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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 14 days

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Taylor Swift is a Female Rage icon? Get a Grip.

I’ve just received word that Taylor Swift is calling her show “Female Rage: The Musical.” Here is my very much pissed off response to that nonsense:

The phrase, Female Rage has an intimately rich history:

Some of the first accounts of female rage dates to the Italian renaissance. To be clear, women in those days were not allowed to become painters- the arts were seen as the domain of men. They did not believe that women have rich inner lives capable of delivering the type of artistic innovation with which renaissance men were obsessed.

However, rebels abounded, through the might of their fucking rage. Several women created some of the most compellingly emotional paintings I’ve ever fucking seen. They did it without permission, without financial support, and often under the threat of punishment. They did it as a protest. In paintings like “Timoclea Killing Her Rapist” by Elisabetta Sirani (1659), and another by Artemisia Gentileschi “Slaying of Holofernes” (1612) as it depicts the bravery of Judith as she slayed a traveling warlord out to rape Judith and enslave her city. The painting often is referred to as a way Artemisia was envisioning herself as slaying her rapist. These paintings were used against these women as proof that they were unfeminine- and far too angry. Both these women suffered immensely for their audacity to call attention to the violation men perpetrated on them. Female Rage bleeds off these paintings- bleeds right through to the bone-deep acknowledgement of the injustice women faced being barred from the arts and having their humanity violated in such a sick way. Both women were hated- and considered far too angry.

In philosophy, also as early as the 15th century, an example of female rage is a philosophical text, often hailed as one of the first feminists works in the western world, written by Christine de Pizan titled The City of Ladies (1405). She wrote in protest on the state of women- writing that “men who have slandered the opposite sex out of envy have usually know women who were cleverer and more virtuous than they are” (“The City of Ladies”). People mocked her all her life- but she stood fast to her convictions. She was widowed at a young age with children to feed and the men wouldn’t let women have jobs! She wrote this book and sold it so that she could feed her family- and to protest the treatment of women as lesser than men. Her work was called aggressive and unkempt- they said she was far too angry.

In the 18th century, a young Mary Wollstonecraft wrote, A Vindication of the Right of Women ( 1792) upon learning that the civil rights won in the French Revolution did not extend to women! She wrote in protest of the unjust ways other philosophers (like Rousseau) spoke about the state of women- as if they were lesser. She wrote to advocate for women’s right to education, which they did not yet have the right to! She wrote to advocate for the advancement of women’s ability to have their own property and their own lives! The reception of this text, by the general public, lead to a campaign against Wollstonecraft- calling her “aggressive” and far too angry.

Moving into modernity, the 1960’s, and into literary examples, Maya Angelou publishes I know why the caged Bird Sings (1969) in which she discusses the fraught youth of a girl unprotected in the world. It beautifully, and heart-wrenchingly, described growing up in the American South during the 1930’s as it subjected her to the intersection of racism and sexism. The story is an autobiographical account of her own childhood, which explains how patriarchal social standards nearly destroyed her life. Upon the reception of her book, men mostly called it “overly emotional” and far too angry. Maya Angelou persisted. She did not back down from the honesty with which she shared her life- the raw, painful truth. With Literature, she regained a voice in the world.

Interwoven into each of the examples I have pulled out here, is the underlying rage of women who want to be seen as human beings, with souls, dreams and hopes, yet are not seen as full members of society at the behest of men. They take all that rage, building up in their souls, and shift it to create something beautiful: positive change. Each of these cases, I have outlined above, made remarkable strides for the women as a whole- we still feel the impact of their work today. They were so god-damn passionate, so full of righteous anger, it burst out into heart-stopping, culture-shifting art. Feminine rage is therefore grounded in experiences of injustice and abuse- yet marked too by its ability to advocate for women's rights. It cannot be historically transmogrified away from these issues- though Taylor Swift is doing her best to assert female rage as pitifully dull, full of self-deprecation, and sadness over simply being single or losing money. She trivializes the seriousness with which women have pled their cases of real, painful injustice and suffering to the masses time and time again. The examples above deal with subjects of rape, governmental tyranny, and issues of patriarchally inspired social conditioning to accept women as less human than men. It is a deadly serious topic, one in which women have raised their goddamn voices for centuries to decry- and say instead, “I am human, I matter, and men have no right to violate my mind, body, or soul.”

The depictions of female rage over the last few centuries, crossing through many cultures, is an array of outright anger, fearsome rage, and into utter despair. The one unyielding, solid underpinning, however, is that the texts are depicting the complete agency of the women in question. The one uniting aspect of female rage is that it must be a reaction to injustice; instead of how male depictions of female rage function, (think Ophelia), the women are the agents of their art with female made- female rage. They push forth the meaning through their own will- not as subjects of male desires or abuses, but as their own selves. That is what makes the phrase so empowering. They are showing their souls as a form of protest to the men who treat women like we have no soul to speak of.

Taylor Swift’s so-called female rage is a farce in comparison. Let’s look at an example: “Mad Woman” (2020). I pull this example, and not something from her TTPD set, because this is one of the earliest examples of her using the phrase female rage to describe her dumb music. (Taylor Swift talking about "mad woman" | folklore : the long pond studio sessions (youtube.com)

The lyrics from “Mad Woman” read “Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy/... And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry”

How exactly is agreeing with someone that you are “crazy” a type of female rage in which she’s protesting the patriarchy. The patriarchy has a long history of calling women “insane” if they do not behave according to the will of men. So, how is her agreeing with the people calling her crazy- at all subversive in the way that artworks, typically associated with concept of female rage, are subversive. What is she protesting? NOTHING.

Then later, she agrees, again, that she's “angry.” The issue I draw here is that she’s not actually explicating anything within the music itself that she’s angry about- she just keeps saying she's angry over and over, thus the line falls flat. The only thing this anger connects to is the idea of someone calling her angry- which then makes her agree that she is... angry. So, despite it being convoluted, it’s also just not actually making any kind of identifiable point about society or the patriarchy- so again, I beg, what on Earth makes this count as Female Rage?

In essence, she is doing the opposite of what the examples above showcase. In letting an outside, presumably male, figure tell Taylor Swift what she is feeling, and her explicit acceptance of feeling “crazy” and “angry,” she is ultimately corroborating the patriarchy not protesting it. Her center of agency comes from assignment of feelings outside of herself and her intrinsic agreement with that assignment; whereas female rage is truly contingent on the internal state, required as within our own selves, of female agency. As I stated above, the women making female rage art must have an explicit agency throughout the work. Taylor Swift’s song simply does not measure up to this standard.

Her finishing remarks corroborates the fact that she's agreeing with this patriarchal standard of a "mad" or crazy woman:

"No one likes a mad woman/ You made her like that"

Again, this line outsources agency through saying "you made her like that" thus removing any possibility of this song being legitimate female rage. There is simply no agency assigned to the woman in the song- nor does the song ever explicitly comment on a social issue or protestation of some grievous injury to women's personhood.

She honestly not even being clever- she's just rhyming the word “crazy” with “crazy.” Then later rhyming “angry” with “angry.” Groundbreaking stuff here.

Perhaps Taylor Swift is angry, in “Mad Woman,” but it is not the same type of rage established in the philosophical concept of female rage of which art historians, philosophers, and literary critics speak. Instead, it is the rage of a businesswoman that got a bad deal- but it is not Female Rage as scholars would identify it. In “Mad Woman” I fear her anger is shallow, and only centered on material loss- through damaging business deals or bad business partners. She is not, however, discussing what someone like Christine de Pizan was discussing by making a case for the concept that woman also have souls like men do. In her book, she had to argue that women have souls, because men were unconvinced of that. Do you see the difference? I am saying that Swift’s concerns are purely monetary and material, whereas true examples of female rage center on injustice done against their personhood- as affront to human rights. Clearly, both things can make someone mad- but I’d argue the violation of human rights is more serious- thus more deserving of the title “Female Rage.”

Simply put, Taylor Swift is not talking about anything serious, or specific, enough to launch her into the halls of fame for "Female Rage" art. She's mad, sure, but she's mad the way a CEO gets mad about losing a million dollars. She's not mad about women's position in society- or even just in the music industry.

She does this a lot. The album of “Reputation” was described as female rage. Songs in “Folklore” were described as female rage. Now, she’s using the term to describe TTPD, which is the most self-centered, ego-driven music I’ve heard in a long time.

Comparing the injustice, and complete subjugation, of women’s lives- to being dumped by a man or getting a bad deal- wherein she is still one of the most powerful women of the planet- is not only laughable, but offensive.

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27-moons · 2 months

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Martyr Abu Ali Mustafa Brigades:

The Martyr Abu Ali Mustafa Brigades - Popular Resistance Forces exalts with all pride and honor the martyr leader and writer, Walid Nimr As'ad Daqqah.

One of the heroes of the kidnapping operation of the soldier "Moshe Tammam" in 1986, who dismounted today, Sunday 7/4/2024 after suffering from medical negligence in the bastilles of zionist repression.

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine:

The Popular Front mourns the imprisoned national and Frontsman leader, the great intellectual, thinker and writer, Walid Daqqah “Abu Milad”.

With the greatest sadness, grief, and revolutionary anger, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine mourns, in the name of its Secretary-General and his deputy, the Political Bureau, the Central Committee, its fellow prisoners, and all the comrades in the homeland and the diaspora, its companion, the great national and Front leader, the prisoner, the intellectual, the revolutionary thinker, and the writer Walid Nimr As’ad Daqqah “Abu Milad,” 62 years old, one of the most prominent leaders, theorists, and thinkers of the prisoners’ movement, who was martyred this evening as a result of a policy of medical negligence after suffering from a long illness.

The Popular Front extends to the comrade leader, Secretary-General, Ahmed Saadat, the comrades in the prison branch and the prisoner movement, his struggling wife, Sanaa, his daughter Milad, his entire family, and all his comrades, its deepest condolences on the martyrdom of this comrade, leader and inspiration, one of the generals of steadfastness, and the distinguished national and Front leaders and writers who engraved their name in letters of gold for what he presented in rich and inspiring struggle experience for many generations of prisoners in the occupation prisons. He also had a rich and distinguished intellectual and literary experience that was unparalleled in its influence on the lives of the prisoners, its meanings, its revolution, and its exploits. He was one of the most prominent symbols of prison literature. Rather, it is its dean and first writer, as he contributed important intellectual and literary studies to the Palestinian, Arab and international library. In parallel, the martyr was one of the most prominent national leaders and prisoners of the occupied interior who advanced the ranks in confronting the practices and violations of the occupation, and participated in all the struggle battles of the prisoner movement.

Biography of Comrade Commander Walid Daqqah “Abu Milad”:

- Born on July 18, 1961.

- He is from the town of Baqa al-Gharbiya, Haifa district.

- Commander Walid grew up in a Palestinian family consisting of 6 brothers and 3 sisters.

- The martyr received his basic education in Baqa al-Gharbiya schools, and obtained his high school diploma in 1979 from Yimma Agricultural Secondary School. He joined the university and continued his scientific and academic studies.

- During his studies, his views and awareness of the issues of his people and his deep affiliation to his Palestinian national identity blossomed.

- In 2010, he obtained a bachelor’s degree in the interdisciplinary study of democracy, and in 2016 he obtained a master’s degree in regional studies, “Israeli Studies track” from Al-Quds University, but he was unable to complete his preparation for the degree of PhD.

- He joined the ranks of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine in 1983, and joined a military cell affiliated with the Front.

- In 1984, he received military training at the Front’s military bases in Syria, and then he contributed to the formation of a secret military apparatus for the Front inside the occupied interior, whose mission was to collect information about zionist leaders and officials who participated in committing massacres in the invasion of Lebanon.

- The martyr Walid and his comrades within the military cell carried out a series of operations, including the kidnapping and killing of the zionist soldier “Moshe Tammam”, as a result of which he and a group of comrades were arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment.

- He completed his sentence in March 2023, but an additional two years were added to his sentence because he was accused of smuggling mobile phones into prisons.

- He was among 23 prisoners whom the occupation refused to release in all exchange deals. The occupation also withdrew from placing him on the list of released long-term prisoners in 2013-2014.

- He is considered one of the most prominent prisoner theorists and thinkers inside the occupation prisons. He has intellectual and literary productions that have reached the international level, the most famous of which are the books “The Melting of Consciousness” and “Parallel Time,” and the novel “The Story of the Secret of Oil,” which won international fame and many awards, continued with the novel “The Story of the Secret Sword,” a second part, and it was expected that the third part, “The Tale of the Secret of the Spectrum,” would be published.

- His book, Fusion of Consciousness or “Redefining Torture,” is considered one of the most prominent productions of the prisoner movement, and is considered an important reference. Through this study, he laid out the ABCs of steadfastness, discipline, rooting organizational work, and the strength of the will inside prisons. He is also credited with crystallizing concepts that describe the reality inside prisons, such as the concept of “Parallel Time” (i.e., the time of prisoners versus the time of those outside the prisons), and he wrote a large number of political, intellectual, and literary articles and studies, and is considered a first-class political thinker. He produced inside the occupation prisons a huge intellectual project during which he answered all issues, inquiries, and existential questions, as well as issues of liberation, strengthening the state of criticism within it, on his way to reaching the truth and the crisis of the national project. He was a painter who provided the prison with many important national paintings, speaking the Hebrew language fluently.

- He was subjected to torture, solitary confinement, and being prevented from visiting during his long detention, and his writings and publications were pursued by the Prison Service.

- He smuggled sperm out of prison, became a father at the age of 57, and gave birth to a daughter he called “Milad.”

- On December 18, 2022, it was announced that he was suffering from a rare bone marrow cancer, as a result of which his health condition deteriorated and he was transferred to the hospital. In June 2023, his request for release was rejected, and the Central Court also rejected the appeal he submitted against the committee’s decision.

- He died this evening as a result of a policy of medical negligence, after a serious deterioration in his health.

As the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine bids farewell to its comrade, the leader, thinker, writer, inspiration and great theoretician, it pledges to him to be loyal to his national, intellectual and Front legacy, through which he made Palestine and the cause of its liberation his compass. Until his departure, he remained inhabited by Palestine, all of Palestine from its river to its sea.

Glory to the great martyr of Palestine and humanity.

We will certainly be victorious.

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine

Central Information Department

7-4-2024

RNN Prisoners:

"You are the most beautiful smuggling of my memory. You are my message to the future."

Milad Walid Daqqah is the product of struggle, steadfastness, and hope for the future.

Abu Milad, who ascended to martyrdom today at 62, spent most of his life in the colonial prisons, since he was 24, for allegedly kidnapping and killing IOF soldier Moshe Tammam in 1986.

Sanaa interviewed him in prison, and they fell in love, marrying in 1999 inside the very prison. After years of trying, Sanaa gave birth to beautiful Milad, one of dozens of children borne out of smuggled sperm. Walid was punished, sent to solitary confinement for creating life outside the confines of the prison walls.

He wrote to his daughter:

"Who will take the rest of my life and grant me a moment of embrace with your tiny arms. Who, my little one, who with your tiny hands brushed against my heart, making the pulse steady, the body heal, and decades of pain vanish. Who, my heart's joy, will come to rest on her father's chest, so he can caress her soft hair...

To my beloved Milad.. Happy birthday and may you have thousands of moments of joy.

Your father, Walid Daqqah."

In fact, Walid named Milad, which means "birth," nearly 10 years before she was miraculously born in 2020. In his 2011 letter to Milad, he wrote:

"Dear Milad,

I have now reached the age of 50, and my years have been split halfway between prison and life, for prison is a fire that feeds on the fragments of my memory. And my memory, O joy of my heart, has become brittle and its roots have dried. As for you, you are the most beautiful smuggling of my memory. You are my message to the future."

Walid did not see his freedom, and Milad did not see Walid. But Walid and Sanaa left behind an enduring tale, a living testament to continue his story and path.

"I admit that I am a human still holding onto his love, gripping tightly, as difficult as it is, with all my might. I will remain steadfast in this love. I will continue to love you, for love is my only humble victory over my jailer."

#glory to the martyrs #glory to the resistance #walid daqqah #palestine #israel #pflp

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thechekhov · 4 months

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Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH45

Slumber party!

Fair, but consider: She deserves a little murder. As a treat.

Kabru be like "IS THAT MY BACKSTORY???"

That sure is....a ship. With no one on it.

Ah, shit the Americans are here.

Two things: Toshiro being tended to like a pretty pretty princess is hilarious.

And also, the fact that they think the elves can kill Falin......... hmmm.... Pressing X to doubt.

............... oh. Laios. 😂

But also like. How was he MEANT to keep it silent? Put a little something in it? I thought since it was a magic bell you could code it to only ring when it's shaken with INTENT?

Fancy ass house.

Also, Namari...........are you hitting that yet? Both of that?

Oh, it's backstory time.

Okay one: that's fucking tragic, it sounds like the Elves are just forcing the dungeons closed with no regard for how the ecosystem compensates and what people suffer by being in close proximity......

And another thing: Kabru. Kabru, isn't that what YOU'RE after? Having all the power?

Why is this so much like that one meme where the girls at the party are looking at you.

It's the same picture.

Kabru that's. That's maybe not the way to go about it. you're going to give them MORE reasons to go in.

Nevermind the governor not being into this 'good boy, now sign' talk, Toshiro's kinda right. Ya fucked up Kabru.

No matter how far Laios runs, he cannot escape other people trying to tell him how to live his life. Poor guy. But at the same time...

Is this real? Or a red herring?

Laios' father and mother seemed to be living relatively pious lives. They clearly had a good house, but it didn't seem like they were extremely rich. Then again, perhaps he's just a cousin of royalty? Is that why his parents wanted him to have children?

They want to.... halt the growth of the dungeon? Is this another part of the natural ecosystem of things? Dungeons growing seems to point even more towards the idea that it's a gigantic, fleshpit-like creature instead of simply a construct.

Then again, constructs CAN be creatures. Like the golems.

Elves not understanding how old humans are continues to be hilarious because like.

As humans, we HAVE this same concept of variant aging. Like. Dogs. We understand that dogs live less than us, and mature a lot slower. But this is.... COMMON KNOWLEDGE. Most people do not make it into adulthood without understanding that dogs mature within 1-2 years of their birth.

The fact that elves, a species with FAR more time on their hands, who have lived alongside other races for AGES....... have STILL not got the general concept of aging down....means their education is atrocious. Or they're all not paying attention.

.......this. THIS is the most fascinating concept in this chapter.

The fallen.... turned into MONSTERS.

We know that dying inside the dungeon doesn't mean permanent death. But dying above-ground does.

We know that dying in the dungeon doesn't mean your body turns into a monster (aside from ghosts and ghouls?) ..... but dying aboveground.... DOES......?

WHAT'S THE TRUTH.

👁👁

Hm.

If Kabru and Laios fused, they could almost make one functioning human being.

Senshi just beginning to speak in the middle of his own internal monologue is so real.

...... what's going on there with the expression, buddy?

Bread.......are they STILL carrying around flour with them?! How are they getting bread?!

Also, it's awesome that the eggs are canonically hard to crack, because it makes sense that they don't break during their many fighting events.

Izutsumi really said ◉_◉

Don't tell me Laios, who is sensitive to ghosts has ALSO been seeing things?

Not gonna lie, that's highkey terrifying.

Props to that ghost that's been following Laios around, not ever giving up hope that it can bother him into acknowledging it.

And also - hey, it already saved them once! that means it's probably not evil!

That, or it's the king of the bloody dungeon. Wouldn't that be something!

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #dungeon meshi liveblog #chekhov reads dungeon meshi

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mangalho · 1 year

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Ex-warbot OC

They don’t have names yet.

The two bots with the scary faces were specifically made for war, and now that it’s over, they still maintained their original ‘warface’ even though it has stigma associated to it. Many robots changed their faceplates post-war, as it made it easier to find jobs and not get into unnecessary conflict.

The sleeker looking guy used to be in their company, though he wasn’t made in the same factory as them; he isn’t their ’batch-mate’.

After the war he completely modified his frame, and now has an idol career. He desperately wats to erase his past, as people (and robots alike) will respond better to a ‘new’ and untainted idol.

The two warface bots are “brother and sister” and they do odd jobs here and there to make ends meet and to be able to afford things they want. Rich people hire them as bouncers a lot since they are a symbol of terrible times. Sometimes they earn 15k in one night for just one gig it’s crazy. They both really love clothes since it distances them from their body’s original purpose while simultaneously not erasing their past. Also they look cute and cool!

The idol bot once meets the warfaces by chance in the street and pretends he doesn’t know them AGAHAKALAK I think he’s insane… completely erasing your past and the person you were is psychopathic to me idk. Anyway

There arent a lot of warfaces going around anymore. since they either died during the war or changed their frames. Pre-war bots were re-fitted during the conflicts and just had to go back to their former unweaponized frames after it was all over so they’re fine. All of these robots can download information and i want that type of learning to mostly disappear if its deleted, but if they learn things like we do or experience real events, those memories and skills can’t really truly be erased; if they do try erasing them, they will still remember them, just not with HD video clarity, which brings them immense suffering sometimes. “How to people live like this?!” Well buddy it sucks idk we all cope

Newly minted robots are wack because they don’t exactly have a ‘soul’ yet they just do things they’re supposed to do, but after some time, all of them actually develop real awareness and shit… my war bots had like a 78% chance of dying everyday when they were activated, but they survived and attained sentience at like one year post birth and they wised up rly fast after that. They remember their first year, but they describe it as a ‘weird haze’

These robots feel pain so they wont like dive into a hole or damage themselves too much. Self preservation means longer-lived machines which means less repair costs and less human lives on the line as well.. slay !!!

While the conflicts went on, most robots achieved sentience and decided to stop fighting so there was like a robots rights movement and eventually the war stopped altogether and now the robots have a salary and a normal life mostly. They arent organics, so they need other things. They are solar powered and need oil sometimes and also they need new nanomachines once in a while like we need vaccines. Get your boosters… its not just tetanus and coronavirus anymore now they gotta think about like..the trojan horse 9000

I want them to have this aversion to organic things dying bc they are universally gross. Like they dont like seeing living-machines die either but a rat being squished by a car is also gross!

There are probably some tensions between humans and robots but like i kinda get it bc i wouldnt mess with a guy who has like lead pipes for arms. also most robots ARE normal but some are insane idk 🙆‍♀️🤷‍♀️ just like people are.

mine are normal tho they’re just vibing 💖🗣🤙

#drawans #OC #warface

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sturniozo · 5 months

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In The Shadows I

masterlist

Most people that work for their father’s company have no choice, they’re thrown into it against their will. I was no different. Ever since I learned what my father really did for a living he had decided it would be what I do to. And I do it well. I’ve been training since I was 16. Now, 6 years later I’m the greatest assassin his company has ever produced.

My father runs a business, a hit man business. Some people are rich enough to hire people like us, people like me. We don’t just kill, we erase. We make people suffer and we make them silenced. Some people hire us just to investigate, gather information on an enemy.

You wouldn’t believe the amount of people that have wanted others dead. Exes wanting revenge, spouses wanting to collect life insurance, adult children sick of their parents. Some of their reasoning isn’t even good, but hey, moneys money right?

The cash isn’t even why I do it. It’s the thrill. Being undercover, being sneaky, solving things people had made difficult because they thought they were smart enough to hide them.

Everything I do, I do for the thrill. That rush of adrenaline that I’ve yet to let anyone who cares about me know about. Most assassins are like me though. No one really does it for the money. That’s just a bonus.

My father’s the only one who knows what I do. He made me what I am today. A killer. Not even my boyfriend of two years knows. He thinks I’m a planner at a company that sells stocks. That’s my cover. Thats my lie.

My eyes snap open as I hear my alarm go off. I dig under my pillow for my phone and shut off the alarm. I set my phone down on the night stand and rub my eyes. 5 am. I look over to my side and see my sleeping boyfriend, Luke. No doubt he went to bed not even an hour ago. He spends most nights staying up all night playing video games.

I sit up in bed and yawn. I get up and make my way to my bathroom. I take a quick shower before leaving to my usual coffee shop for breakfast.

The barista hands me my usual order with a smile. I’m used to seeing her here almost every day. Her usual days off are Wednesday and Friday. I sip on my coffee as I head back to my car. The clock on the console reads 6:53 am. I set the coffee down in the cup holder and drive off to the building I spend so many days in during my childhood, before I knew what it held.

I park in my usual spot, right next to my father’s car. I get out the car with my purse and my coffee, heading to the building entrance. I nod at Bobbie, the security girl, as I swipe my access card. It grants me access to the building and I head straight to my father’s office as I do every morning.

“Ah, good morning my dear.” My dad says as he gets out of his chair and walks to me for a hug.

“Good morning, Dad.” I say as I hug him back tightly.

He pulls away and smiles at me. “What do you have for me today?” He asks.

I dig through my purse and find a little paper bag. I hand it to him. “Open it.” I say while biting my lip to contain my excitement.

My father smiles at me and opens the little paper bag, letting a ring fall out onto his hand. “24 karat diamond?” He asks as he examines it.

“Yep. Fresh off the finger of a very unlucky divorcé.” I tell him.

“Ah, so this is the proof of contract completion for that Mrs. Aubrey then?”

“Ms. Aubrey.” I correct. “And yes, her ex husband won’t be bothering her or her children anymore.”

“That’s a good girl, I knew I could count on you.” My father smiles and puts the ring back in its paper bag. “I’ll have it delivered to her tonight, expect your payment in full my tomorrow morning dear.” He sits back down in his chair.

I sit down in the seat in front of his desk. “That’s my last contract, I’m officially out of running orders.” I say with a laugh.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve got something for you.” My dad smiles as he begins typing away at his computer.

“What is it?” I ask, leaning in.

“I’ll tell you in a bit, go on back to your office dear.”

“Why wait?”

“There’s more than just you and I for this contract, it’s a big one.”

I smile brightly. My father’s finally giving me a big important contract for my own. “All right. Just call my office when you’re ready for me, Dad.” I say with a smile as I get up from the seat.

“I’ll see you in a bit, dear.” He says as he waves me off.

I walk out of his office and to the elevator. My father’s office is on the top floor, while mine is about seven floors below that, a bit more than 2/3 of the way up the whole building. I walk out of the elevator and see the cubicles. I’m glad I got to skip that part.

I walk down the cleared walkway to my office, but am stopped when someone waves me over.

Casey. She started here as an information analyst just over a year ago. Now she profiles the subjects of our contracts. She’s the one who decides which assassin does what job.

“Hey, Casey.” I rest my arms over her cubicle.

“So, your new contact.” She smiles at me.

“I take it you chose me?” I laugh.

“No, this one came straight from the big man, your dad.” She says.

“Ah, okay. So you have no idea what it is then?” I ask.

“Nope.” She shakes her head.

“Then what did you call me over for?” I ask with a laugh.

“To gossip, duh! What else?” She laughs.

“I’m not one to gossip, Casey, you know that.” I say as I begin to walk away.

“I just wondered if you heard anything about the new guy.” She shrugs.

I turn back to her. “New guy?” I ask.

“He’s on loan from another industry. Apparently he’s their best assassin. Might even be right up there with your skill.” She chuckles.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Well, I didn’t get a name, but he’s handsome. I snuck a peak at his photo in his file when I was in your dad’s office yesterday.” She smirks. “He’s gorgeous, like a god!” She whispers.

I laugh. “He’s a trained killer?”

She nods. “His file was definitely an assassin file.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be spreading this around. Idle gossip isn’t what people come here for.” I say before walking into my office.

I shut the door behind me and let out a breath. I walk to my desk and set down my now half drunk coffee and my purse. I rub my temple and check the time on my phone. 8:14 am.

I groan and lay my head down in my arms on my desk. No contracts, no one to research or study. Nothing. I sigh and start scrolling aimlessly on my phone.

I get bored fast and see my phone down on my desk. I run my fingers over my face and bounce my knee up and down. The agony and boredom is killing me.

I shake my head and begin searching through my drawers, taking everything out and organizing everything. Within an hour I have everything in my office rearranged. I step back and look at it all, smiling.

I turn around and look out the glass wall of my office. Anyone who looked in here would think I was crazy. I just tore apart my entire office and rearranged it all in an hour, just out of boredom.

Staring out the glass I see someone who makes my breath hitch. Matt Sturniolo. Matt worked at this company years ago. He was one of my father’s greatest assassins. He even taught me most of my tricks. But that all changed when Matt betrayed me.

The call finally comes. My father telling me it’s time to go back up to his office. I have a weird feeling in my stomach, a feeling Matt has something to do with it.

I make my way to the elevator and go back up to my father’s office. I walk out of the elevator and stop when I see him. Matt standing in my father’s office. Just talking with him.

I gather my courage and walk into his office, ignoring Matt completely. “Got the call,” I say to my dad. “What’s the contract?”

“Y/n, you know Matt Sturniolo.” My dad gestures to Matt. I side eye him before looking back at my dad.

“Yes, I remember him.” I mumble.

“He’s your partner for this contract.”

My jaw drops. “He- what?” Matt laughs and I turn to glare at him. “What’s so funny?” I ask him.

“Just you.” Matt says. “You’re like a high school girl with a grudge.”

I glare at him before turning back to my dad. “There’s got to be someone else, or I could just do it myself!” I tell him.

“No, you two are the best assassins I’ve ever met, the best trained killers, the best investigators, the best of the best. I need both of you for this.” My father says in a demanding tone.

“What’s the contract?” Matt asks.

“Finley Wilson.” My father stands up and hands both Matt and me a folder. “Collector of rare curios. He’s not the target though, your job is to befriend him. Pose as a couple in search of useless art and befriend Wilson. Find out who he cares about the most.”

I stare at my father. “Us? A couple?” I point between Matt and myself.

“I won’t hear any of your complaining.” My dad says. “This is an important contact, I want reports every night. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, I suggest you be ready then, understand?” My father says sternly.

I nod and keep my mouth closed.

“Good. Don’t worry, I’ll have your things for your cover sent with you. You’ll need to make a believable couple, and Wilson will have to believe you’re a rich couple looking to buy his curios. That is important. You need him to believe this cover. He’s paranoid, it won’t be easy.”

Matt closer the folder and holds it under his arm. “Where are we going?” He asks.

“Switzerland.”

TAGS: @sturniolopookie @savageking3 @tastesousweet @jko3005 @sturniolo0ntop @bernardenjoyer @sturniolosreads @mbbsgf @xxsadlovexx @whicked-hazlatwhore @sturnsgirl @keira324 @stuniolobbg @timmyscomputer

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wttcsms · 5 months

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"i (Nanami Kento) bet on losing dogs" x the losing dog (reader)

no other sadness in the world would do, kento nanami ;

pairing kento nanami x f!reader word count 1.5k synopsis a quiet and intimate examination of modern day suffering content contains implied abusive spouse (for reader), implied unrequited love (nanami has feelings for reader)

There is nothing in this world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

What a pathetic trait, he would think to himself. How could someone just blindly follow someone, constantly chasing after their shadow, only to be mistreated time and time again? It’s disgusting. Shameless. Weak.

He feels disgusting, shameless, weak.

Powerless, too. That’s a new one. That’s how things usually go when it’s just the two of you; you start evoking all sorts of new emotions, like he’s a video game character and you’re helping him unlock upgrades to his character. It’s a bit disarming, really. Kento much prefers to remain as impassive as possible while in the office because unnecessarily giving up any pieces of himself to this skyscraper shithole feels like he’s letting his stupidly rich clients win.

Kento likes routine, which is why he settles into one quickly and refuses to make adjustments unless absolutely necessary.

And then you became his new desk partner, and his perfect, meticulous cycle is thrown off course.

Being observant does more harm than good. He notices the shiny ring on your finger and draws an invisible, never-to-be-passed boundary. He already has made up his mind on not engaging with any of his coworkers, female or male, married or otherwise, but with you, he makes the mental effort to visualize the line, the flashing red warning signs, the whole nine-yards. This is the first sign that you are going to fuck up his life. Already, you’re embedded in his insides, owning real estate in his subconscious long before he can even realize it.

At first, you don’t talk to him much; you don’t talk to most of the men working here, and Kento can’t fault you for that. Most of them are assholes, and all of them don’t have any morals. If this wasn’t the case, they wouldn’t be working here, after all.

Eventually, you start to withdraw, and Kento becomes the person you’re most comfortable with talking to. What you see is what you get with him. Kento refuses to be one of those people who are a waste of perfectly good oxygen, and he doesn’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re in an industry where men purposely like to talk over women, just because they can get away with it. With Kento, you are given free rein of the conversation. It’s kismet, you and him.

He gets used to your constant conversation, never seeming to be put off by the fact that he doesn’t offer up his opinion unless explicitly asked. Kento normally doesn’t like it when people talk to him when he’s trying to get work done, but your voice is pleasant, your topics always interesting (“do you think there are different levels in Hell, or is a one-victim murderer being prodded by pitchforks right next to Hitler?”), and he finds that listening to you speak relaxes him somewhat. He doesn’t go home with a tightness in his shoulders and a persistent, throbbing ache in his head that aspirin can’t seem to fix.

The first time Kento initiates conversation is when he sees you wearing a blazer during the sweltering heat of one of Japan’s most unforgiving summers.

“A bit warm for all that,” he says, trying to adjust his tone and make it sound like a joke. Even if it did sound like a joke, he knows that your reaction would remain the same.

“Oh,” you give a nervous, insincere laugh, reflexively tugging on the sleeves even though your arms are still very much covered. “I get cold easily.”

That’s a lie. Kento knows because he knows you well enough to tell that you are the most genuine person he has ever interacted with. He doesn’t know how you ended up with this job when you’re much better suited for a career that actually helps people. He thinks back to when the office’s air conditioning went haywire and blasted the office with near-freezing temperatures. You had remained in your short-sleeved blouse, saying that you love the cold.

He doesn’t call you out on it, though. He just makes a noise from the back of his throat and turns back to his monitor.

He can only pretend to ignore your erratic behavior for so long. You keep yourself covered to the point where you make a nun seem indecent. You withdraw from him, not initiating conversation unless Kento brings something up (he’s never been good at making small talk, and so more often than not, the conversation fizzles out quickly and awkwardly). And then you come to work with a black eye, and Kento refuses to let you suffer in silence any longer.

You break down and cry, feeling pathetic, feeling lost. You beg him not to say anything to anybody, that this is just a rough patch, that this’ll pass, and everything will be okay. Amidst your sobs, Kento finds himself wondering who you’re trying to convince right now.

He holds you on the comedown.

Now, there’s a new cycle. Things don’t get better for you; it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that one out. If a man lays his hands on you once, he’ll do it again. And again. And again.

To take a life is a serious thing, but sometimes, there are worse ways to kill someone without ever murdering them. Your husband is killing you right now, a slow, soul-sucking type of death, and Kento would like to kill him. Some people are more curse than human.

What did your husband do, Kento wonders, to make you fall in love with him? What can your husband do to make you finally wake up and realize that he is entirely undeserving of your love?

Kento Nanami does not belong to any religion, does not attend church, does not even bother questioning the possibilities of a potential afterlife because his current life is already a bust as is. But after every late night he spends comforting and consoling you, holding you while you wet his button-down with your tears, he goes home and prays that you get the strength to fucking leave him. Pack your bags and get the hell out of Tokyo. Even if it means he’ll never see you again, the only person who makes this insufferable existence somewhat bearable.

But the cycle doesn’t seem to ever break. He’s watching you fade away, and he decides that all the faith systems are fucked up for ignoring his pleas.

“You should leave him.” He tells you, handing you a tissue. It’s technically a waste of breath; he tells you this shit all the time, and you never take his advice, but he says it anyway. Foolishly hoping that this time will be the time where you decide to listen to him.

(And besides, he finds that anything he says to you could never be a waste.)

“But I love him.” You give him that same sad, watery smile, and Kento wants to pity you, but you wouldn’t accept it. Outwardly, he treats you the same as he used to, before he knew all that stuff that happens to you behind closed doors, because he knows what it’s like to be treated like you’re incapable of processing anything but kindness. The sweet, sugary kind of kindness, too — none of that blunt, pragmatic stuff. Kismet, he snorts. How fortunate that the kindness you need — re: blunt, pragmatic — is the only type he’s capable of giving to you.

Being treated like you’re surrounded by broken glass and everyone around you is trying desperately to avoid it makes people feel even worse. When Yu died, everyone acted like not being overly nice to Kento would somehow make him snap and go off the deep-end. The fact of the matter is, none of these people have ever been so overly cautious around him, and it actually made the pain of losing Yu somehow more unbearable.

There are lots of replies that rest on the tip of his tongue.

But does he love you?

Why?

Have some self respect, holy shit.

Your love is killing you from the inside out.

I could love you.

He tosses away your snotty tissues into the trash can, somehow not disgusted by you even though you think he should be. His grocery list now includes painkillers, band-aids, and bruise ointment. He thinks prayers are a waste of time, and before bed, he takes a shot in the dark and hopes some benevolent god is rooting for you like he is. There is nothing in the world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

“I know.” And he leaves it at that.

#kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #one shot #drabble #sleepover event

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whateversawesome · 5 months

Text

SxF Chapter 91: Perspective, History, Empathy

Let me start by saying that I didn't think this chapter would make me so emotional. Was it the same for you?

A small side character like Millie, who we saw only as one of Yor's annoying co-workers, turned out to have a very sad backstory and gave us a glimpse of how things are for young people in Ostania.

This chapter talks a lot about people understanding and misunderstanding each other. Millie was just talking about her own experience and feelings, she was explaining why it was so difficult for her to help during an event like this, and that lady felt personally attacked because she saw things from her own point of view and her sufferings.

In no way the story discards any of those ladies' sufferings; what they went through during the war was very difficult, I'm sure. Nevertheless, comparing their sufferings and demanding Millie to act the same way just because they were able to do it, it's not right.

They both had different experiences because their circumstances were different, so they face life in their own way. That's exactly Yor's point.

Here, Yor demonstrates her best quality (and one of the many reasons why her husband fell in love with her): Emotional strength.

I've said it before and I'll say it again; Yor is a very emotionally intelligent character. The way she stood up for Millie displayed all her emotional strength. She called out that woman in such a smart way!! She wasn't rude but her words were true and very wise.

One of the most important things Yor mentions is that we cannot bear the same load because we're different. And I couldn't agree more👏

Also, if we take it as a metaphor, Yor is such a strong person because she carried a very heavy load: as a child and an orphan, she had to take care of her brother. Because of this, a naturally kind person like her had to learn to murder in order to survive.

It was a beautiful chapter. On top of everything, we learned a few important things:

1.Yor did lose her parents during the war and because of the war.

2.Donovan Desmond did NOT start the war. But plenty of young people like Millie don't know that, so it's possible that since he was Prime Minister during most of the war, he gets blamed for starting it.

3.Donovan Desmond is hated by many. That's probably the reason why he's no longer in office. And it also wouldn't be surprising that the majority of people in Ostania who voted against him want to move on from the war.

3.Melinda still wears her wedding ring and, even though she's separated from her husband, she still counts him as an important person for her. I guess, you can hate a person's actions and opinions, hate what they have become, but care about them at the same time...their marriage is complicated.

4.Not only Yor and Twilight fear the SSS because of their jobs. The general population do too because they know rich and powerful people can make them disappear regardless whether they are spies or not. That means arrests and disappearences of innocent people are common.

5.There was a repression during war time. This means the state controls and restricts certain rights of its citizens. When war happens, the state may determine it's necessary to protect their country and citizens. Chances are that policing of others started then and Ostanians got used to living like that.

And now some questions:

Was Melinda being sincere? In my opinion yes (for the most part). Melinda is no longer campaigning for her husband. In fact, she's going there incognito. Since her husband is no longer the Prime Minister and they don't have any elections to win, she doesn't have to support this types of events. If you think about it, once a politician retires from the public eye, their spouse generally goes back to their normal life.

Something that caught my attention was that it was mentioned Melinda has a lot of enemies; probably because her husband has a lot of enemies too. If that's the case, it would be easier for Melinda to move abroad, where she could have a care-free life, yet, she has chosen to stay in Ostania. Why?

Melinda is still a very mysterious character. We don't know her plans or intentions. We don't know why she separated from her husband. My only guess is that she's suffered a great deal and that's why she's able to empathize with Millie, even though their experiences are different.

What do you think?

Bonus (to end on a light note):

This is the Sxf when we see Yor 😄

#spy x family #twiyor #Spy x family manga #Sxf #Spy x family #yor forger #loid forger #anya forger #loidyor #loid x yor #agent twilight #Spy x family meta #spy x family analysis

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bethanydelleman · 18 days

Note

Pssstt what do you think of Eloise Bridgerton?

Lots of people seem to love her and her outspokenness and I understand that the show is a very fictional very fanfiction fiction set in a very fanfiction-y Regency era and her dissatisfaction of her life as a woman is justified

But

Am I the only one who distastes her attitude? She's rude. She doesn't care about other people's feelings, not even her own mother or her sister, Daphne who yes has very different views about marriage compared to her but I think most of the time Daphne is nice towards her and all that she can spout is how she's Different and she doesn't want to marry that men had it so much better than women. It's giving very condescending energy

She's not wrong about the unfairness of women's situation but she's also a higher rank woman and it's just....*frustrated noise, I wish she's written for the show as less of a child who has just learned of the phrase 'women's right' who's made it their entire personality and more of a person who's conscious of the differences in privilege between men and women and tries to change that, emphasize in 'tries' instead of whatever she's supposed to be- whiny and rude

If she's the face of women's right movement, I'll be fine with it, but it's also very annoying

Am I just weird for not liking her because she actually has some really good points? Idk

I find Eloise Bridgerton incredibly annoying and I'm not sure if the show is self-aware enough to know that they made her extremely irritating. And this also comes back to my girl sad about arranged marriage post... Caveat that it's been a while since I watched S1 & S2 of Bridgerton and I won't be watching 3 because I hated 2.

Eloise sounds and acts like an incredibly entitled university student who has never had a paying job. The stuff she says is "right" in a modern sense, or at least takes a modern perspective when it comes to women's rights, but it sounds canned given the imagined era. The big problem is that as far as I remember, Eloise only cares about women, mostly herself, and not about class. Her discovery during her investigation that servants don't have the time to publish a paper could have led to her realizing something, but it didn't. She whines about her "plight" but doesn't seem to have any real compassion for frankly anyone. It's an entirely selfish one woman campaign.

The fact is, Eloise comes from a very rich family and her siblings are very kind, she doesn't have to marry. If she is like any Jane Austen heroine, it's Emma. Austen made Emma sympathetic by showing an Emma who doesn't whine at all, but suffers from the weight of her duty and limited options. Jane Fairfax was the one who very occasionally complained about her lot in life, and her future was bleak. Being a governess sucked and was usually a dead-end job that required a ton of work.

Eloise could have been great. They could have put the words of real women's rights activists from her time period in her mouth, like Mary Wollstonecraft. They could have even borrowed from Jane Austen, who has many women beg to be regarded as "rational creatures" who know their own hearts. Instead, she feels like a hollow shell of empty rhetoric, a petulant child with no compassion for anyone but herself, and a mouthpiece of hackneyed modern sentiments.

So yeah I'm with you.

#question response #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton #I know it's imagined but at least give this character some compassion #and if you are going to imagine have her angry for the poor too

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faerievampling · 2 months

Text

Killing Time

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary: Astarion is alone.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav/Reader

Warning: 18+. Blood and Violence. PiV. Cunnilingus. Handjob. Masturbation. Obsessing over his consort’s panties. Obsessive and Possessive behavior. Heavy trigger warning for Panic Attack & Anxiety. Our vampire lord really going through it.

Link to AO3!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

A/N: yall this one was hard to write and took way longer than I intended, i hope I did it justice. please enjoy <3 I’m hoping chapter 8 will be out soon, I have 4 days off next week (mini vacation!) so I still intent to post chapter 8 this coming week :)

Pic by: @druidess-vp <3

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years.

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced.

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone.

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all, he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup.

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately.

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind.

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd.

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man.

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening cock only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them.

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His orgasm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself.

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back.

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent.

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance.

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin.

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘He will be her new Master.’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you.

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task.

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles.

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav, is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.”

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye.

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color.

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir.

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities.

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours.

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed.

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body.

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face.

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘How rare. How sweet.’

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off. If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you.

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your cunt was sucking his cock in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man.

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below.

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you. Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad.

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s fucked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion.

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #soft ascended astarion #ascended!astarion #ascended astarion x you #ascended astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x tav #spawn tav #lord astarion #astarion fanfiction #vampire tav #Killing Time

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em-ira · 3 months

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From The Human Realm Spiderweb thing, the Internet.

Welcome to Historic Gravesfield

We invite you to come to Gravesfield and visit one of Connecticut’s oldest established townships.

Gravesfield is deeply devoted to preserving our authentic New England heritage, now over 375 years in the making. Heritage tourism is an important component of the community’s identity.

We think you’ll find that the Historic Gravesfield district has many things to offer visitors from an extended weekend getaway to a pleasant day trip. Visitors to Gravesfield can rediscover our nation’s heritage in an authentic, living New England village whose artifact-rich museums, historic homes, shops and places of interest offer experiences for all ages.

Walking along these quiet streets, with brick-paver sidewalks shaded by mature trees, you’d never know you were just a stone’s throw from busy I-91. The historic district of Old Gravesfield is a little world unto itself.

One early building is the old Wittebane House on Main Street. Believed to be built in the 1650s, it’s the setting for the historic mystery of the Wittebane Brothers, who both mysteriously disappeared during the 1662 Hartford witchcraft hysteria, the first widespread witch panic in New England history. There is a statue, reputed to be of the Wittebane Brothers, in the town square.

Two separate but equally disturbing incidents triggered the panic: the “diabolical possession” of Hartford resident Ann Cole and the fatal illness suffered by eight-year-old Elizabeth Kelly. Young Kelly’s damning last words “Goody Ayers chokes me!” were enough to set witch accusations flying. In all, eight people were formally charged; three, and possibly a fourth, were executed.

The disappearance of the Wittebane Brothers occured at a high point of the witchcraft hysteria.

The legend that is most often cited these days recounts that one brother had got involved with a witch, and had been spirited away by them. In this story, the other brother is reputed to have followed after the witch and his brother, in an attempt to save him.

Whatever the truth of the mysterious disappearance of the brothers, the story has continued to excite interest in the centuries since. The statue being erected by public subscription in 1866, to commemorate the township's involvement in the witch trials.

The fund also opened a new subscription lending library in a building near the church.

#the owl house #Gravesfield #philip wittebane #caleb wittebane

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rene-is-an-insomniac · 3 months

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"I don't think I'm built to be the one to love you."

Lyney X Reader Angst 1,528 Takes Place during Act 1 when he his Fatui upbringing came to light because of his trial. I wanted to wait until all the Lyney angsty fics about you finding out he's in the fatui in Act 1 to die down before posting this :p I hope you enjoy, my Lyney fics tag is right here. Have a good day or night!

The courthouse was in shock as the Outrice Scale decided the verdict for the twins. As he read off the card, hushed whispers exploded throughout the courtroom.

The Oratrice tilted up and turned blue, delivering the verdict.

According to the Judge of the Oratrice Mechanique D’Cardinal, Lyney and Lynette are officially declared not Guilty.

The performance before them causing the courtroom to burst into applause. An hour after the trial ended, word began to spread about the twins. Most were positive about them being declared innocent, while most were negative because of their background and area of work.

The day during the trial, you were waiting at a restaurant for your boyfriend to arrive from his performance. He had one show today, only from 5-7 pm. Getting close to the time, you made your way to the restaurant.

"Isn't that the girl who's dating that Fatui?'' The daughter of the nearby merchant came up with the register paper in hand. Going through, she stopped at a specific page.

"Here she is!" The girl and her father looked back and forth between the paper and you. The stares grew as you fidget with the bag in your hands.

"Uhm, yes, I am Magician Lyney's Significant Other." Instead of smiles and excited gossip, gasps filled the air of the restaurant you were entering. Hushed whispers and glares were sent in your direction as you went to tell them about your reservation.

"Hey, we can't serve you here, sorry." You look surprised, thinking she was confused. Looking around, you see a bunch of open tables.

"But you have space?" She shakes her head, saying that those were reserved.

"You can try a different restaurant." She walks you out of the restaurant, sending you back to the streets.

An uncomfortable pit sat in your stomach as you took a deep breath to calm down. You can make a different reservation somewhere else, no problem.

Usually, they say that you're lucky to be dating Lyney. Whenever there's a reaction about you being his partner, it's always positive.

You shake your head and continue onto the next restaurant. You receive the same reaction from the next restaurant. The owner came out to yell at you. This continued on and on, making you more uncomfortable by the minute.

After going through countless rejections, you decide to make your way home. No one would accept your reservations. You hope Lyney isn’t too disappointed by the change of plans.

As you pass through the streets, a drink is poured over your head. Shocked and embarrassed, you look up, surprised at the group of girls surrounding you.

"That's for my brother!" A girl yelled before kicking you to the ground. Overwhelmed, your eyes get blurry as your breath hitches.

Things get blurry as you hear them mock you for standing up.

How dare the damn Fatui sit here feeling bad for themselves?

My brother suffered because of you!

You clutch your body in pain as you try to keep your thoughts together. Rushing through the streets, you try to make your way home. You could hear the insults being thrown by the other people as you passed by them.

“Demonic Bitch.” A man working at one of the shops mutters as he lets his dogs loose on you. The dog growls and begins to chase you in the opposite direction of where you need to go.

Some laugh at your circumstances as you rush to find a safe spot. The hotel that Lyney is associated with comes into view; maybe you could hide there for right now. You rush past the hostess and make your way inside. Some rich bystanders look at you as you try to catch your breath.

“Uhm, Name?” A hostess approached you with a look of concern.

“Sorry, it’s a bit chaotic out there; can I stay here for a bit?” She nods and seats you before walking off to get your food. Thanks to your boyfriend, you have access to the hotel and even discounts. Since only certain people are allowed in, no one should try to harm you. You looked around at the scenery as you waited for her to come back with your order.

“Isn’t that Lyney’s lover?”

“Yeah, I heard that ever since people found out about his court case, they started harassing them.” It looks like word gets out quickly around her.

You see them glance towards you before ending their conversation. You sigh, tuning out the talking from others in the hotel.

You weren’t even sure if Lyney was Fatui to begin with. Yes, that could be true, but rumors can sometimes be wrong. You decided to put that thought on hold until you could locate your boyfriend.

“Here you are, Name, a fruit tart for you.” She places the food and drink on the table for you.

“Have you seen Lyney today?”

“Last I heard, he was still at the Opera Eclaisse. He won't be out until his trial is over.” You nod, thanking her as she walks off to greet the next guest.

You dig into the food with a small sigh. Hopefully, when you see him tomorrow, this will all be a little misunderstanding. It’s not like he’s actually working for a terrible organization like them, right?

The day changes to night as more customers begin to pile into the hotel. Surely, his trial should be over for the night? You pay for your items and exit the hotel. Some Steambird reporters surrounded the area; once they heard the door open, they turned towards you.

“Name, can we have a moment?” You give a polite smile before walking quickly in the direction of where you live. A few persistent reporters follow you for a moment until they allow you to leave.

Was Lyney really this person that everyone thought was evil?

As you approach your house, you see it littered with items. Letting out a small sigh, you remove the items before making your way inside.

You decide to wake up the next day to catch him before he’s on his way to work. Halfway there, he meets you as he and his siblings just exit their house for the day. They freeze, glancing at you before greeting.

“Hello Name.” Lynette gave a polite nod, and Freminet waved a little bit. As soon as they go, your boyfriend and you are alone.

“Hey.. darling.” His hair was a bit of a mess, and his eyes were puffy as he turned to face you. Lyney responds nervously as he approaches you. His hands tap on his arms as he tries to take deep breaths. His eyes stare at something else, as he does not make eye contact.

“Hello Lyney.” Nervously, he looks up, meeting your eyes. His breathing slows down as he takes in your expression before giving his normal smile to you.

“Can I ask something?” He slowly nods, giving you his full attention. You frown at seeing the sweet look on his face. The adoration he has for you falters slightly.

“Is this about the papers from Steambird?” He grips your hand tightly, almost trying to comfort himself.

“Newspapers? No, it's about the people from the court yesterday.” A confused look comes onto his face as he stares. You let out a small sigh, recounting the events from yesterday.

His expression evolves from worry to anger before returning to his gentle look. His hand tightens on your wrist with each word that you speak. Your Lyney, who normally looks at you with honesty and sweetness, looked at you guilty.

"Lyney, do you know what they mean? What is the House of the Hearth?’’ His expression darkens as he lets out a small sigh.

“It’s where I grew up.” You hold on to him as your heart drops. You remember their words about Fatui.

“The Fatui, are they associated with the House of the Hearth?” He pauses before nodding, confirming the fears you held.

All those things that those people yelled at you for were true, and they weren’t lying. Your heart sped as you backed away from your lover’s hold. A look of sadness spread across Lyney's face as you created distance from him. He reaches out to retake your hands in his, as you cover your ears.

How dare the damn Fatui sit here feeling bad for themselves?

My brother suffered because of you!

Everyone seemed to know who your boyfriend was before he even told you. Lyney, Fontaine's famous magician, was a child of Fatui. You weren’t even directly involved with the Fatui, other than dating one of the members.

Did the people of Fontaine care? You could spend all your time doing every interview to prove them wrong, only to have them look at you like some thief or evil person. You look up, your eyes meeting lilac colored ones. Did you really want to spend the rest of your life with a target on your back?

You let out a small sigh walking up to him. His expression lightens as you allow him to relink your hands together.

“Darling, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again.”

#genshin lyney #genshin fic #lyney x reader #lyney angst #lyney x you #fontaine act 1 #finiding out lyney is fatui fic #adventures with a magician boy from a quiet villiage

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schweizercomics · 6 months

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Companions of Christmas day 4: Chyskhaan, Khaarchana, and Ekhe Dyyl

Chyskhaan

One of two traditional giftgivers of the Yakut of Siberia (the other being Ekhe Dyyl), Chyskhaan lives north of Oymyakon, the coldest town in the world. Since time began, people have brought him gifts on the longest night of the year as a tribute, in the hopes that he will mitigate the cold and allow warmth and daylight to return to Siberia (though slowly and evenly, that the villages might not be flooded from the snow melt).

He spends the week of Christmas going through the offerings and taking what he will need for the year, and then, on New Year’s, he distributes the remaining majority of gifts to children and those in need who, regardless of their station, are treated by Chyskhaan with the dignity and ceremony as would befit a king or queen.

Ekhe Dyyl

Ekhe Dyyl is one of two traditional giftgivers of the Yakut people of Siberia (the other being Chyskhaan). Whereas Chyskhaan is imperious and icy, a reminder of the command that winter holds over the lives of those who live most deeply in its grip, Ekhe is warm and unpretentious, a proud bumpkin and boisterous reveler who rides a dirty, shaggy bull named Ükerinto into the towns and villages he visits.

When presented with a bowl of delicious mare’s milk, Ekhe will wave his brushwhip over a child and a gift will appear in their hands.

Khaarchana

Khaarchana is the granddaughter of both Chyskhaan on her mother’s side and Ekhe Dyyl on her father’s. From birth, she learned to bounce back and forth between their very different holiday celebrations and expectations. Chyskhaan’s reverent and solemn traditionalism and Ekhe’s edacious, riotous merrymaking are often at stark contrast, as are the grandfathers themselves: Chyskhaan has, on more than one occasion, called Ekhe a classless, gluttonous yokel, and Ekhe has let Chyskhaan know that the former considers the latter a stuffy, bumptious snob.

When the winter giftgivers were, for a generation, expelled from Russia following its revolution, Khaarchana realized that children across Siberia would suffer greatly from the absence of her grandfathers. Despite the danger posed by Stalin’s minions and the difficulty in reconciling the two seemingly different approaches to the holidays, Khaarchana decided to fill their shoes, making sure that no child in (what is now) the Sakha Republic would go without during winter festivities, and that the festivities themselves would be as rich and wonderful as they had ever been.

Going in with no experience, she consulted the longtime friend and colleague of both grandfathers, Santa Claus, whose advice was to be true to herself. The celebrations of the winter holidays are always changing and growing, and reverence and merrymaking needn’t be mutually exclusive.

Knowing the peril that her mission would put her in, Santa gave Khaarchana a magical snowflake, which, when worn on her head, would render her invisible, allowing her to plan and maneuver under the eyes of the Russian secret police, only removing it and allowing herself to be seen on the New Year when she would hand out the presents she had strategically hidden in homes across Siberia.

When her grandfathers were eventually permitted to return to the Russian-controlled region, they found that Khaarchana had kept the spirit of love and giving alive during their absence, and had unified their two approaches into one one messy, inconsistent, glorious celebration. Though both were resistant to change, and to each other, Chyskhaan and Ehke began to accompany Khaarchana on her rounds, and, though they still bicker like old hens, they have become close friends, while Khaarchana, in addition to her role as giftgiver, is the patron of all who have to navigate the sometimes-conflicting holiday celebrations (and schedules) of more than one family.

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Happy December, friends! Each year around this time I post up drawings of Christmas and other winter holiday figures, along with narratives to explain the practices with which folklorists and holiday buffs might be familiar. When stories exist, I use them; when they don't, I do what I can to piece together what folklore surrounds them to fill in the gaps (or, in some instances, defer to the theories of my friend and fellow narrative reconcilianist Benito Cereno). I hope you enjoy them!

#Winter Holidays #Christmas Around the World #Chyskhaan #Khaarchana #Ekhe Dyyl #Siberia

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welcometothejianghu · 4 months

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 民国奇探/My Roommate is a Detective.

My Roommate is a Detective is a 2020 drama about the Jazz Age shenanigans of a terrible OT3: a useless noodle boy, a spoiled journalist girl, and a handsome thug-turned-cop, who together solve Agatha Christie mysteries in 1920s Shanghai.

I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered what Hercule Poirot would be like if he were a 6'2" Chinese rubber man? If he had a long-suffering sugar daddy from the wrong side of the tracks and a spunky sugar mommy who owned their shared apartment? The answer is, it would be a laugh-out-loud-funny series about a ridiculous and charming assortment of weirdos solving only slightly believable murder mysteries in charming period clothing.

This is another one of those shows where I'm kind of shocked at how not well-known it is, except I'm not, because I can see exactly the problems that keep fandom from descending on it like horny little vultures. Nonetheless, I think it's a good time that more people would enjoy if they gave it the chance. Here's five reasons why you should:

1. Equal parts smart as heck and dumb as butts

On the one hand, especially given its tone and tenor, this show has many surprisingly clever turns and thoughtful moments, carried along by some talented actors. On the other hand, [.gif of a guinea pig in a rollerskate being pushed merrily down a hallway]

This show is not a complicated intellectual exercise. It's an action comedy about a goofy sleuth, a rich-girl reporter, and the cop who should be the straight man in this trio, except he's as much of a goober as the other two are. If the promotional tableaus are giving you real "cover of a Clue box" vibes, you've understood the kind of pastiche it's pulling off.

The mysteries are preposterous. They're all the kind of thing that exemplify the Doyle line about how, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left has got to be the answer, no matter how ding-dang improbable it may be. You know the type: tons of overly elaborate setups, unbelievably perfect timing, coincidental long-lost relatives, people hallucinating right and left. They're also very short -- most full cases take only 2-3 episodes to introduce, investigate, and resolve, even when interspersed with the larger goings-on in these weirdos' lives. The DramaWiki page for the show lists 23 separate arcs over 36 episodes, so you do the math.

And yet, it's way more thoughtful and clever than its doofy little setup would indicate. Its attention to detail surprised me on more than one occasion. Add to that a bunch of solid performances from an ensemble of real characters, and what you get is definitely more substantive than a junk-food waste of time. You can't turn your brain off while watching it, but you sure can turn it down, and that's great.

It also doesn't hurt that everyone is super attractive and wearing great outfits. The whole show's worth it for the wardrobes.

2. THE GIRL

Fuck the haters, fuck everyone, I am going to climb right up on my little soapbox and tell you all why Bai Youning is awesome.

She is insane. She's a troll. She's a clever little monster. Every other character's response to her is, oh my god, you are literally the worst. And she is! She has been spoiled beyond belief by her incredibly rich Crime Dad, and she has learned to leverage her uwu just a widdle girl status to get her whatever the hell she wants. She simply cannot hear it when someone says the word "no." She will look her future sister-in-law in the eye and point a loaded gun at her own head without blinking. Every ball she has is made of brass.

She's hardly perfect. During the course of the show, there are some times where her entitlement runs face-first into the brick wall of reality. She's not nearly as good at her chosen career path as she's been told (mostly by the people who get paid to tell her she's good). She's rarely prepared to deal with the consequences of her actions, especially when she can't just throw money at the problem.

So she learns, and grows, and changes. She's always going to be a stubborn bitch, but she can become a stubborn bitch with a more accurate conception of her relationship to the world around her.

She's actually a really good romantic foil for Lu Yao, who is equally stubborn and spoiled and obnoxious as hell. It is a pure brat4brat relationship, where each one thrives on comically enraging the other. What this means, though, is that when they actually start showing one another some vulnerability, it's really sweet.

Now: I'm pretty sure that you could not have made a female character in her position that everyone did not hate, no matter how cool you made her, because that is the fate of all girls who theoretically keep the two boys from kissing. (More on that next point.) If she were less outgoing and friendly, she would've been hated for being too cold. If she were less headstrong, she would've been hated for being a pushover. If she weren't as into the boy, she would've been hated for being frigid. I know the "god forbid a woman do anything" meme is a joke, but ... man, god forbid this girl do anything. She gets a level of hate entirely disproportionate to what she's actually like. As I said with Eom Dada, it's not always sexism, but sometimes, yeah, it's sexism.

(Real talk: Her character is also fighting both how she's definitely not written as well as the boys are and how the plot sometimes needs her to be artificially stupid and jealous for Straightness Drama Reasons, so that's a legit problem on a structural level. Also, she's dubbed by someone else and the boys aren't, which gives her voice an annoying not-quite-there quality that's hard to ignore. The deck is stacked against her real hard even before she steps onscreen.)

So here's my advice: Go into this show wanting to like her. Embrace her terribleness as a positive, intentional quality. Don't be mad at her for straightening up an endgame that was never going to be gay, even without her. Welcome her contributions to the chaos. Realize that she is exactly as entertainingly irritating as her boys are.

Truly, this is a story of three terrible people in love. They're all just awful, and you wouldn't want to be in a room with any of them for longer than you had to. Left to right up there, Bai Youning is spoiled and self-absorbed, Lu Yao is arrogant and lazy, and Qiao Chusheng is suuuuuch a fucking cop. If you're into the kind of dynamic that can only be described OT3: You All Deserve One Another, then this one's perfect for you.

3. Do you really miss '00s queerbaiting?

Like, really? Are you just super-nostalgic for being able to see the showrunners go, ha ha, girls, we know you're watching and we know you want these cute boys to kiss, which they never will -- but what if we pretended for just this one scene??? Do you just carnally ache for that with every fiber of your being?

Yep.

Now, why am I calling the occasional really gay moments between these two gentlemen "queerbaiting" and not "bromance"? Because these moments are a) obviously intentional, b) completely sporadic, and c) never spoken of again.

For example: There's a scene (which you can see a gifset of here) where the two of them are at a restaurant frequented by the cop, who brings a lot of ladies there on dates. When the waiter points this out, useless noodle boy says, I'm his date. The waiter looks mildly surprised by this, the cop says not to listen to his bullshit, and that's the end of it. The scene moves on. There is no further discussion of this comment. It does not affect their relationship.

That's the essence of queerbaiting: that little on-purpose nod to the homoerotic tension between the two, in a way that isn't a joke but also isn't not a joke, and either way is never going to happen. (In fact, the show is going to go out of its way to make sure that ship gets sunk, so, uh, get your fanfiction lifeboats ready for that.)

A true queerbaiting move is something that should make a difference in a relationship, but doesn't. It should make a difference that our cop is so comfortable in the noodle boy's personal space that he invades it at will. It doesn't. It should make a difference that noodle boy keeps getting real weird every time the cop has a date with a girl. It doesn't. Those are some real romantic moves the two of them keep pulling, and then nothing comes of them.

I had this show sold to me as being incredibly shippy, to the point of being even more so than its censored-BL contemporaries. And ... well, it is and it isn't. It has textually gayer individual moments, but it is much less pervasively gay. It's clear from the start that it's going to throw all its actual relationship points into its canon het romance. When it comes to these boys, the show is toying with you. It knows you want to see those boys smooch, just as much as it knows (and it knows you know) they're never gonna.

How you feel about this is entirely up to you -- and indeed, it may be a dealbreaker on the whole drama for you. If you are inclined to pitch a fit when your ship does not become canon, you'll be happier somewhere else. If, however, you see this as a delightful opportunity to do whatever the hell you want with the situation as it is presented, all the while enjoying little moments of startlingly blatant homoeroticism between two handsome dudes, well, here you are!

(I mean, if you want my take on it, what needs to happen is that the cop and the girl need to fuck while the useless noodle boy watches with asexual bisexual interest, and then they all need to snuggle with the noodle boy in the middle so they can both annoy him appropriately, but your mileage may vary.)

4. The multicultural extravaganza!

1920s Shanghai had a lot going on in terms of cultures and languages, and this show actually does a fair job of representing that.

By now, I've seen a number of shows set during this era, and they all at least acknowledge the international nature of the city -- usually by mentioning the French Concession and having a handful of evil Japanese characters. However, this is the first time I've seen a show go to such lengths to actually show so many non-Chinese characters onscreen, even to the point of making one a recurring character supporting the main squad.

Salim is the best. Whatever he is being paid, it's not enough. He's Qiao Chusheng's right-hand man, which means he is also the dude who most often has to put up the main trio's bullshit. (The actor himself is also a dude with a pretty cool backstory, which is another great layer.) He's sharp, he's loyal, he's patient, and he looks great with his shirt off. He's got it all!

Other non-Chinese characters include a white Jewish art collector (I'd issue a warning for period-typical antisemitism, except … honestly, it's mostly just confused), a sadistic priest who maybe is supposed to be Italian, a completely different priest who [last episode spoiler], and three whole sinister white dudes behind it all.

It's not just the world coming to China, though! A large number of the Chinese characters are said to have spent significant time outside of China, whether for business or for schooling. Near the end, when some characters are discussing moving away from Shanghai, they consider a number of foreign cities as potential destinations.

Here's a delightful detail: When Lu Yao and his sister speak English, they're dubbed by actors with posh British accents who sound like native (or near-native) English-speakers. This makes perfect sense, because both of the siblings did a lot of their schooling in the UK. When Bai Youning speaks English, she's dubbed by someone who speaks English very well but also has a noticeable Chinese accent, which makes perfect sense for her character's background. And Qiao Chusheng never speaks English at all, because he's a street tough who has no reason to know more than three words.

...This is also kind of weird to say about something literally made in China, but go with me on it: Everything's kind of got that Art Deco Orientalist vibe to it. It looks like China's idea of what Britain's idea of China during that period would have looked like. The result comes across less like what 1920s Shanghai would actually have looked like, and more what an ad for 1920s Shanghai would have looked like. It's a fascinating aesthetic, and more so for how it's mostly pretty subtle. The show isn't some visual extravaganza, but it's always very nice to look at, and I appreciate that in a show.

5. A wonderful horrible protagonist

A lot of mystery-themed prestige television involves an asshole genius detective who gets away with being a dick to everyone because he's sooooo smart, while all his long-suffering friends and colleagues spend a lot of time doing damage control for him because, sigh, he's an asshole but we need him, genius excuses all dickhead behavior, we'll always make exceptions for him because he's just ever so special. (Watch histrionic sage hbomberguy's video on Sherlock if you're unfamiliar with the trope.)

Lu Yao is an asshole genius detective, but one who winds up spending most of his time being an asshole to a) people who deserve it, or b) his horrible friends who will be assholes right back at him. When he is awful to the people who don't deserve it, the show smacks him pretty hard on the nose for it and makes him apologize.

This is a show where you'll figure out pretty quckly if you'll love it or hate it, because if you love Lu Yao, you'll love it, and vice versa. He carries most of the show himself, with his goofy charm and his incredibly bendy slenderman body and his ability to make the one competent person he knows both protect him and give him money.

Like so.

For my own part, I find him intensely charming, and I think a lot of this has to do with Hu Yitian's ability to play him as an affectionately bullyable weenie who needs to get shoved in a locker for his own good. He's the worst, and it's comically endearing instead of offputting because at the end of the day, he really does have a good heart. He's just also lazy as heck and disinclined to do anything that he does not want to be doing, and really, aren't we all?

As I alluded to in point 3, he comes across as real asexual. He's just not that interested in sex, and he is in fact pretty uncomfortable in situations where he finds himself the subject of someone else's sexual desires. He's perfectly capable of romantic feelings! I mean, not only does he get Bai Youning as a love interest, we actually meet one of his ex-girlfriends. He's just not partciularly horny about them -- which is even more noticeable as a sharp contrast to how extremely horny Qiao Chusheng is for just about everyone, but this exasperating little dork in particular.

(Like seriously, 90% of the time, Chusheng is about to explode with sexual frustration at Lu Yao's skinny oblivious ass.)

This isn't to say you couldn't get Lu Yao into bed, because you absolutely could, and he'd probably have a good time. You'd just have to remove all distractions from the room, lest his ADHD ass wind up running off to solve a crime mid-coitus.

Twiggy little nightmare man. Garbage-animal boy. Love him.

sidebar: A word about the ending

I'm going to be vague and talk about general vibes instead of specific events, but you should still skip this section if you want to remain completely unspoiled. Jump to the picture of Chusheng holding the sledgehammer.

Okay, so, a lot of people do not like the ending, and I'm including myself in that number. I honestly don't know if they got rushed and had to wrap everything pretty last-minute, or if they thought they might get a second season out of it and were leaving things open-ended accordingly. Either way, it's incredibly unsatisfying.

I think there's a clue that the show didn't actually want to end this way, and it's not actually in the text of the show itself. Every episode, between the last scene and the start of the credits, you get to see a couple still frames from the episode (usually some of the queerbaity ones). After the very final shot of the series, you get two images: the boys hugging goodbye, and Chusheng's upset face. That's not a resolution! That is at best a "to be continued..." ending!

But no, that's it. That's all, folks.

It's not quite an ending so bad it ruins the rest of the show, mostly because it doesn't feel finished, so it's less like you're watching a car being deliberately driven into a wall because someone thought that was the best route to take, and more like you're watching someone leave a car on the railroad tracks because they figured they'd have time to move it later.

As far as I know, there has been no noise made about a second season. These 36 episodes are the entirety of the narrative. It had the distinct misfortune to start airing in March 2020, which wasn't exactly prime time for planning sequels, and that seems to have been that. (There is a 2022 show called Checkmate that stars the two main guys in extremely similar roles, also adapting Agatha Christie stories, but it's apparently pretty meh? Somebody else who's actually seen it, go ahead and weigh in here.)

I'll say that if you turn off the episode right after Lu Yao gets out the handcuffs, you'll save yourself the worst of it the awkward and unsatisfying moments (though I'm impressed at your willpower to stop watching something five minutes from the end). That's not all of it, though. Structurally, there are several situations rushed to a resolution and loose threads left flapping untied in the breeze. I guess stopping before the last five minutes simply saves you the hope that it'll pull a good ending out of the fire, because it won't.

And let's be real: The more you hate Bai Youning and her romance with Lu Yao, the more you'll hate the ending. (Not that liking those elements will necessarily make you like the ending, of course, because I'm a fan of hers and I still think the ending is butts.) The ending is already like a pair of uncomfortable shoes; if the het romance especially makes you grind your teeth, the ending becomes a pair of uncomfortable shoes that also have a rock in them. A lot of the comments online indicate plenty of people dropped the show when they learned the het romance would be endgame. It's a pretty common dealbreaker.

Oh well. Bring on the fanfic, I say! Those of us who are used to taking a sledgehammer to canon are unafraid.

Smash it, baby.

Still want to see some of these mysteries?

Both iQiyi and Viki have the answer to your sleuthing!

It's not a perfect show -- as evidenced by my digression about the ending -- but it's a lot of fun. If you can handle the occasional foible and some eyebrow-raising moments, you're in for a good time with some attractive people that occasionally tastes very gay.

Every roommate crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

#my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #rec post #i made this

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