacked he goes forward to help her, not because he has anything to offer or because he it is his impulse to help, but because “he did not want to be seen cringing and clinging” (180). Even before he begins to do wrong things, Coriolanus seems to lack a nature that pushes him to do right things.

Still, early in the book Coriolanus does have things that could be considered good. He has a fondness for his mother. He is reviled by the violence and by Dr. Gaul. He is loved by and to some degree cares for people like Tigris and Lucy Gray. So despite his potentially sociopathic traits, he is a dynamic character who goes from being a neutral force to an evil one. This descent is demonstrated through the deaths he causes.

Coriolanus’s descent is demonstrated through seven deaths. The first is Arachne. This death is not Coriolanus’s fault, he does not wish for it, and he actively tries to prevent it, despite his motives being less than heroic. This is the baseline for Coriolanus’s moral character. The second death does not actually occur-- Clemensia. Here Coriolanus is present for the attack (which could have killed her) and makes a minor attempt to intervene, but after he becomes more aware of the situation he does nothing; he does not visit her in the hospital, he does not tell her parents, and he does not reveal the truth of her attack. For this instance, he is passive and does nothing to prevent a potential murder out of fear. The third death is Bobbin. Coriolanus kills Bobbin out of self defense, though the force used is excessive and the death itself could perhaps have been prevented without endangering his own life. Still, it’s something he was forced into to defend his own life. The fourth death is Sejanus. This death is a betrayal. Coriolanus does it to protect himself but in a more calculated, self-serving sense. However, though the betrayal was intentional, the death was not, and Coriolanus seems to have genuinely not intended for Sejanus to die. The fifth death is Mayfair.This one is murder. Coriolanus justifies this murder by calling it self defense, but it is his “future” that he worries for in the moment that he kills her, not his life. There is no panic or instinct this time-- it’s cold blooded, killing an enemy to protect his ambitions. The sixth death is Lucy Gray, though we’re left unsure whether or not she actually died. This one is premeditated, and the worst sort of betrayal. He claims to love Lucy Gray and yet tries to kill her to secure his own ambition. The seventh death is Dean Highbottom. Self-preservation was present in all the previous ones. This one is simply cold blooded for the sake of petty revenge, and perhaps ambition.

However, Coriolanus’s murder of Lucy Gray (or attempted murder) is the climax of his progression. The scene where he chases her is his final choice of which influences he will cave to. He chooses the Capitol and its control over freedom. He chooses himself over Lucy Gray. He chooses evil over good. And this is symbolized through the emblems of his father and mother. During the entire journey out of 12 and the chase, he is carrying his mother’s compact powder, pictures of his family and his father’s compass. His mother’s powder has been throughout the book a symbol of love and comfort. During the chase, this powder and the pictures are destroyed. These were items he treasured throughout the novel but here he “threw the whole thing in the trash” (506) with no mention of any emotion over this loss. His choices in the woods have destroyed his connection with the gentle loving mother. All that is left, is his father’s compass. From now one, he is steered by the influence of the cruel manipulative father* who first conceived the Hunger Games.

The Epilogue demonstrates the fullness of this change, first through the casual murder of Dean Highbottom with the method that will become Snow’s signature. Second through the use of names. Through the entirety of the book, the narration refers to Coriolanus by his first name, separating him from the evil figure in the original trilogy. The Epilogue switches to referring to him exclusively as “Snow”, further embracing the legacy of his father, and clearly demonstrating that he has become the man we saw in the original trilogy. Coriolanus is dead and President Snow has been born.

*EDIT: His father who is responsible for the initial inception and instigation of the Hunger Games.

#coriolanus snow #president snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snake spoilers

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years ago

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Wicked, part one (DT royal AU)

Summary: Hoping to stop the centuries-old feud between two very different kingdoms - a modern-day Astros and the traditional Dracovia, a treaty is signed on an arranged marriage between the future monarchs. However, Astros’ King is unaware his new bride comes with a plan of her own - she’s not interested in peace or his love, for she wants his crown and kingdom.

Warnings: swearing, SMUT, angst, mentions of death...

Word count: 5900

WICKED - SERIES MASTERLIST

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It’s a story as old as time – a woman in distress is saved by prince charming and once the dust settles and they realize they have fallen in love, a marriage occurs. When the king marries his dame, every fairytale ends with a happily ever after. However, Grayson will learn that’s not how his story ends.

Centuries of mutual hate and disputes over land, bloodshed in wars that late King Sean wanted to end before his demise had all lead to a signed agreement. Once Crown Princess of Dracovia and the Crown Prince of Astros are of age, the two will join hands in holy matrimony and bind the two kingdoms for a peaceful future. The intention was to bring a new age to both kingdoms, to see a dawn instead of the sunset they were all forced to live in.

“You know your duty.” King Sean told his sons in his last days, reminding them of the sacrifice one of them has to make.

While in Dracovia, the rules of succession were clear - the eldest becomes the ruler, in Astros the line of succession was decided after their king dies by trials. Trials of mind, body, endurance between the siblings was to determine which of the two will rule over Astros and marry the future queen of Dracovia.

“Yes father.” Ethan and Grayson didn’t fight it. Both of them knew their destiny would be to marry for duty. They couldn’t even dream of love. Not when there was a kingdom to think of.

Meanwhile, the Dracovian Princess had a similar conversation with her father, the king.

“You know your duty.” King of Dracovia spoke solemnly as he reminded his daughter of her assignment, the blood she’d have to spill and the throne she’d have to claim.

For a long time, Princess Y/N had no intention of following through with her father’s mad plans despite everything that happened in the past. She believed the past should stay just that…a ghost of remembrance that cannot affect the future.

Her beliefs changed once she watched her best friend lose her head after they were supposedly meeting for a confirmation of the peace treaty…the one she agreed on because they wanted to see if she was pretty enough for their future King of Astros. Once she had lost Andrea, Y/N’s heart turned black and she willingly forged her path to Astros.

“Yes father.” Y/N wanted to appease her father. More than that…she wanted vengeance. After all, she was trained for this her whole life. She knew she was ready.

“Your highness, we have official news from the new king of Astros.” Lady Mareen walked into princess Y/N’s quarters, a letter neatly folded in its envelope on a golden platter.

With a hum, Y/N beckons her lady to come closer, taking the letter in her possession. She had been expecting the news ever since she heard there would be a new King crowned, the same man who would wed her after. She is of age, has been for a week now. He’s been of age for a year, as well. Both her potential husbands were already nineteen summers wiser, nearly twenty.

Taking out a small blade, the hilt black with a silver dragon wrapped around it, sapphires placed instead of its eyes, Y/N took a moment to admire the wondrous dagger. It had been a gift from her father, the king of Dracovia. It had been a way to give her courage, to let her know he believed in her - his daughter, the dragon queen. Sure, the dragon’s time had long passed and most people outside of Dracovia would laugh at the notion of them ever being real, but Y/N believed in a dragon’s wisdom and guidance and it all led her to this moment.

Using the tip, she cut open the envelope and drew out the letter with just the tip of her index finger. Unfolding it, she nodded to herself before speaking.

“It seems my husband is to be Grayson Bailey Dolan, the youngest of their dynasty. He had managed to win the trials by beating his brother in a duel. He lost the battle of the wits and managed to win the courageous trial by mere seconds.” Looking up from the letter, Y/N smirked.

“He should have lost. This was dumb luck.” Looking back at the neatly written letters, she continued.

“The King was crowned a week after, and he married me through our proxy only five days later.” Even if she hadn’t even seen him yet, Y/N felt sick to her stomach knowing she’s already considered to be his wife.

“It says I am to sail to their kingdom in two days' time where I shall do my duty and bear him children so that we can bring about a new era of peace.” Snorting, Y/N ripped the paper in two, tossing it beside her chair. She had no interest in bearing his children, especially not when she had her heart set on taking his life and marrying someone of her own choosing.

Y/N came from a long line of very traditional royals, those who believed to be descendants of the dragons themselves. They called her blood the blood of the dragon and when she decided to be a mother, her children will not bear tainted blood of her enemies. She refuses to have her insides become a home for his evil seed. While tradition demands she has children, Y/N decided to accept one thing that would rescue her from such a fate - birth control pills.

“Your father must be told.” Lady Mareen voiced her opinion, earning an annoyed sigh from her future queen.

“He knows. Make the necessary arrangements, we leave soon. Make sure you’re well-acquainted with their traditions and values, you’ll be my most trusted advisor.”

It had been a week since she abandoned her home in search of vengeance. Y/N had spent each hour plotting the best way to go about - be herself and seize the throne by force or to play the dutiful wife that Grayson will fall in love with and sign crown matrimonial on his own accord…after which she’d put her dragon blade through his heart…and his brother’s and anyone else who stands in her way.

The continued travel on waves had given her calamity, but there was nothing calm in the storm inside her mind. She was prepared for a lot, aware Astros seems like a completely different planet in comparison to the life she’s lead in Dracovia. It would need adjustment, but she could find a way to connect to their people, to win their hearts. If she found love among the people, she’d be a step closer to the throne.

She watched the almost finished bridge between the countries with narrowed eyes, realizing it may help her travel home much faster than by water. While it was a long way to go, she had time to think and prepare for the task she set herself up to do.

However, despite all she expected, the moment she saw the sandy beaches in the sunset, the icy flames in her eyes came alive with fury.

“Is the King with them?” Y/N hissed through her teeth, appalled by her welcome committee.

A dozen of casually dressed or half-naked people waited barefoot in the sand, some cameras set in place to stream the dragon princess when she steps foot on their lands.

“Is he…shirtless? Doesn’t he own a shirt?!” She nearly threw up at the sight, upset over the way she was to be welcomed. “Such disrespect. I had low expectations from these barbarians, but this managed to exceed those expectations!” Y/N bashed on Grayson’s choice of outfit and she found herself absolutely horrified by the scene she was met with. After all, who greets his future wife, a woman of royal blood - dragon blood, like she’s a common whore?

“I’m sorry, majesty, but we’ll dock soon and they cannot hear you speak in such a manner. They’re a proud nation and their sense of appropriate royal behavior differs from ours.” Lady Mareen spoke in a hushed tone, hoping to calm her future queen down. She could tell the young princess is fuming, but she needed her wits when they docked and she had to make sure the fire is out by then.

“I have to ask you once again…do you truly think you should do this? How would more bloodshed be justified? Would Andrea want this or would she seek peace?” And that was Lady Mareens first mistake. Without so much as turning around to grace the lady with the honor of eye contact, Y/N gripped the railings with all her might. She had been certain of her choice for a long time now, ever since they cut her friend’s head off and tossed her heedless body at her feet, but before that as well…she still didn’t believe her mother’s death was an accident. The ship wreckage was far too damaged to be the result of a storm she didn’t even see or hear happen. Y/N suspected them to be guilty of regicide too.

“I will answer injustice with justice.” Drawing in a sharp breath, Y/N felt her icy fire spread through her veins, replacing the uncontrollable rage within.

“And you will watch your tongue or you shall find yourself without one.”

Plastering a pleasant, fake smile on her lips, Y/N made eye contact with the man that stepped out of the group of people on the beach, realizing that just might be the king…her husband Grayson.

But before the ship had docked, they soon hit a reef, knocking some of the men over the railing and definitely shaking the princess up. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed at the reef she could see through the crystal clear waters, Y/N felt her blood run cold as ice.

“The water is low enough for us to walk to the shore, your highness.” The captain spoke, his voice a little shaky as he pressed his cap to his stomach while his nerves clearly took over. How was he supposed to tell his future queen that he had missed a whole reef and that the boats were now destroyed from impact?

Turning around on her heel, her shoulders rolled back and her chest puffed out, Y/N looked like a perfect picture of royalty, poised and graceful, beautiful and just as dangerous.

With a deathly glare aimed at the captain, she scoffed, pressing her lips together.

“I believe you might have a way to the shore that won’t get you wet.” Lady Mareen whispered, turning the princess’ rage over to herself and her attention back to the shore.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Y/N noticed the same shirtless man she thought would be her husband had run into the water, walking over to the ship. His face is clearer the closer he gets, his determination visible in every clench of his chiseled jaw. This is a man much more than a simple king, a man not easily swayed. Grayson Dolan, the king of Astros would clearly be a problem with his warrior instincts, for she had never met a royal willing to get wet for a woman they’ve never met but a warrior who was sworn to die in her name. And he looked just like them - a warrior who would die for her and she didn’t know if she liked the notion, or feared it.

“Will you come down or should I carry you piggyback down?” Grayson shouted up at his future wife, his voice light and cheery, way too informal and teasing. For a woman who had never had a man dare speak to her before being presented formally, Y/N could only snort at his behavior that’s unbecoming for a king.

“I’m wearing a dress!” Y/N shouted back, a little irritation slipping past her with her sharp tone.

“So? I’ll see what’s under before the day is done anyway!” Grayson chuckled, his words angering her. She knows she’s supposed to consummate the marriage, that much she can’t avoid, but to be spoken to in such a manner even before they’ve been introduced? That was unheard of. She’s not some wench he can treat as he pleases – she is the blood of the dragons of the old and she demanded respect.

“Just jump!” Grayson added, realizing his mistake once he saw her look at him furiously, her cheeks darkening so much that he could tell even from a distance. Ethan had warned him to be formal, charming and untrusting toward her - to be careful, but Grayson never expected her to be such a beauty, so captivating, a goddess in her like. He had seen many women that possessed beautiful, symmetrical lines of their face, but Y/N had something he had never seen before – graceful rage and while he should know better, he found himself craving the burn she offered just as much as the cold she provided.

“What?! Are you mental?” She screamed at him, leaning over the railing to make sure she heard him over the crashing waves. He seemed tall, very tall in comparison to her, so if the waves were up to his mid-thigh? They would drown her with that dress of hers. The corset would make it even harder for her to breathe and she’d drown…Perhaps that’s a little dramatic to an average human, but the princess had never stepped foot in the ocean before, let alone swam on her own…swimming wasn’t one of the lessons she needed to learn to be a royal, so yes, she believed she’d drown.

“I’ll catch you, I swear! I never break my royal promises!” Grayson crossed his index and middle finger in a gesture she didn’t understand, but what else could she do?

Knowing it’s insane, Y/N didn’t see a better way to go about things. She had to risk it and trust this man she wouldn’t ever trust, she swore it. But even if he dropped her, she’d still land in water, her life wouldn’t hang on his ability to catch a woman of her size. Sure, her dignity and ego would be bruised, but she’d survive...if the waves didn’t pull her under.

Climbing over the railing, she held on tightly. She drew in a shuddered breath of bone-chilling fear before she stopped being afraid entirely as her mother’s words reminded her of who she is.

“Dragons can’t die, not like humans do. Remember who you are, my dear. You’re a dragon’s heir, the future Dragon Queen and the only silver dragon patron we’ve had since the first Queen. You can’t be defeated.”

She’s the blood of the dragon, she can’t be killed so easily.

The wind whipped her hair about her face and she sucked in a deep breath. Her muscles were poised as if to run away but instead, she brought her toes to the edge. Now she trusted her life to the stranger who she vowed to ruin and she didn’t miss the irony. As gravity took her fiercely toward the aquatic death trap below, she struggled to claim any of the air that rushed by for her own lungs. The second between jumping and feeling a pair of strong arms with a wet sensation spreading over her felt like an eternity. Then the whirl of color settled into the unfamiliar sight of woodsy brown eyes that pierced her with an unrelenting gaze, taking in every inch of her water splashed face.

“Welcome to Astros, Your Majesty.” Grayson decided to address her properly, at least once. He knew it must be anything but easy for her to be taken from her home, her family and friends and to be placed in a kingdom so different than her own, traditions entirely foreign to her. He wanted her to feel welcome, wanted, cared for and respected.

“I believe there’s more to this kingdom than the ocean.” Y/N tried to keep her voice calm, but the slight shake wasn’t hard to detect by Grayson’s keen ears who were trying to absorb every word spoken by the woman he held so tightly to his chest, even if his arms were aching really badly from keeping his promise to catch her. Sure, he didn’t manage to keep her dry and they did hit the water with the impact, but her feet didn’t touch the sand and her pretty glassy Cinderella shoes were still in place.

“Of course. Plenty to see.” Grayson smirked, realizing she was subtly telling him to move along instead of standing in the ocean like a loon. He couldn’t help his smirk from growing into a full smile once she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing herself closer to his body, more than before. Realizing he needed her now in the most intimate, dirty way possible, Grayson decided the bedding ceremony would be moved up to immediately after meeting the officials. He had thought about having a ceremony for the wedding again, but being married by proxy wasn’t odd for royalty and his crotch was much more interested in taking the dress that clung to her body off instead of replacing it by another one.

“Can you not afford shirts? Is Astros in such a bad economic state?” Y/N rose her left eyebrow, her question earning her a hearty chuckle from the king who had been silent as he approached the shore. She didn’t know how hard he had to fight to keep himself restrained.

“We’re very well off, Princess. It was a warm day. Clothing isn’t always necessary to run the kingdom.” Winking, he brought a new wave of rosy-colored heat upon her cheeks. Putting her down, rather reluctantly, Grayson had swallowed thickly once she pulled away from him so quickly that her warmth left him yearning for her.

“Welcome.” Ethan was the first to approach her, his hand taking hers carefully. Keeping eye contact with the princess, he pressed an unusually long, open-mouthed kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it with a smug smirk upon his lips once Grayson cleared his throat, dissatisfied with the time Ethan had taken from him.

“I’m Prince Ethan, at your service.” Ethan flashed her a dazzling smile and for a moment, had she not been there with a purpose, Y/N thought he could be a friend. But she knew better. The Dolan twins may look like angels sent from above, but their hearts must be as dark as the deeds their family had committed against hers. She was ready to set fire to their lives and their reign, but in order to do so, she had to get them to trust her fully.

“Delighted to meet you.” She went for a bow, but Grayson swiftly stops her.

“You’re my Queen. You bow to no one.” Grayson explained, smiling as if he had managed to pierce the invisible veil she set between them, unaware she was anything but softened by this gesture.

“No one, but you? My King?” She didn’t hide her discontent with the situation in this moment, wanting him to catch a glimpse of the infinite hate she had for Astros and the ruling family. Unable to speak up, shocked with her reaction, Grayson stared at her with lips parted. He wanted to say something to convince her she wasn’t brought here to be his inferior but equal, however, he couldn’t because that wasn’t entirely true. As long as he refused to sign crown matrimonial, she’d be his inferior, his consort and wife, but never the Queen of Astros in the actual sense.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Mareen and I shall retire.” Y/N exhaled fully once she saw her lady has arrived, relieved she gets to hide from the inquisitive royals and catch a moment where she can breathe.

“Not a problem at all. However, I suppose you’re aware of our duty.” Grayson whispered the last bit, wanting to be more tactical than he was at the ship.

Lifting her chin, Y/N met his gaze decidedly. After all, she couldn’t avoid her marital duty and while he wasn’t the old, ugly, undeveloped king she had imagined in her mind, she wasn’t quite keen on giving herself to him. She had kept her maidenhood all those years only to lose it to a man who shall never be more to her than a husband in name only. She’d never love him…she promised herself that.

“Yes. I shall expect you at dusk.” Y/N nodded curtly, holding her breath as he gave her the honor of bowing for her. He told her she isn’t supposed to bow to anyone, so why did he do so for her? To get her in the mood to spread her legs for him? To dig a tunnel to her heart with soft gestures so the moment she reveals her beating muscle, he’d put a blade through it? She didn’t trust him not to kill her and he’s a fool if he trusts her.

As the girls moved toward the large, beach located castle, Ethan and Grayson finally had a chance to speak.

“She’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Ethan noted, rubbing his chin in a mixture of jealousy and lust as they both stared at her disappearing figure and the way the dress she wore clung to her curves.

“Yeah. And she’s mine, don’t forget that.” Grayson remarked, making sure Ethan knows his place and that his place was definitely not beside his wife. Strangely overprotective already, Grayson wondered if the old tales of the magic in Dracovia were true and if the princess might have used it on him. He felt bewitched, genuinely.

“Oh, I don’t intend to get too close to her at all. I said she’s drop-dead gorgeous as in, she will kill you brother. You’re not going to survive this dragon bride.” Ethan snickered, playfully punching Grayson’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes at his big brother.

Meanwhile, Lady Mareen had helped her future queen disrobe properly for the bedding. Despite it being anything but what the young girl wanted, she had to be presentable. She knew the theory, she had seen it in her training back at Dracovia, but she had never tried to please a man before and she had to be a master in it. She had to seduce his mind just as well as his heart and body, otherwise she would fail. A man is weakest when he’s in bed with a beautiful woman and while she didn’t think of herself as a typical beauty, she knew she could use skill to keep his interest on her instead of the many paramours she assumed he has hidden in one of the many rooms this castle held.

A special room had been readied for the bride and groom. A large corner of the solar had been partitioned off around one of the fireplaces. An enormous bed had been set up in the room and sheets of the softest linen were spread across it. A coverlet of emerald green, lined with black silk fell across the sheets. Rose petals littered the bed.

Now nude, Y/N got under the covers, telling her lady to leave and let her be alone with her thoughts until her husband came around. She cursed herself for noticing just how beautiful and charming he is, how seemingly loving and kind he might be. She reminded herself that men only break hearts…the only time a woman can keep her husband entertained is when the magic of their newly formed marriage surrounds them, but once that’s over? He’ll tire of her and find a new woman to keep him entertained. She had witnessed that one too many times and she wasn’t going to put herself in a position to love a man she has to kill.

The room was supposed to be filled with many court officials, so she braced herself for the inevitable shame she’d have to endure during the bedding ceremony. If losing her virginity to a man she had just met isn’t bad enough, she’d have to do it in front of several strangers who will be there to make sure the marriage was consummated.

Through the oak door, she heard the noise of the men arriving with Grayson carried aloft on their shoulders. He entered feet first, shirtless as he was when they first met, the men yelling their offers of assistance, their wagers as to the competence of his performance of the task ahead. They were silent as they stood him on his feet and stared at the bride who waited in the bed.

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Funny enough, the candlelight instead of electricity made her feel more at home than she’d like to admit. While Dracovia had electricity, most of the castle stayed alight thanks to candles – fire…fire for the dragon family.

Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken as if they smoked. Her lips were hard, as if carved of some warm vermilion marble. She averted her gaze, unable to bear being so bare before them all, including the king’s brother who seemed most engrossed in the view he was about to get.

Grayson was quickly undressed and pushed to the bed. The men watched avidly as he drew the covers aside, giving them a glance of Y/N’s bare thigh and hip, but nothing more. Grayson made sure he was fast enough for them to see nothing at all.

“Out! All of you!” Grayson ordered, his voice loud and determined, no one daring question his will.

When the heavy door slammed shut, the room suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet and Y/N found herself achingly aware of the man beside her. Grayson sat looking at her. The only light in the room was from the flames in the fireplace across from the foot of the bed. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the centuries-old wars between their kingdoms. He had no thoughts of the warning he was given of her possibly making an attempt on his life. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, moving his hand to touch her shoulder to see if the skin was as smooth as it looked.

Y/N wanted to bare it all and do her duty, but she drew sharply away from him on instinct.

"Don't touch me!", she said through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her enchantingly cold eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful. Never had he felt such a raging desire. His hand went around her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. "You are my wife," he said in a low voice. "You are mine!"

“I may be your wife, but I will never be yours.” Y/N told him with such spite, such determination that he let her go immediately.

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” Grayson’s voice softened, his eyes holding more understanding than she liked. Had he acted unreasonably and taken her against her will, she’d at least be right about his horrid heart and vile mind…but he didn’t. Instead of being a savage she imaged him to be, he offered her gentle understanding.

“Every female descent of the dragon is untouched before marriage, my King.” She addressed him properly, nearly throwing up at the title. She hated the notion of him being the King or having to bow to him, despite him telling her she didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry I was rough. I’ll try and be gentler. If you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you. I want you…really fucking bad, but I won’t take you against your will.” Grayson sighed as she stared at him with her big, wide eyes, seeing confusion pass her features.

“You won’t?” She cocked her head to the side, sitting up. She held the sheets close to her body, unready to reveal herself just yet.

“You really think that low of me?” Grayson scoffed, pulling away. He was clear on her way of thinking now – she saw him as a beast, not a man worth loving. She hated him. Wanting some fresh air, he moved to stand and leave the bed, but her small hand quickly wrapped around his bicep and applied just enough pressure for him to stop and look back at her. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze. In less than a minute, her eyes turned from ice to flame and he found himself captivated by the change.

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Grayson may be a warrior at heart, but she saw the desire in his eyes and she knew she had to harness it if she would ever convince him she’s his.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Grayson nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. He wanted to possess her. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Grayson chuckle into the kiss.

"I will help you," Grayson said and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress. His hand held Y/N's neck, and when the sheet was gone and she lay nude before him, he relaxed his grip as he gazed upon her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the warrior look in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A warrior isn’t gentle at all, unlike what he presented himself as. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Grayson stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Okay.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the speed of her pulse.

With one thigh, Grayson is forcing hers apart. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the curls he’d be the only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, Grayson found her clitoris and applied enough pressure as he pressed the pad of his thumb against it. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when her first moan escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Grayson pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as the nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, Grayson stops for a moment, looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, but she seems lost in the sensation of his thumb against her nerve bundle.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Grayson starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for her clitoris, drawing louder moans from her with each passing second until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, Grayson finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to release his semen deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Grayson decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants to cuddle, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

And that’s exactly what happened soon after. In minutes, she heard his slow breathing and she knew he was asleep. Silently, she slipped from under his arm and left the bed. She found the sheet Grayson ripped clean off her on the floor at the foot of the bed, taking it and wrapping it around her body. She felt his cum as it ran down her thighs, angrily wiping herself clean with a wet wipe she brought in her bag. After she got herself clean, she opened her jewelry box and pulled out a small packet, pushing out a single pill from the package and swallowing it without water – her safety net, the birth control pill.

Sitting in front of the fire, she glanced at his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself not to cry. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the King.

“Earn his trust, crown matrimonial, take the throne….Mom, Andrea, my youth.” She reminded herself of her plan and the valuable things she’s already lost for him and his family, drawing in a sharp breath when she realized he might hear her…He cannot know of the plan. But she needed her mantra and she recited it slowly, quietly, religiously to push him out of her mind…besides, he was asleep.

Or so she thought.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @graysavant @yaren-ates @beinscorpio @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @graydolan12 @gia-kerks

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan series #dolan twins #ethan dolan #grayson dolan au #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan royal au #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fic

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sokkathebluewolf · 4 years ago

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A review Why you do that? Making Sokka mention 28 in his vows now everyone think he slept around after the best time of his life? They both dont deserve this June slaves Hina Tylee now this Please don't make more girls fall for him involve with him feels like the whole fic turned around this Haru deserves better Tylee is flirting around

Don't get me wrong This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit I'm merely giving an opinion ''cause Gladiator has things which you handled the best There is a Reason for this success I just hope this plus 1 girl thing in Sokkla relationship Stops But I always respect you with your great work(:

You do realize how utterly laughable it is to tell me “DON’T MAKE MORE GIRLS FALL FOR HIM IT FEELS LIKE THE WHOLE FIC IS TURNING AROUND” and then say “you can do anything you feel fit, I respect your work (:”, right?

This is not respect. This is not “constructive criticism”. This is not an opinion so important and valuable that it warrants being repeated about a million times across A YEAR. Most people? They give out their opinions, negative or positive, ONE TIME, and leave it be, because what matters to them is CONVEYING how they feel, not forcing a writer to constantly explain themselves or write whatever they would be comfortable with. Actually? Most people who have given me negative opinions so far have been like that, except one guy who was outright flaming my story because he wanted to wank to it, and he couldn’t believe he had to read 97 chapters to finally reach the smut. That I’m comparing you to this reader and reviewer is PROBABLY a bad sign, don’t you think?

Sokka didn’t MENTION 28: Sokka acknowledged his past mistakes because he’s a grown man who knows to feel remorse when he hurts people he loves. That he brings up having hurt her, to this day, isn’t in the purpose of going “HEY HEY AZULA REMEMBER WHEN I BROKE YOUR HEART LOL”, it’s in the purpose of saying: “I’ve learned from my mistakes and, as it has been for YEARS, I will devote myself to NEVER hurting you again”. That, anon, is a PERFECTLY VALID SENTIMENT for a wedding vow, and one that requires far more character growth and complexity than “Lol I’m so happy we were both virgins because that is the only kind of pure love that has ever been valid in the universe, anything else doesn’t count”.

Hell, you’ve literally made me go right back to the chapter to look at what he says, exactly: “I messed things up between us over my damn stupidity”, he... is literally beating himself up about this. To this day. He’s not talking about it proudly. And yet you’re here complaining as though he were?

SPOILER: More people will have feelings for Sokka in future chapters. In fact, I want to make it even MORE people than I’d originally planned after receiving all these asks. I’d rather derail my story into something you can’t stomach reading than cater to you. Azula will outright JOKE about being “jealous” in a future chapter, and Sokka will know it’s a joke! :D And I’m NOT lying about this to mess with you, it IS going to happen and your persistent asks absolutely WON’T make me alter my content. And why is it going to happen, you’ll ask? Why, because nice, charming, charismatic guys like Sokka attract people whether they want to or not. It’s what they DO about attracting others what matters to me! :’) And that Sokka rejects other people who attempt to be with him should be, I think, a much more important message about loyalty to someone you love than “I ONLY EVER ATTRACTED ONE PERSON IN MY LIFE AND MARRIED THEM”. Because I know that’s virtually the only thing you appear willing to accept, going by the first ask.

And holy crap, Ty Lee is... flirting around? Flirting around... with Haru. The guy she’s in a committed relationship with, whom she’s going to marry. The whole situation is meant to be insanely ironic considering Ty Lee is with the guy she SHOULD be with but it looks like it’s something else? (Hell, nobody even KNOWS it was Ty Lee, Mei Xun didn’t stick around long enough to discover the woman’s identity, so her reputation’s actually safe?) But you’re just so emotionally compromised by anything regarding Sokka being with anyone else, even if it’s 1. not true because he’s MILES away, with Azula 2. a joke 3. a plot device for a FUTURE EVENT, that you just can’t grasp this irony at all?

Ty Lee, by design in this story, has ALWAYS been pretty damn liberal about flirting and relationships. Despite we’ve mainly just heard such relationships mentioned on the side, rather than witnessing them directly, she is objectively the cast member who’s had the most relationships, whether serious or casual or just occasional, with other people. And even then, she’s getting married. Even when she’s had so many people in her past, she’s settling down with Haru for good. And Haru? Haru is THRILLED. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because HER past does NOT have a single thing to do with THEIR future. And yet you seriously read these chapters, where Ty Lee is having a lot of fun with her fiancé, and your brain just translated this as “OMG TY LEE IS A SLUT HARU DESERVES BETTER!”? Seriously?

I feel like I’m getting asks from a childish version of Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy. Everything that isn’t straightforward needs to be explained point by point, apparently, and even then, you don’t get it. I literally went to literature school and was told to write intelligent fiction so readers would feel compelled to unravel its complexities themselves... apparently that was a big fat lie? :’) Your persistence actually has convinced me that it is.

Oh and, for future reference (because I KNOW you’ll come back, that’s all you ever do): not because you throw compliments at me later to “cushion” your complaint does it mean you’re respecting me and my story. You can’t slap someone in the face and then go “Oh your cheeks are so plump that I bet it doesn’t hurt”. You can’t just disregard my request that you keep these sorts of questions to my PERSONAL blog rather than the fic’s blog, and pretend you respect me. You can’t come to me time after time with the same complaints and attitude, watch how I’ve basically gone from initially responding with discomfort (because, in my personal blog, there are MANY asks that predate yours, where I’d already explained my reasoning to someone else who apparently didn’t get it, which means the subject wears me out, A LOT), then seeing that I started ignoring your asks, then seeing I closed the inbox so I could regain some sense of normalcy in my life that you refused to let me reclaim, and then seeing that I’m answering with outright hostility, and pretend that it’s ME who has a problem.

If someone I respected responded in any similar manner to ANYTHING I said to them, I’d basically feel like shit and never talk to them again because I don’t want to be a burden or a problem for someone whom I value in any way. You, apparently, would rather be a problem, and to no avail, because all you’re achieving so far is convincing me to continue writing things that will make you riot until you stop reading my story. If you CAN’T stop reading regardless of the horrifying, amoral, dreadful decisions I’ve made? Congratulations: you still don’t have the right to tell me what to do with my story. And until you GENUINELY understand that, your compliments don’t mean anything to me. I have readers I value who have conveyed complaints, MANY TIMES, in an actual respectful manner. Readers who are even bothered by the same thing you are. And yet I’m even FRIENDS with them. Imagine that :’) It’s almost like the problem isn’t having whatever opinion you do... but rather, the intent of IMPOSING your opinion constantly and persistently until you’ve driven me to lash out as bluntly and cruelly as I may! To the point I’m outright saying I’m going to rewrite my story into becoming EVERYTHING you don’t want it to be so you leave me alone!

And if you’re not the one who’s been here for a year, and this is not really an echo chamber (despite all of these messages have the same complaints, wording, tone, format, style, punctuation and grammar mistakes), yet you SAW that other people have been doing this for a long time, and thought it was PERFECTLY FINE to join the party? You’re no less of an asshole than the rest of them. No matter if it’s your first time voicing your “opinion”. Because it’s NOT about what you’re saying: it’s about HOW you’re saying it. It’s about trying to guilt trip me into writing whatever you want and claiming the story is going off the rails because something makes you personally uncomfortable. This is NOT objective criticism. This is SUBJECTIVE, ENTIRELY. This isn’t a real problem in storytelling, it’s a personal problem for you because it clashes with your moral values. And NO ONE is forcing you to continue consuming content that goes against your moral values, you’re choosing to do that yourself.

If you’re to live by any of the words you said in these two asks, make it “This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit”. Because that’s literally what I’m going to do. It’s what I’ve done over EVERY complaint in poor faith I’ve gotten, ranging from “quit writing so much happiness it’s boring” to “where’s the sex you prude”. And it’s what I intend to continue doing. What kind of criticism do I value? “This particular scene features a factually contradictory line with a previous event”, such as Zuko claiming he never went to Sokka’s house when he in fact did, and I plain and simple FORGOT about it. What more kinds of criticism do I value? “You need to work out the Gladiator League’s system better because it’s not a solid business venture”, and this one was right? And yet it was too late to fix it, despite it’s 100% spot-on and I should’ve worked it out way better than I did. Another? “Sokka may have gotten over the fact that Azula captured him and tossed him in a slave market too easily”, because? It’s a perfectly valid sentiment? I disagree because Sokka is canonically shown to get over grudges relatively quickly, and yet I CAN see why it seems too fast for some people. What else do I value? Maybe suggestions on wording problems! I’ve made a lot of stupid wording mistakes, in virtue of being a non-native speaker. I’ve done my best to amend those, but it’s a work in progress even now.

Point and case being: in literature, and thus, in fanfiction? Constructive criticism isn’t “WRITE WHAT I WANT TO READ BECAUSE I WANT TO BE PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE WITH ALL I CONSUME”. Constructive criticism is given by people who KNOW storytelling. So I’d only consider it constructive criticism if it’s given by people who can read those chapters and see that the ENTIRE purpose of that conflict is to trigger growth and development as both Sokka and Azula realize their own mistakes and shortcomings with each other. So, someone who’s giving actual constructive criticism wouldn’t come to my inbox a million times with the same complaint... someone who’s giving constructive criticism would come to my inbox, ONE TIME, and say “Hey, maybe this alternative to conveying Azula is instinctively jealous over her canonical insecurities about being a monster and earning people’s love and loyalties COULD have been preferable, despite I know you can’t change that anymore as it’s fundamental for your story”, or “Hey, I thought of another way for Sokka to convey that he realized their interest in each other could result in something TERRIBLE if they ever acted on their feelings, a way for him to not act on that specific impulse to flirt with Suki to push away Azula, but to act on ANOTHER, believable, IC Sokka-compliant impulse that might still convey exactly what you needed to”. But again, even if it were complaints like THESE? I can’t change anything anymore. It’s TOO LATE. If I think it’s too late to fix Zuko saying “lol I never went to Sokka’s house” when it’s not true? It’s WAY TOO LATE to rewrite chapters that are over SEVEN years old, and I don’t even want to do it to begin with. But I WOULD concede these criticisms. I would accept them. I wouldn’t consider them offensive to me, or my work, or disrespectful in any way.

Constructive criticism is NOT about forcing an author to agree with you, or to do whatever you ask them to. Constructive criticism is about helping an author convey what they were conveying in a better, smoother way. If you CAN’T understand what the author was conveying? You don’t qualify for offering constructive criticism. If you need explanations as to why the author did anything they did? You’re, again, not qualified to offer constructive criticism. Your criticism, in any such cases, is NOT constructive, no matter what you’re telling yourself. This is a VERY important distinction, and one you can’t pretend isn’t valid just by throwing a bunch of compliments at me after telling me I’m ruining my story.

Until the day you DO understand the difference between constructive criticism, and subjective complaints? Your opinions will not be considered valuable enough to affect my story in a positive way. And the more disrespectful you show yourself, by continuing to disregard my DIRECT request for you to stop coming back with these complaints, as well as the direct request to stop sending these questions to this blog? The less your opinions will count for me. I don’t bend over backwards for anyone. And I’m definitely not going to do it for you.

#anon #ask #how long will it be this time #before you return?#I should hold a betting poll #I might actually become rich #that'd be the only silver lining for all the crap you've given me for a year

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thecandywrites · 5 years ago

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 11

Do ya’ll have any idea how long I’ve been saving that picture of Benyana’s brother Kaive? Since part 1. Finally. He’s here. Ya’ll are in for a treat.

Tagging the crew. @probablyclever @imherefortheforthefanart @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire Part 11

“...and a thousand.” You counted out before you were handed a set of documents which you quickly put away into your satchel before you gave your orders to the builders and gave them a bonus in their wages and gave the foreman your new orders before you began to walk the long walk back down the beach towards Stormbreaker before Oriles came out of the water to walk next to you.

“How are the legs working out?” You asked him curiously as you walked together.

“Strange, like two tails instead of one but they have to work together as one to get anywhere.” He answered.

“You’ll get used to them.” You offered as you took his arm as you walked together, your steps going in tandem.

“Why did those gold tattoos on those orcs surprise you?” He asked curiously.

“Can you keep a secret?” You whispered.

“I’m a Prince of the 9 Seas, of course I can. Besides, I would also like to be your friend. And It would honor me to keep your confidence.” He flattered as your intuition told you that for now, you could count on him.

“Look at the back of my neck.” You offered before he did and frowned.

“You have a gold tattoo too!” He realized.

“It’s called the gold moura mark. All moura are born with it. So if they have it, they are also moura.” You explained. “But the fact that they think it’s an orc thing, they’re...intimidating, not to mention fierce, powerful and are in great numbers and have a strength I don’t dare play against, so I don’t dare correct them.” You answered. “Every moura a few months after birth grows what’s called a moura cloak- it does look like a feather blanket at first. However someone is stealing the cloaks from them and they think it’s one of their gods and have built a tradition around it. To steal a moura’s cloak is a very serious crime and injustice and whoever is doing it- is counting on the orcs not realizing the real value of what they have lost and their own naivety, if not imposed ignorance. It’s like if I were to trade you two tiny pearls for a large pearl just because there’s two of them instead of one, counting on the fact that you don’t know that your one large pearl is worth more than two small ones, if not many small ones. They’re content with the sack of gold only because they don’t know the true worth of what’s been taken from them and it’s just a matter of time before they find out and when they do, it could be another war, one that no one would win, so we all need to be careful and cautious.” You explained.

“Ooohhh,” Oriles nodded in understanding. “That’s why Mr. Jealousy was as shocked as you were, because he’s moura too.” Oriles realized as you giggled at the name.

“He is jealous isn’t he?” You asked rhetorically. “I don’t know how I’ll handle him. Usually men who are like that irk me and I have nothing to do with them. Now I have to deal with him or else.” You grumbled.

“Who says you have to?” Oriles questioned.

“The hundred and fifty thousand heavenly moura above us.” You answered as you looked up and noticed they seemed to watch you steadily. “I’m worried one wrong move from me will have disastrous results.” You muttered.

“You already told us that we are not to harm either you or your family or the other competitors.” He countered.

“I don’t trust Cordene to honor that.” You said plainly which got Oriles to grin.

“Well at least we both sense that.” He nodded.

“If you could keep an eye on him for me, I would appreciate it. He may let things slide in front of you that he may not with me. I trust you won’t abuse this and put words in his mouth or falsely malign him.” You furthered.

“It’s obvious you are an honest person and therefore put importance on honesty from others, despite the situation. I respect that and I respect you. I will do as you ask.” Oriles agreed.

“Thank you.” You thanked him.

“So what were you doing over here?” He asked as he turned to look at the docks under construction behind you.

“Getting more information about what’s going on there, I like to be well informed.” You placated. “Rhos said that they’re building the docks to circumvent Stormbreaker. I came to see if it’s true.” You explained.

“And?” He asked curiously.

“Not quite, but her hunch was close. When people are fearful, they assume the worst about everyone and everything. To be cautious is good, but too fearful and you become too guarded to believe the truth if it’s not as bad as what you fear it is.” You advised as Oriles grinned fondly at you. How wise you were despite how young he knew you were.

Once you got back Suriel and Cordene unveiled their gifts to the clans in your honor since they could tell you held the clans in a safeguarded fondness, they were mobile villages on clouds that the orcs could move into that could travel all the way up to Suchi, one for Stormbreaker and one for Hurricane Breaker and you were unbelievably pleased before Suriel revealed to Oriles that he would make sure Oriles’ ship would also float up to the city so his own people would be able to be close and have a home away from home as well which pleased you supremely.

However that night at midnight the cloak detached and Suriel woke you up to tell you that within mere moments of it being detached, someone was already there to steal it and you were instantly enraged to the point you transformed into a missile hawk and flew after the two sparrows that flew like bats straight out of hell out of the top of the tent where there was a hole for the smoke from the fire inside it- to come out of and once they saw you, they transformed into missile hawks to try to evade you but you were determined and your rage gave you a fuel that you sorely needed and in moments of great acrobatic feats as you both fired at the other before you managed to hit each of them while evading their own fire and then you caught them and drug them down to the ground before they were captured in cages and you transformed into yourself.

“Change into yourselves you fucking bastards!” You roared angrily as they looked at each other and simply backed into the corners and away from you, doing their best to imitate real missile hawks.

“Suriel,” you called out before he was at your side in an instant and all it took was for him to flick the cages and both birds instantly transformed into their human forms as you gasped in horrified shock.

There, at the bottom of the cages knelt your brother Kaive and your brother in law Garis.

“Oh fuck.” Suriel breathed.

“Who are they?” Cordene asked as you were ready to set them both on fire as a fire like glow came from your heart then rose up your throat.

“Hey, hey, hey, take a step back and breathe.” Brock realized as he pulled you away and tried to calm you down which surprised Kaive and Garis the most as Brock watched as the glow began to wane before it died out.

“Talk to me, who are those guys?” Brock asked before you started to cry.

“That’s my brother Kaive and my brother in law Garis, this doesn’t make sense, they would never do anything like this.” You explained as you steadily lost your composure before Brock just hugged you as you sobbed into his chest as the others turned to Kaive and Garis as they both winced and grimaced.

“Then ask them to explain themselves.” Brock invited before he brought you back but just looking at their guilty expressions and posture got you seeing red again.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?!” You screeched before Brock had to pull you away from attacking the cages once he saw your hands becoming clawed as the air above you started to waiver from the heat rolling off of you in the brisk spring night air.

“Hey, they can’t answer you if you burn them to ash before they get a chance to explain themselves.” Brock calmly if not a little firmly reminded you. “Hey Suriel, how about you do the asking for a minute. You have a level head and know what’s really going on right?” Brock suggested as he tried to make sure you just didn’t turn into a fiery phoenix.

“Explain yourselves.” Suriel demanded as Brock did his best to calm you down.

“Elder Vedross told us that another moura colony was attacked and in the spoils was a baby’s moura cloak which the figured the orcs thought was just a blanket and put the blanket around their own child and tasked us with getting it back and suggested we leave a bag of money so that the orcs could buy a proper baby blanket but when we saw that the cloak actually belonged to the baby, we knew something was wrong so we left the money and the blanket on the baby and we fled.” Kaive explained.

“Vedross?” You repeated in confusion. Elder Vedross was someone you never would have suspected of something like this but it only made you realize that this corruption was more vampant and arcane than you thought it was? What if TriKeng was actually rather new to this scandalous sin? What if this had been going on for centuries? What if there were other clans with gold moura marks? What if every colony’s elders were guilty of this? You were just one girl. Granted you were in extraordinary circumstances, and you did currently have legions at your disposal but did you really, honestly, want to use them on the very people you knew and loved and attack the colonies? Attack the very fabric of your way of life? Was there any answer to this problem that didn’t involve either blood or ash? And what if your family was more involved than it already was?

You swallowed down the bile in your throat as you took a measured breath to keep yourself from hyperventilating as you could feel yourself grow numb in response to your overwhelming thoughts.

“Tell me the truth, is this your first time doing this?” You questioned as they both affirmed that as you stalked over to them, angry tears rolling down your cheeks.

“And are either of you aware that these cloaks have been stolen from these people for generations? To the point that these people have built an entire tradition around the theft? And does the council of elders know that all it takes is for word to get out of the true nature of this and no moura on the surface would be safe? Ever? Every moura would have to go back to the heavens or face these warhammers and battle axes and atone for these sins. These people have had their very birthrights stolen from them, their powers stripped from them and purposefully kept in the dark about the true nature of what’s been stolen from them. All of these crimes will be answered for and justice will be served- so may the gods help and deliver me I will see to it that each and every single one of these people will get their cloaks back or I will expose anyone and everyone involved so that the whole world will know the truth in vivid detail and whatever has been built on these sins I will break and tear apart thread by thread and brick by brick if I need to because these people are our brethren and they deserve to be recognized and respected as such and deserve to be welcomed into our brotherhood as a whole.” You insisted.

“Because here I’ve risked my life to find a way to help Suchi, as we speak there are ships whose holds are frozen solid with seafood meant for Suchi and in just a matter of days we will be at the base of the mountain ready to climb up the passes and if the elders would just open their gates and if they would receive us in peace and joy and fortune we could be such strong allies. No one would come up against us ever again if we really embraced our brethren like we should have all along. Now if there is a way that that can happen without bloodshed and without everything set on fire to fuel war and for this great wrong to be set right, I’m all for it. The council of elders has until we get up to the gates to decide how to proceed.” You decided before you set them free.

“Ok, I’ll let them know.” Garis nodded before he fled while Kaive stayed put.

“Aren’t you going to go with him?” You prodded as you nodded up to Garis’ shrinking form in the night sky.

“No, only one messenger should be needed for a message like that.” He answered before he cautiously came forward. “I really am sorry that I was stupid enough to get caught up in this, but I am so happy and relieved you’re ok, obviously.” Kaive apologized.

“Thank you.” You sniffled as you hugged him.

“How about I stay with you for now.” Kaive suggested.

“Ok,” you nodded before you introduced him to everyone around you before he walked you back to the clan where Cordene and Suriel were all to happy to have you sleep in one of the homes on the massive cloud island that had been built for Stormbreaker.

“How the fuck did you manage all of this?” Kaive asked as you both settled in bed as you curled into him.

“Kaive, do I have a tale for you…” You chuckled.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire Part 11 #orc #orcs #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #moura #merman #siren #angel boyfriend #exophilia #exo

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the-fae-folk · 5 years ago

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Leaf: We know that the Folk carries two names, one given name and one true name, so like, do they go through life without ever revealing their true names? What happens if they were tricked or something happens that made them tell someone their true name, like a bargain of some sort?

Have you ever heard the story of Rumpelstilzchen? It is an old story, with many variants. But at its core, the story often contains similar elements. A miller inflicted by excessive hubris who tells a lie about his daughter’s abilities, a king or prince who is inflicted by avarice and desires gold above all else, a miller’s daughter who makes the only choice left to her by those she should have been able to trust, a trusted servant, and a Faerie with dark intent.The story begins in a familiar vein, with the Miller bragging to the pub that his daughter had been blessed by heaven and that when she sat down to spin flaxen straw into linen thread, out had come threads of purest gold. The Miller’s name was Henkel, and he was known for his tall tales, especially after a pint of ale.Anyone who knew anything about making flax into linen would laugh at the absurdity of this. You didn’t take dry flax and just feed it into a spinning wheel and come out with anything, let alone gold. You had to rot away the stalk to get at the fibers beneath, and all that after growing and harvesting them. The whole of the spinning process alone could take days. The miller knew nothing of such things, for he paid little attention to the doings of his own house. He was a fool, but he had one truth. He loved his daughter more than anything and worked himself to the bone at the mill to provide for her. It was only on the Saturday evenings that he could take a break and go to the pub to tell foolish stories. He could have gone on Sundays, but being a God fearing man he took his one daughter to the nearby church for Mass, and afterward they lit a single votive candle for the girl’s long departed mother. But stories are often respun without the teller’s knowing, and there was someone else who heard the tale who knew nothing about the making of linen.

The King, whose name was Ruthard, had long been mocked for his desire for gold. The citizens muttered under their breath at each increase in taxes, and unrest grew by the day. Yet despite the gold that was collected, there was still not enough to repair bridges and roads, to build new public buildings, or to aid the needy. You see, a great deal of the money had been squandered in a terrible war the King had never wanted to be part of. He’d been obligated to send soldiers to aid another country’s battles, all because of a contract his father had signed many years before. Now he found himself besieged by his own nobles, each like a predator, searching for power, draining at the royal treasury wherever they could legally get away with it. There is much damage you can do while remaining firmly within the law.

So when the King heard the story of a girl who could spin flaxen straw into pure gold, he leapt at the chance. The Miller’s Daughter was brought before him. The moment she heard the summons from the King, the girl knew that her father’s wild stories had already done great damage, and that she would have to convince the King that not only were her father’s stories were merely fiction, but that her father was a kindly fool who deserved mercy for his tall tales. But the King didn’t even listen to her, cutting her off before she’d begun. She was a woman, he reasoned, and women did nothing but tell foolish tales and talk empty talk. He had no need of pretty speeches, he wanted the gold he thought she could spin.

So he relegated her to a single tower filled with straw, and declared that she should spin all of it to gold by the time dawn rose the next morning, or lose her head. The straw was not even flax, just ordinary straw, he had not even listened to that detail of the story, for his only concern was the gold that would save his kingdom.

And the Miller’s daughter wept. She, of course, could not even spin flax into linen in that time, let alone ordinary straw into gold.Now, at that time there was an elf in the country, who had come from Faerie to find himself a human child to steal away. He only wanted the child as a plaything, a doll to dress up and play with. There was no harm intended on the child, and he would have been horrified at such a suggestion, considering himself a benevolent person. But he heard from the castle servants as they drew water from the well, of the girl who was sentenced to be executed on the morn if she could not fulfill the King’s impossible demands. The Kitchen girls, of course, thought the girl was doomed and wondered if there was a way to help her somehow. But in all their talk they could think of nothing that wouldn’t endanger them as well.The elf, on the other hand, was delighted. He clothed himself in a disguise. For though he was beautiful beyond mortal imagining, he wanted to appear old, ugly, and friendly. Like an aged grandfather. In this shape he went to the tower door and unlocked it with magic.Thinking that dawn had come early, the Miller’s daughter leapt to her feet in horror, only to find that the King had not come. It was only an old grandfather, possibly the cook or the gardener by his threadbare clothes. She greeted him and he smiled a big nearly toothless smile and asked why she was so sad. So she told him her story, of her father’s foolishness, and the King’s demands.After the tale had been spun, the old man thought for a long time. Then he looked at the Miller’s daughter and grinned in a secretive manner. “I met an old witch once,” he said. “Said she was a White witch from the land of Eire. She showed me many of her secrets of the helping of people. Curing boils and finding lost things. One thing she taught me is the spinning of straw into gold. I can help you if you like.” Astonished, and slightly in awe, the Miller’s daughter could do nothing but nod. But the grandfatherly man was not finished. “There is one thing, you know. There must be a trade. An equal exchange. It’s part of things.”Nothing he said was, of course, a lie. But while he had certainly met that old white witch and been shown much of her work, there was little he could have learned from her. But the Miller’s daughter had no way of knowing that. So she offered him her necklace. A pretty thing of silver that her father had saved up for months to buy for her birthday last year. It was precious, but her father would be happier to see her alive. And a price paid, the grandfatherly old man set himself down on the stool before the spinning wheel and began to string the straw round the wheel, somehow letting it join up into straw like threads as he did so, and let it twist the threads as he wound the string forward onto the spindle…where it gleamed in the light of the flickering lamp. It was purest gold.All night he spun, and all night the Miller’s daughter watched in wonder. She could never quite catch the moment the straw became thread or the thread became gold, but the wheel spun on and everything seemed like a dream. When she awoke the old man was gone, and there were hundreds of bobbins of gold thread piled round her.

When the King arrived he gazed in shock at the room full of gold. During the night he had reconsidered his demands of the girl. Surely her father must have exaggerated the tales, for no one could truly achieve such a feat. After all, the Miller was not wealthy by any means. He had decided to go to the room when dawn came and pardon her for her father’s tall tales when he inevitably found only straw and no gold. But seeing the piles and piles of gold thread he could hardly believe his eyes. His thoughts filled of the veterans come back from the war who had no money and had returned to rotting fields and filled positions at their old jobs, he thought of the run down churches in need of repair, of so many things that could use the money he could hardly think of them all.

So in delight he took her to another room and had that filled with straw. He did not repeat his threat of having her beheaded, but since he’d forgotten to rescind it from the night before, the poor Miller’s daughter had no idea if she would survive the coming dawn. Again the old man appeared and offered the trade in exchange for spinning straw into gold. She offered the only thing she had left in her possession that he might value, her mother’s old wedding ring that she had kept with her every day for six years. It broke her heart to part with it, but she knew that her mother would tell her to give it up in an instant if it would keep her from a terrible fate. So once again was straw spun into shimmering gold, and once again the King found her upon a pile of gold when dawn came. He moved her to a third room filled with straw. But this time, having remembered his determination to remove his order of beheading from the girl, who was so obviously frightened, he offered his own hand in marriage in exchange for one more night of spinning straw into gold.He did not threaten anything for failure, but still the Miller’s daughter feared his wrath if no gold was forthcoming, so when the old man appeared once more she threw herself at his feet and begged for his help. She had nothing to give, but she offered him all sorts of wonders she imagined a queen might have access to. But the disguised Faerie was only after one thing.

“If I spin gold for you now,” he said. “You will owe me something in the future that I will come and name. When the price is stated, you must pay it.” And having no choice, the Miller’s daughter agreed.So the story goes much as you might imagine. The King discovers the Miller’s daughter sitting in a pile of gold thread, and he honors his word, marrying her and making her queen. He did not love her, but though he mourned the chance to seek out love for himself, he had a duty to his country. This woman could spin straw into gold, and had done so in three nights. More than enough gold to bring his country back from the edge of ruin. His promise had not been made lightly, but after considering what he was duty bound to do as King.

A year passed, and the Queen was with child, which was her duty. For Kings and Queens must produce and heir for the sake of the kingdom. Her father had long since learned to take care of his stories. Not one drop of ale had touched his lips for a year and a day, and he lived in the castle as an advisor to his new royal son-in-law.Every day she was attended by her maid, a girl named Elise, who she grew very fond of. They talked of many things, of fathers and mothers, of marriage, of secrets, and stories. By the time the child was born they had long since become the closest of friends.

Then the day came when the old man appeared at the door of her chambers, and the Queen knew him and let him in, thanking him for his help in saving her life from the foolish deeds of others. She had no fear of him, for he had been kind to her, listened to her, and helped her. He was not frightening really, just old and ugly. Or so it appeared. One person in the room could see his true face. Elise, the maid, was a changeling child. Long ago she had learned the trick of seeing through the haze of glamour, and instead of the old man who the Queen had told her tales of, she saw an elf standing tall and beautiful, with a wicked smile on his lips.

When the Queen asked what price the old man would ask of her now that she was free and safe from the threat of beheading, the old man swept into a bow. “I would ask for your first born child to keep for my own.”There was a long horrified silence. Through the Queen’s mind leapt a thousand thoughts of her precious baby, and the King’s despair at the loss of his newly born daughter, who despite all he loved as much as he had grown to love his wife. “Please reconsider,” she said to the old man. He tilted his head to the side, looking at her strangely. Though he had always felt kind and friendly, she now felt like a predator was in the room, waiting for the moment to strike at its prey. She felt fear.“Why?” asked the man.And she told him why. How a young girl had been caught up in the consequences of other people’s decisions. A father who told tall tales at a pub as he drank away sorrows for his long dead wife. A king with a failing kingdom who was willing to believe a fairy tale. A girl desperate to save her own life who was left no other choices to make, even had she wanted to. When at last she fell silent…the old man sighed.“You are right. There are many reasons why you are not to blame, even for your own choices. I will offer you one more deal. Knowing that your child will never come to harm even if you fail, that you are making your own choice without fear for your own life. I will grant you three days to guess at my name. Three days. If you cannot guess it in that time, you must give up your firstborn child to me once and for all.”The Queen agreed. At once she set the entire palace to work, seeking every name that could be found. The records were perused by old scholars, tax collectors gave her the names of those they collected from. Even the King helped by going up and down the lists, making sure that no name was listed more than once. For he’d long heard the story of the old man and his dear wife’s promise in the face of certain death. Though he’d been disappointed that it wasn’t truly she who had spun the gold, he did not love her less for it now.When the old man came he sat before the Queen as she went through list after list, giving every name she could think of, going on for hours as the old man calmly shook his head to every single one. When he left…the whole castle set out again to collect more names. Names from other countries, princes, kings, and peasants. Even names usually reserved for girls and women were added to the list. They could take no chances. But on the second day, as the Queen read off each name, the Old man still did not react to any of them.At last the Queen appealed to her dearest friend, Elise. Asking if she would go out and search for something, anything, that would help them. So Elise went, out into the trees near the Rhine river. There she crossed into Faerie. There she called in favors and sought out secrets till at last she came to a handsome elf sitting by a campfire and singing a merry little song to himself in the quiet of the night.“Every deed has consequence,And every deed has its price,I’ve been so kind and I’ve been so nice.Down to the palace when daylight dawns,In a manner kind and a face so fake,and then the Queen’s first child I’ll take!No one alive in hill or dell could ever guess,none on the downs have heard my fame,For Rumpelstilzchen is my name!”And at that, Elise gasped, for she had heard the secret name of the Faerie, and all he was and had done was revealed to her. The Elf man immediately quieted upon saying his name aloud and looked to see if any had heard, but he did not see the maid slipping away in silence, for being a Changling she too was Fae.The dawn came, and with it the elf in the guise of an old man. The Queen sat before him and read her lists aloud, her voice beginning to fail after three days. Though Elise had told her the secret name of the woods, she could not afford to leave out any found name before giving it. Just in case this was not the same creature. But to each name the man shook his head no and grew more and more amused. At last the Queen looked at the final name upon her list and read it aloud. “Rumpelstilzchen!”

And with that name said aloud the wicked elf’s glamour was rent in two and he stood in fury, beautiful and wonderful as the dawn, his hair glistening in the rosy sunlight like spun gold, his eyes like deep pools of water, and his body graceful like no dancer could ever even dream of. He could not touch her, he knew he could not. Because he had made a bargain and he must keep it, because with his name she held power over him and was safe from his magic, because he himself had revealed it by accident in the woods the night before. He turned round the room and looked at all within, his gaze falling upon the maid. In an instant he saw her for what she was, a Changling child. In a rage he stamped his foot against the floor and caused the whole kingdom to shake in its foundations. “THE TRAITOR TOLD YOU THAT! THE TRAITOR TOLD YOU THAT!” he screamed.But the Queen was not moved. She had seen tantrums all her life by children from the village. For all this being’s awesome powers and beauty, for all his cunning and his tricks, for all that he was and could do…he was revealed to her eyes. So she waited. Waited until at last he calmed down and stood before her in fury. Then she smiled.“You have lost and I have won. My child is my own to keep. However, I now know your name. I cannot make you do anything I wish, but I have enough power over you to know you and to be safe from you. I will offer you one more deal.”Gritting his sharp teeth in anger, but not being able to help his own curiosity, Rumpelstilzchen nodded for her to continue.“I will offer you my own name so that we may stand forever as equals, neither able to do harm to the other. In exchange you will vow on all the uncountable courts of Faerie, on the nine crowns of Faerie, on Faerie itself…that you will never again prey upon the innocent, that you will never act to bring harm to my kingdom for as long as it stands, and that you will never harm and actively protect all of my line from now until the end of time.”And elf fell to his knees. This promise would haunt him forever. It would never be broken or all of Faerie would instantly turn upon him and he would suffer a fate worse than any other. A fate worse than death. But the Queen was not finished.From a hidden place in her gown she drew a dagger of cold iron, simple in its design, but effective in its purpose. “If you refuse to agree, I will mark you with a wound so terrible that even when covered in Glamour it will let itself be known somehow in some way.”So the elf, having no choice as long ago the Miller’s daughter had no choice, agreed to the deal. Vowing upon the uncountable courts of Faerie, upon the nine crowns of Faerie, upon Faerie itself, that he would abide by her terms. And before he left, presumably to cause mischief in some other far away place, she told him her name. Edyln.

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