#Give me domesticity as a sign of devotion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-anise · 2 years

Note

You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

#staranise original #agriculture #potatoes my beloved

2K notes · View notes

portaltothevoid · 5 months

Text

God Called In Sick Today — Chapters 1 & 2

Summary: It’s the ghafia fic you didn’t know you needed… When a mission goes south, Copia is left scrambling to figure out a plan to get the mayor-to-be in favor of the Emeritus family. That’s where Arianna Diodati, the Mafia Princess of his (very Catholic) rival, comes in. He plans to use her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants. Did he place the right bet or did he take more than he bargained for?

Word count: 5.8k ~//~ Warnings: mafia au, copia x oc, death/murder, gun usage, angst, physically and verbally abusive relationship, domestic violence (between oc x oc), (brief, almost subtle) dacryphilia, kidnapping, dark copia, cliffhanger, enemies to lovers, slow burn

A/N: Surprise! It's a double feature! Fair warning, the next chapters won’t be up til I have a few under my belt so that they can be posted regularly and since I’m still working on You’re Losing Me as well… it might be a while. But I am so so excited for this, that I had to give you all a taste! Massive, massive thank you to @fishwithtitz @da-rulah and @copias-juicebox for beta reading and listening to me talk about this non-stop as I worked out the plot 🖤(photos in mood board all found on pintrest and dividers by @gothdaddyissues!)

Chapter One -- The Sermon and The Plan

It was never a good sign when Papa Emeritus IV demanded a mandatory mass that wasn’t on Sunday. Usually, meetings such as this would be for the upper echelon of the clergy and the Ghouls, but this time around, every single member of the Satan’s Ministry was in attendance. No one dared speak or even look away from their Papa as he stood, eyeing everyone in the room like the disappointed father he was.

Those in the front row could hear his leather gloves squeak against the oak of the pulpit as he gripped it like a stress ball. His unique set of eyes, one green and one white, focused on one specific Ghoul. His expression darkened like an approaching storm, which made for his already intimidating skull-painted face to become menacing. As for the Ghoul, if it weren’t for the silver-horned mask covering his face, even Papa would have seen the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of it. He knew he was the reason everyone was here and why Papa looked beyond furious. He knew it the moment he saw the blue and red flashing lights at the docks.

“As most of you know,” the Satanic pope began, “our latest operation was thwarted by carelessness. All of you deserve to know why, but first, it isn’t a true Mass without a sermon, hm?”

He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to walk to his right, addressing those in the pews in front of him. “Pride and greed. Two sins that often go hand in hand. Sins which we celebrate here. It seems I need to remind you all that the celebration of sin, any sin, does not give one a free pass to do whatever the fuck they want, eh?”

He turned again, to walk to the other side of the sanctuary. “Every coin has two sides. At what point does living in sin, celebrating sins, become a hindrance?

“Pride. An excessive belief in one’s abilities. Pride can make one think they are untouchable. Pride is the sin that pushes us to achieve greatness not just in the name of Satan, but for ourselves. And there, we find greed. A desire for wealth, for gain. But, again I ask you all, when does celebrating these glorious sins become a hindrance?”

Now, he was in front of the pulpit. Leaning against it was a cane, something he only brought out for show or to inflict pain. While he was addressing everyone, his dichromatic eyes landed on the trembling Ghoul in the center. “Excessive or grandiose sinning becomes a deterrent when it puts the lives of others at risk, when it puts an institution, a family, that you’ve devoted your life to at risk.” Grabbing the cobra head handle, Papa gracefully jumped down to walk in front of the first row. “Many of you are aware of a mission we set out on recently. A mission to save helpless women and children from a sex-trafficking ring. There also was to be an exchange of money. These degenerates were exchanging quite a large sum of money for this transaction. Those prisoners were denied the choice of freedom we offer here. We were denied what was to be used as payment to put the malleable Gregory Osorio in our corner. We have very little time to come up with this sum to get a powerful, up and coming politician in our corner. One who could turn votes in our favor. One who would look out for us. One who would defiantly oppose the Diodati dickheads.

“This mission was not successful. By the time our Ghouls arrived, the prisoners were ‘rescued’ by the police. The money – that should have been ours – confiscated. I know many have wondered how this could have happened. Well, children, the answer is simple.

“Pride… and greed…” he spoke slowly, as he walked down the center aisle, dragging his cane along the ends of the pews. “Someone felt too secure in themselves… Felt they could just… open their fucking mouth to anyone who would fucking listen… while not realizing… They were fraternizing with an informant for the enemy.” He paused his promenade. “This was not a simple mistake. This was blatant negligence from someone who I know, for a fact, knew better. This Ghoul broke our Sacramentum Secreti (Oath of Secrecy).” He began walking again. His cane hit a pew with every word. “Internal problems will be dealt with.”

He stopped. Everyone turned to look at Papa, except for one Ghoul. Papa reached over, using the tip of his cane to force him to look at his figurehead, his boss. With a look that could kill and a wave of his hand, he indicated the Ghoul to walk in front of him back up to the sanctuary.

After twenty paces, “Ghoul, you seem to be limping. I wonder why that is… Is it because your pain and suffering is a message from La Famiglia Diodati?” he remarked snidely.

When Papa planted himself behind the pulpit, he pointed the cane to indicate a spot on the ground. “Kneel,” he commanded. On shaky legs, the Ghoul did as he was told.

Papa dragged his gaze up to the choir loft before him, where one of his best Ghouls was waiting for the signal. Painstakingly slow, he looked back at the insurrectionist. “Per aspera, ad inferi,” he prayed. Again, he made eye contact with the one in the choir loft, giving a solitary nod.

In the blink of an eye, the Ghoul to Papa’s right jolted back slightly, a red dot forming in the center of his forehead. As deep burgundy liquid dripped from it, the congregation gasped, and the Ghoul toppled forward onto his masked face with a deafening thud.

Papa bowed his head, but his eyes passed over everyone clutching their rosary beads in front of him. Somehow, this look was more sinister than it was at the start. “Let it be known that internal problems will be dealt with,” he paused dramatically, “by whatever means necessary.”

And with that, he turned heel and left through the back door, concluding mass.

“Do we really need Osorio this time around? Putting our efforts into driving back the Diodatis would be more beneficial,” Secondo, the second oldest Emeritus, argued. The highest members of the clergy and of the Emeritus family were gathered in their meeting room reserved for familial “business” matters.

A leather clad fist slammed on the dark cherry wood table. “And what the fuck do you think getting Osorio on our payroll would do?” Papa snapped. Secondo just rolled his eyes in response. “We’re running out of fucking time.”

“There’s that charity gala, or whatever the fuck, tomorrow. I could just use my lascivious charm to reel in Osorio,” Papa’s predecessor and brother, Terzo, waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Papa pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his luxurious leather office chair.

“Copia, he actually–and it pains me to admit this–might be onto something. That gala could be a way in,” the eldest Emeritus agreed as he pressed his elbows into the table, his fingers interlacing in front of him, as he stared down his youngest brother and the church’s current Papa.

Terzo waved his hand and his smirk deepened with Primo proving his idea had some merit.

“We have nothing to give Osorio! The whole point of that mission was to dangle that money in his face,” Copia countered.

“So instead we ask him his price,” Terzo shrugged nonchalantly.

“How many of Sal’s men will be there?”

“I believe just his right-hand, Alessio Fidanza and his fiancée and probably only a handful of his associates,” Primo relayed.

Copia’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the fiancée. “Isn’t that Sal’s daughter? The prim and proper Mafia princess?”

“Sì.”

“For what it’s worth, my advice as your consigliere would be to attend this gala for recon purposes only. Yes, our time is running out, but we still have time to sway Osorio.” For the first time an older woman, who everyone called Sister Imperator, spoke up. She had been keenly observing Copia’s every move, just as any mother would her son, carefully watching knowing he was especially volatile right now.

“And Sal, what about him? He’ll be there too?” Copia asked, ignoring the woman beside him.

“As far as we know, yes.”

A wicked, devilish smile spread across Copia’s face, exaggerating the black paint reminiscent of a rat’s skull around his mouth.

“No… Copia, what are you thinking?” Sister Imperator asked hesitantly. She knew that look. They all did.

“Oh we’ll get some information. We will find out Osorio’s price and we will get Diodati’s attention.”

“Elaborate, brother,” Secondo said wearily. They knew Copia had just hatched a plan and from the look on his face, it was going to be far from easy.

“Diodati thinks he has the upper hand, sì? We can kill two birds with one stone. Show him who has the power here and get the money from him to pay off Osorio so those Catholic fucks can’t use God as a basis for politics.”

“And how exactly… would we do that? Are we intercepting one of their shipments or–” Sister Imperator began to ask hesitantly until she was cut off.

“It’s simple,” Copia stated. He leaned back in his chair casually this time, his elbows perched on the chair’s arm rests. He waved his hands in front him as if he was presenting a physical idea. “We kidnap la Principessa di Dio.”

Chapter Two -- You Should Be Scared

The last thing Arianna Diodati wanted to do was attend some pompous charity event chained to her fiancé wearing a designer dress she hated and a fake smile. She thanked God that she didn’t have to endure the after parties; she could retreat to solitude and her husband-to-be could do whatever (and most likely whomever) he wanted there. Not knowing what happened at those parties used to ruminate in her mind like a catchy pop song… until she actually found out.

The infidelity bothered her at first, caused her to lose sleep at night, and question her worth. She used to be confrontational. She used to stick up for herself. She used to care. Arianna learned the hard way that Alessio Fidanza never actually wanted her or truly loved her. Maybe at first he did, but as time marched on, she came to realize the only thing he cared about was having an in with the most illustrious mafia family in New York City. The closer he got to her, the closer he got to Arianna’s father aka the boss of the Diodati family, and the higher up in the ranks he rose, the less he paid her any attention – or respect. In less than a handful of years Alessio was promoted as Salvatore Diodati’s right hand man. He learned the ropes, got enough blood on his hands, and eventually helped call the shots. She was used to her father dictating her life, but now, finding herself under the thumb of another man? There were only two things she could do: watch her life pass her by from behind barred windows and pray to God someone would eventually notice (and care enough about) her imprisonment to save her.

Nevertheless, she admired herself in the mirror; for once, she wore a dress that made her feel confident. Her black cherry red curls cascaded around her face. For a moment, she could see a sparkle, or a glimmer of hope, returning in her hazel eyes as she noted how the asymmetrical dress framed her body perfectly. Satin jersey panels on the two thirds of the dress accentuated her curves as it snaked down the length of it. It draped up, slightly off one shoulder while the other was a simple strap clad with the subtle (yet signature) Versace Medusa emblem. That side of the dress was a simple satin. A slit allowed one of her toned legs to peek through adding an air of sexy sophistication to the look. She was almost smiling until she heard her fiancé behind her.

“You’re wearing that tonight?” And with that snide question, the sparkle in her eye dimmed once more, returning to their usual lackluster shine.

“Um, yes? I showed it to you, remember? You said it would be fine…” she said hesitantly, her voice dancing on eggshells, and her small smile fading.

Alessio scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you think I pay attention to half the stuff you show me? If I saw something like that, I would have remembered. Wear the other Versace dress. The one I had Roberta pick up for you.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Specifically for tonight,” he added, his tone proving he had little patience for her tonight.

“But what’s wrong with this one? It’s not like it’s–”

He sprung at her, his nostrils flaring as he gripped her arms tighter than a blood pressure cuff. She fought back the tears that pricked in her eyes. “You look like one of Satan’s whores. Now,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “put on the other dress.” He shoved her back, her arms flew out to find purchase on the dresser beside her so she wouldn’t fall. The few perfume bottles that toppled over made an almost deafening sound amongst the tension. Her breathing was ragged as she glared at him. His look back at her served as a warning.

She never understood how someone who claimed to be so devoted to God could be so evil, but she had to trust God’s plan for her. This all had to serve a purpose, didn’t it?

Her eyes closed as she composed herself, doing her best to stuff down the ever-raging storm of anger that lately seemed to be constantly brewing inside her. “Yes, Alessio. It’s the one still in the garment bag?”

Slowly he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling, before bringing it back to glare at her. “Obviously, you dumb bitch. Hurry up and get fucking changed. I can’t afford to be late tonight because of you,” he spat as he walked out of their room.

Once more, she took a deep shuddering breath, her whole body trembling on the exhale. Stepping out of her preferred dress, she left the almost four thousand dollar garment lying crumpled on the floor.

Now as she looked at herself in the mirror again, she saw a stranger she didn’t even recognize despite the only thing that physically had changed was her dress. She noted how her eyes seemed more hollow. The color in her face had paled. There was nothing but a stranger who once had dreams and ambition staring back at her. None of this felt real.

The worst part of it all was that under any other circumstances, she would have loved wearing this. It was a black viscose material. A slim-fitting, hooded crêpe dress with a plunging V-neckline that was much more revealing than her own choice, but this one had long sleeves and went down to her mid-calf. There was a criss-cross belt also adorned with Versace’s Medusa logo, only this one was more prominent than the one on her choice of dress.

She let out a humorless laugh as she adjusted the long sleeves. All she wanted tonight was to feel confident, to show off some skin, because things had been relatively quiet as of late. Alessio was kept busy, his attention divided elsewhere. For the first time in a while, her arms didn’t look like an abstract painting.

If she had been the one to pick out this dress, her sentiments towards it would have been different. She didn’t want to hide, but this was what Alessio wanted her to wear. There was no way around that unless she wanted to pay the price. Letting out a heavy sigh, she put the hood up. This dress felt like the most high end and lavish prison jumpsuit. No one would know how much it felt like she was wearing shackles, a stark reminder that her choices were never own. But at least tonight she wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to explain the fresh bruises on her arms.

A single tear slid down her face, which she quickly wiped away. With a shake of her head, she put her emotions under lock and key, tucking it away into a dark corner of her mind. She practiced her million dollar smile and nodded to herself, putting her shoulders back and her chest out –a mirage of confidence and happiness– and made her way to the Bentley that was waiting for her.

No matter the formal event, the routine was almost always the same. Arianna would find her father, talk to and dance with who he (or Alessio) told her to, have two strong drinks (but no more than that or else she’d have to deal with a very irate Alessio), fake pleasantries with the other ladies who were just as much a prisoner to this life as she was, then once the crowd began thin, could she retreat. Tonight would be no different. At least, that's what she had assumed.

She greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek. “Arianna, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he father said, ushering over to a man that was just about six or seven years older than her. He looked just like everyone else here like he came from money and would stop at nothing to get more. “Greg, this is my daughter, Arianna. Arianna, this is Gregory Osorio, our soon to be Mayor.”

This Greg guy let out a low whistle as he looked Arianna up and down. “Sal, you weren’t kidding. She is absolutely stunning. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” she said with a smile that would never quite reach her eyes.

“Oh, absolutely! Your dress looks like it was made for you. Ah, how do you say it… You look… bellissima!”

“You’re too kind. Alessio convinced me to wear this tonight. I have to give all the credit to him,” she laughed, keeping up the ruse of niceties as Alessio dug his fingers into her side. It was his retaliation for the subtle jab she just made at him, even though these people would never ever know that it was.

“Fidanza, you are a lucky man!”

“I thank God everyday for her,” Alessio said, giving one more bruise-worthy squeeze on Arianna’s waist. He dropped his hand when everyone’s attention snapped towards the door. The group that had just arrived turned heads as they sauntered in.

“Who invited those Emeritus fucks?” Sal snapped.

“Copia put a call in himself to my office about a sizable donation for tonight. I figured if he's willing to be a top donor–perhaps even the top donor tonight–they might as well enjoy some of the festivities, no?” Osorio responded cautiously. “If you’ll excuse me, Sal…”

They exchanged nods as Gregory meandered through the crowd. Sal snapped his fingers. “I want eyes on them. They’re fucking up to something. Never once have they given a shit about things like this.”

“On it, boss,” one of his men said before he disappeared amongst the throng of people.

Arianna never liked the Emeritus family. In fact, she borderline hated them with their menacingly painted faces and blasphemous way of life. She never quite understood how they rose to rival that of her family. Perhaps they really did make a deal with the devil.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” she said quietly. Alessio just waved her off, her father already in a passionate discussion regarding something she couldn’t care less about.

She made her way to the bar, getting the attention of one of the bartenders. “Your usual, Ms. Diodati?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled.

It wasn’t long until she felt a pair of eyes on her from the other end of the bar. She looked up to see Copia, the ringleader of the Satanic circus, staring her down like a hunter watching its prey. It sent a shiver down her spine, but all he saw was the scowl that encapsulated her face. That only made him smirk at her.

She rolled her eyes in disgust, looking away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, though, when she knew his attention was back on someone that wasn’t her, she couldn’t help herself from taking in his appearance. She hated to admit, he looked… elegant. His burgundy pants were impossibly tight in all the right ways. It pained her to acknowledge the way they perfectly hugged his thighs. He had foregone his suit jacket, leaving just his matching burgundy vest and black dress shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up and she could see his muscles flex as he grabbed his drink.

Her eyes lingered for a few seconds too long. This time, he caught her watching him. His mouth curled up again into a sly half-smile as he took a drink. His dichromatic eyes never left her. The instant her drink hit the counter, she brought it to her lips and weaved her way through everyone back to Alessio in hopes of putting distance between her and whatever exchange had just taken place.

Shortly after she resumed her role as the token arm candy she was, did her father tense up when a leather clad hand slapped his shoulder. “Salvatore! Come stai (how are you)?”

“Copia,” he greeted stiffly. “To what do we owe this… surprise?” The words rolled off his tongue as if they made his skin crawl.

“Can’t a man just be willing to support a good cause such as this?”

Sal’s only response was to purse his lips. Copia was reveling in the fact that just his presence alone was getting under his enemy’s skin. “Say, Copia, did you hear about the girls that were rescued from trafficking by the docks the other day?” A condescending smirk now replaced the sour look on his face.

Copia’s eyes darkening was the only acknowledgement of Sal’s jab he let slip. “Ah, yes, thank the Gods below they’ve been transferred from one prison to another, being treated as criminals instead of victims.”

“Well, a whore contained is better than a whore on the street.”

Copia laughed sneeringly. “Ah, and I’m sure by whore, you mean a two-bit one. Tell me, though, what are the plans after this? Anyone escorting you to the after party?” he smirked as it was Sal’s turn for his expression to darken.

Arianna didn’t realize she was watching this with bated breath, or that she was clinging to Alessio until he shook her off him. Copia's eyes immediately darted to Arianna’s fiancé breaking free of her almost death grip to take a step towards him. “You know, since you’re here, a thanks is in order,” Alessio said cunningly. “Those girls couldn’t have been saved without the helpful information one of your soldiers let slide right off his tongue. I’ve gotta say, that was a lucky group of girls.”

“Life’s just a game of luck, isn’t it?” Sal chimed in with a shrewd smile directed at Copia.

“And I thank you as well, gentlemen, for helping me shed some dead weight.” The tenison grew thick as the flames of their rivalry were fanned with each remark. “But, a real man makes his own luck.” He casted a quick astute glance with an accompanying nod to Sal before he turned to directly face Arianna. “Perdonami,” he murmured gently, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Arianna, e come stai stasera, principessa (and how are you tonight, princess)?”

Her heart thumped wildly against her sternum and her eyes flashed nervously over to Alessio. She knew somehow this man’s unprompted actions would be her fault. Both men noted immediately how her body stiffened. One was amused by her fear while the other felt a pang of pity. “Bene, grazie (good, thank you),” she piped up meekly.

“Would it be alright if I stole la bella donna (the beautiful woman) for just one dance?” he asked the two men beside him, only taking his eyes off Arianna for a mere second.

Giving Alessio a slap on the back, “She’s practically yours now, son. That’s your call to make,” her father laughed as he walked off towards the bar.

Arianna widened her eyes, begging Alessio to say no. Rolling his lips between his teeth as he pondered his decision quickly. He nodded, another sly smile curling the edges of his mouth. “One song wouldn’t hurt, eh? Careful though, she’s a pistol. Hope you can handle her. Lord knows some days I barely can.”

Copia laughed dryly. “I think someone of my stature knows how to handle one of those quite well,” he challenged, ushering Arianna away quickly.

Alessio reached out and grabbed her by the arm, just like he had earlier, turning her towards him. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth at the pain as he had constricted her already tender bruises. “I’ll be waiting by the bar for you,” he hummed as his eyes flicked back and forth between Arianna and her new dance partner, before they lingered on her. She knew that look on his face. It was another warning. Without a sound, he let go of her, and followed the path of her father.

Copia’s arm snaked around her waist. He made it a point to do it gingerly, but that did nothing to calm her rattling nerves. “You’re trembling, cara,” he noted quietly, turning to face her, placing a hand on her hip on the same spot Alessio’s fingers left painful imprints. Her eyes fluttered shut when she involuntarily shied away from him. He eyed her curiously as he switched hands, placing one on her opposite hip and taking her hand in his other. She never quite understood the random ballroom dancing that happened at some of these parties.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A sinister laugh quietly bubbled from him as he leaned to whisper in her ear, “You really should be.”

“And why’s that?” she challenged as they stepped in time together. Unsure of how, or why, but she could feel some of her old fire ignite inside her.

“Now, now, if I answered that it would ruin the surprise.”

She spoke in a way so her lips didn’t move, but Copia could understand her muffled words perfectly: “My father has eyes on you, you know.” This came off as more of a warning of caution than a threat.

“I’d expect nothing less from him. The real question is, does he have eyes on you?”

“I highly doubt it. I’ve proven to him I’ve learned from my rebellious ways,” she scoffed.

“Oh?”

“The consequences aren’t worth the… It serves no purpose anymore.”

After a few beats of silence, Copia asked, “Why do you let them treat you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like they own you.”

For the first time since their dance began, she looked directly into his two-toned irises. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone, never mind a practical stranger, had even acknowledged her feelings or that she might have any at all. Her life wasn’t her own; it was already planned out. She could picture her life with Alessio as if she already lived. It’s mostly the reason she had become a shell, a carbon copy of herself. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a tall cliffside with no one to pull her back and no one who noticed, or even cared… So why was her father’s sworn enemy acting as if he did? And why in God’s name did it make her stomach flip and her heart flutter? “Because they do,” she finally managed to say through barely parted lips.

As the song ended, Copia regarded her with a smug, yet sympathetic look. He stepped towards her, pressing his body against hers, bringing his forehead down to hers. Standing there frozen, there was nothing she was able to do except stare into the most intriguing pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Il mio agnellino (my little lamb)…” he purred. A devilish smile creeped onto his face. “I’ll see you soon.”

He abruptly left her standing there like a deer in headlights with her heart hammering in chest, and disappeared into the crowd. She sucked in a deep, ragged breath as she looked around checking to see if there were any witnesses to what just happened.

That man was evil. She knew this. He was ruthless. He worshiped the devil. He was the enemy.

And yet, what terrified her the most wasn’t his veiled threats, but her reaction to them. There was an allure to him, an air of mystique. Someone heard her faint cries for freedom… She shook it off and went to find Alessio, fearing what he would do if she waited any longer.

Arianna caught his eye as she walked up to him leaning against the bar, alone. He knocked back the remainder of his drink and forcefully grabbed her wrist, dragging her out to a deserted hallway. Not a single person batted an eyelash as they rushed past.

Once he assumed they were completely by themselves, he forced her up against the wall. Her back stinging in protest as the coolness of the concrete seeped into her skin. Unbeknownst to the nowhere-near-happy couple, Copia and his ghouls were waiting in a nearby room. Every part of his plan was falling in place like dominos.

“Alessio wh–” Arianna started to question, but was cut off by Alessio slamming his fist on the wall right next to her head.

While he now had her caged in, he pointed a finger in her face. “What the fuck was that about? You fucking wanted to dance with that vermin?”

She stared at him in horror. Even though she knew he would pull this card, it never made it easier any time it happened. “What are you talking about?! Did you miss the look I gave you? I wanted nothing to do with him! I wanted you to say the ‘no’ that I couldn’t!”

“You wanted–” he scoffed. “You wanted me to say no? Since when do I make your decisions for you?”

“Only every fucking day of my life!” she spat back at him, seething. Though he embodies sin and everything unholy, when Copia switched the hands on her hips, when he noted her fear… Those actions, so subtle, spoke volumes. She was reminded of what it means when a person has compassion, empathy, and even a trace of humanity inside them. If she ever experienced that with Alessio it had long be wiped from her memory, overridden by every terrible thing he had done to her and put her through.

The rage that erupted from him, the hatred that bled from his eyes, haunted her nightmares. Instantly after the words left her mouth, her whole body tensed. When the blow from his hand landed across her face, she didn’t even have time to react before he gripped her arms again, somehow even harder than the two previous times.

“You think you can just go dance with another man without looking like one of the devil’s whores? Maybe I should have let you wear that dress, since here you are, being one instead of just looking like one.” He shook her as he berated her.

“Alessio, please, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face as her fiancé screamed at her. His voice drowned out from the thumping music and the raucous party-goers in the other room.

“You little fucking cunt, if it wasn’t for your father I would have left your pathetic ass years ago,” he snarled through his teeth just before he tossed her to the ground like a rag doll. “Get the fuck home. I don’t want to deal with this right now. And you better think of a good way to make this up to me…” he warned before he cracked his neck, fixed his shirt cuffs, and sauntered back into the party.

Quietly, she sobbed into the tile floor. Her body was alight in a flame of pain. “Please, God. Please help me. I can’t… I just can’t…”

A hand gently touched her shoulder. She recoiled, flinching, and pressed herself into the wall behind her.

“Oh, Principessa,” Copia tutted. He crouched down in front of her and used his thumb to wipe away her tears. She watched as he brought his hand closer to inspect how they glistened on his leather glove. His eyes bored into hers as he brought his thumb to his mouth, nearly sensually cleaning off her agonized tears with his tongue. Fear coursed through her harder than the adrenaline did when she spoke back to Alessio. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that God called in sick today,” he leaned in closer, hovering over her forebodingly, “and he sent me to handle your prayers,” he cooed disparagingly.

He stepped back from her, offering to help her up. She stared at his hand, her eyes wide with panic. When he waved it to snap her out of her trance, she scrambled to her feet. Automatically fearing supposed repercussions.

“How much… how much of that did you hear?” she whispered.

“All of it.” With a snap of his fingers two ghouls appeared, seemingly out of nowhere from Arianna’s perspective, and grabbed her arms. Their grip firm, but it wasn’t lost on her how they somehow managed to avoid touching where Alessio had hurt her.

“Wh-what are you doing? Let me go. Let go of me!” she cried out, feebly attempting to wriggle from the ghouls’ grasps.

Copia stepped forward, taking her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheeks. With his face inches from hers, that diabolical smile reappeared. “I’m sorry about that too, but I can’t allow that. You see, il mio agnellino, you won’t be going home tonight.” He snaked his hands down from her face and along her neck before he leaned in so close to her, his breath tickled her ear. The way his lips moved against her skin sent shivers down her spine. “I told you. You should be scared of me.”

As he backed away from her, a third ghoul put a cloth over her mouth. Her screams were muffled as she tried to thrash and escape from her captors. Soon, her movements slowed and her vision blurred. The last thing she remembered seeing was that haunting pair of eyes, one green and one white, watching her with a smirk that rivaled that of the devil’s, before something covered her head and plunged her into darkness as her body went limp.

Next Chapter || taglist: @gorie-talks-a-lot @haelithra @love-is-all-you-need-13 @lydzlore @megachaoticstupid @onlyhereforghost @state-of-longing @werich @whenparadiseislost

#the band ghost #the band ghost mafia au #mafia au #copia #mob boss!copia #mob boss copia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4 #papa copia #copia x oc #papa emeritus iv x oc #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #ghost bc fanfic #copia angst

93 notes · View notes

purplelupins · 1 year

Text

Happy Together

Part I Part II Part III

|The Black Phone|

The Grabber/Albert Shaw x reader

Summery: Nothing like a new city. You just wanted a fresh start, and something comfortable, but what happens when you start to see the exact same patterns in Denver as you did before?

Warnings: the following warning are for the full fic, and not just this first chapter. PLEASE READ THEM. This is a DARK fic.

Dub-con (note that this is a link so it is actually wanted), Daddy kink, size kink, pet names (princess, kiddo, sweetheart, honey and more) mentions of death (including murder, torture etc), cumming in pants, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f and m) begging, breeding kink, innocence kink, biting, adultery, infidelity, stalking, mentions of kidnapping, home break-in, fighting (verbal and physical)…more will be added.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IF YOURE A MINOR DO NOT READ DO NOT LOOK AT THIS DO NOT BREATHE NEAR THIS!! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU

Note: yes we know I’m bad at summaries. This is an extended fic request for my dear friend @mandowifey

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Some say it’s pointless to believe in love.

Soulmates.

Devotion.

They say these concepts are fruits grown from fairytales told to children to ease the horrors of the world. Figments of our imagination. What we might dream of love as, is simply lust paired with blind complacency; soulmates are really just two people settling for the comfort of having another person there for them; devotion is more of a domestic weakness.

And how right they are; perhaps not all right, but closer to the truth than most. There are, however, a select few who chose -or perhaps are cursed- to see life through those fairytale expectations.

True love and a happy ending.

Perfection in all its glory.

And they will stop at nothing to replicate exactly that.

Absolutely nothing.

There was something almost comical about the days following New Years; the odd party hat rolling in the frozen streets, colourful streamers handing haphazardly from bar signs, and a few used condoms barely concealed by an alleyway.

Almost everywhere you went it was the same.

The bitter winter breeze whipping down from the mountains burned a blush onto your cheeks. The bus driver on the Greyhound worriedly asked you again if you were sure you’d be alright in a new city. With no one to give you a warm welcome like he thought you deserved, there was a prominent inkling of worry in his weathered face.

“A pretty little lady like yourself ought to keep ‘er wits about her.” He said, tugging your suitcase out from the bottom of the bus for you.

It was refreshing to have someone offer such concern to a stranger like you, but the distress you saw from him made your heart ache. It wasn’t your place to make an old man worry; especially not so early in the New Year. So to ease his tight shoulders, you just smiled and patted his arm, pulling your large jacket closer around yourself.

“Well I can’t quite stash you in my pocket to keep me safe can I, Simon?” You teased him, taking grip of the handle of your bag, “I’ll be just fine. I’m tough.” You flexed your arm as if you had anything to show- even if you did they were hidden under your many layers.

The aging man cracked a smile at your antics, and fiddled with the gold ring on his finger. You knew the chill from the precious metal was affecting the arthritis he had told you about halfway through the journey across the state. It hadn’t taken long before you realised he was a very talkative man, and while you enjoyed the watching the scenery in quiet as much as the next person, having his babble to distract you was also very welcomed. There was something about learning the story of another person that never ceased to fascinate you- where they placed importance, what they took pride in…what brought them sadness and joy. Simon was just another face you would meet briefly, but just like the other passing acquaintances moving through your life, he gave you a small reprieve from the harsh world.

You eyes caught the movement of his hand on the good band, and your smile faltered slightly.

“Don’t work too hard. You’ll be home soon.” You tried to reassure him, which evidently worked as he nodded and gave you a quick smile that told you if he stood there any longer he would have given you ten phone numbers and half his day’s wages to help you out.

He was a kind man.

Too kind.

One of the few.

Simon clapped his hands once, ensuring that the other three passengers offloading were done. He called out to you to have a happy new year, and you replied in kind with a wave before the bus pulled away.

Now with the full weight of your new home resting on your shoulders, you let your smile fall and your eyes glaze over as you took in your surroundings.

Denver.

A frozen park.

A grocer down the street.

A coffee shop with what looked like a hungover barista.

A pub that made you itchy looking at it.

A deep breath filled your lungs just as a couple of well liquored men stumbled out of said pub- clearly enjoying their last day off before the first Monday of 1978 hit them like a brick. One of them eyed you as they walked past like a couple of huge toddlers, and you offered a friendly grin and a nod in return.

It wasn’t as if you were looking to be eyed-up -what with your several layers, aching back and itchy eyes- but this was a celebrated time of year. Everyone was a little…loose. Besides, you never knew who would turn out to be in your personal circle as you established yourself in your new home. That man might be your new boss for all you knew.

The more sober man of the two continued to almost pull the other to a car, and you noted -albeit a little uncomfortably- how the other’s drunken stare contributed to flicker over your frame. Once he finally looked away, you would hear them bickering in slurred voices.

Best not to pry.

So you found yourself dragging yourself and your suitcase over to what you assumed was a communal bulletin board, and inspected it for any rooms available in the vicinity. But even still, you could hear the two men arguing, growing louder and louder.

Something about how the staring man needed to get his shit together.

Quit it.

Knock it off.

About how he told Nancy that he would stop with that shit.

That he’d do better.

They finally drove off when one of them slammed their car door, which prompted the other to follow suit. Your stomach had started to tighten the longer you listened to them, and you sighed into your scarf once the street fell quiet again.

Home sweet home.

Home was always a strange concept. You were more inclined to believe that home ought to revolve around a person you loved or where you felt happiest, instead of a specific place or house.

And look where that got you.

Falling into a routine after your arrival to the mountain city was as easy as the pie you served at the local diner.

Sure the stiff, and starched blue and white uniform you had to wear wasn’t luxury nor was the smell of cooked food you had to wash out of your hair. But it felt domestic and easy. Being a waitress wasn’t exactly what you dreamed of, but you didn’t mind. After two months, you had regulars who made paying for groceries easier, and made you laugh with their horrid jokes.

Of course there were those who stared too much and tried to get a handful of your dress and what lay beneath it, but again, you didn’t want to make any bad impressions, so you pretended to be alright, and moved on; you swatted playfully and reprimanded when needed- always being sure to never snap- the last thing you wanted was to have to move again.

But for now, it was comfortable. Exactly what you needed.

The sun began to disappear behind the buildings outside the diner window, and you could feel your eyelids dripping with it. It was only when you heard your name being called that a smile eased back onto your face. The boisterous form of your manager, Anett, leaned onto the counter next to you; she was a nice lady with a stern sense of justice and wore a liberal amount of hairspray. Needless to say, you rarely had to worry about any customers heckling you, though you did worry about her hair catching fire.

“Time to go home, honey.” She said with a sigh as her hand found her hip. It was a slow day, like many, but somehow there had been more messes to clean and teenagers to remove than usual. Slow, but long.

“Tired of having me here?” You teased her, slipping off your white apron that was usually fastened over your blue dress.

A tired grin stretched over her red lipstick, and she shook her head, “I’d keep you here all day if I could, you Angel. You know that.”

Her words made you breathe out a laugh, “Well if I could stand these uniforms a second longer you know I would stay happily.” You replied, and she barked out a cackle that only made you smile wider. Anett was frightening to most, but somehow you had managed to worm your way into her soft side.

Once she recovered, she tapped her hand on the counter and said, “Get yourself home safe, alright?”, and took her leave as you folded your apron and stored it away.

Safe.

You pondered that word as you pulled on your sweater and coat to brave the cool walk home.

You weren’t sure you could remember what safe felt like. Not that you particularly felt unsafe…it was simply the way the world felt. Everyone lies, cheats, holds more importance over themselves than those around them like they shat gold. There was little chivalry, and everyone seemed to have ulterior motives…you wondered if perhaps you had ever felt something akin to safety, or if perhaps that feeling had just been the innocence of being a child.

Now that you had been in Denver for a few months, you had to admit it was a dull place. There wasn’t a great deal to do in your new city unless you wanted to go for a hike in the mountains or attend a baseball game. And it seemed that neither was an option thanks to the cool air.

Then speaking of childhood innocence, there were the disappearances of those two boys right there in your new home. You could still remember the exact moment you heard about the first one. It wasn’t a week after you’d moved to that mountain city that you heard the whispers. Then a month later you had had to clean up a shattered coffee cup at the diner after a man had read the morning paper; another one had been taken.

It twisted a sharp pain in your heart. What would possess someone to take those boys? You’d heard about so many other similar cases and trials over the years, and it was almost always the same profile for each psychopath.

Outcast.

Pathological liar.

Exposure to extreme pornography.

And a lack of consciousness.

…and somehow always something to do with the torture of animals.

From what you had seen in Denver, everyone you met were the loveliest, simplest people. They all had their little routines, and dramas that swallowed up their lives, and their favourite kind of cake to eat in Sundays.

Just people.

They were all like you, and you like them.

It made you wonder who you could trust, knowing you were all the same.

By the time you reached your front yard, your cheeks were flushed and your bones had a chill in them. The sheer sight of your little house warmed your heart. Just as your work- your home was comfortable.

Your safe place.

Blue sky greeted you the following day when you drew your cream curtains back. Birds chirped, and you had to admit you almost pinched yourself by how idelic it was. Outside your kitchen window, you could watch the cars go by as people made their way to work, and the children walking past to get to their bus stop.

You thanked your lucky stars that the heat hadn’t begun yet, and nestled into your sweaters and jacket before turning the key in your front door to start your day. While you didn’t have to work, you made a deal with yourself that you wouldn’t hide away there and alienate yourself. You went to a new city for a new start, and you couldn’t do that very well if you just watched your neighbours. While that in itself was good fun, most of your neighborhood was made up of seniors and a few families down the street…and while you loved them and their kind welcomes, they weren’t the most fun to dissect; though it did mean that you had a fantastic stock of baked goods and food in those heavy glass containers you never bought for yourself.

The air was cold, but smelled so good that you didn’t care about how it burned your nostrils when your breathed in.

“Morning Harriet!” You called to the house next to you. The familiar grey hair in their mint rollers were visible between the rose bushes as the elderly -but lively- woman checked her mail. She made the best brownies- you always felt so relaxed after.

Harriet looked up from her mail, and cast you a smile and wave, “Good morning, dear.”

Old or not, you liked your neighbours. Certainly they were a touch too nosy and watched everyone’s every move, but it made it almost a game. Who would catch who in a lie, would would get someone flustered by acknowledging them staring…you loved waving at the old biddies who thought you were odd then watch them pretend like they weren’t gossiping over their white-picket fences.

But Harriet was nice.

Most of them were nice to your face, just as you were to theirs.

Even so, the welcome you had been given when you moved into that little house had been a warm one. Maybe not all the visits to say hello were sincere, but the gesture was still nice. And the food was good.

“Where’s that cheeky husband of yours? Shouldn’t he be getting the papers?” You asked as you walked to your gate. She rolled her eyes and you had to laugh a little at her response, “Let me guess, he threw his back out again?”

Her exasperated nod was all you needed, “The man forgets that he’s not a spry chicken anymore…” she gasped out, crossing her arms as a breeze whipped by.

“Not like you!” You grinned, enjoying the bashful look on the woman’s face.

Harriet waved you off, tucking her papers and mail under her arm, “Oh hush you…off with you now. Go find a nice young man and wait 40 years, you’ll see what I mean.” She began walking back into the house with another roll of her eyes.

Your smile dropped ever so slightly, but you paid it no mind, “Doing my best!” You called to her.

The old woman smiled at you as she closed the door, and you had already begun to turn away when your face fell completely. The dull twinge behind your ribs pinched as you walked, and your shoulders slumped slightly.

You had been called a hopeless romantic for years, and you couldn’t help but envy those with gold bands on their fingers; they had something so precious. Someone to depend on. Someone to love. To hold.

The walk into the city was a fairly calm one. With most people sitting behind their desks or waiting for a customer to enter their shop, there were few people to navigate around. You admittedly did not feel in the mood to converse too much that day.

Before long, the small coffee shop you had begun to frequent came into view, and you quickened your pace as another gust of wind snuck down your back. You looked both ways to cross the street just like your momma had told you, and walked briskly to the door; a smile landed on your face as soon as you stepped inside and the smell of coffee, and butter wrapped you in a hug.

To your good fortune, there was only yourself, the waitress, and a man you had seen in that same shop a few times, and he was very nice. You truly couldn’t have orchestrated a more perfect day.

With your order placed, you took a seat at one of the tables by the window. It was fun to watch the people passing by go about their days. Families, women, men, wives, mothers, fathers, husbands…

It only took a moment before your coffee and muffin were being placed on your table- which you accepted with a smile and a polite smile. One that turned a little more genuine when you caught eyes with the man sitting a table away from you.

“Good morning.” He said briskly. Evidently, he had consumed far more caffeine than you had.

“Morning. How’s the crossword?” You asked, taking your first sip of your much needed coffee. On more than one occasion you had seen him working away at the morning paper, pen or pencil in hand, and had helped him a few times with the odd word.

“It’s going. I’m stuck on an 10 letter word for “cut”…any ideas?” He asked with a certain charm that made your heart beat a little faster.

You scrunched your face up in thought, and hummed to yourself. You had a fairly good idea what the answer was, but didn’t want to give it to him too quickly lest he think himself stupid.

“Um…what about laceration?” You offered with a little smile.

The man’s brows shot up, and he looked down at the page to scan the other boxes to ensure it would fit and sure enough, he looked very appreciative. “I’ll be damned…” he murmured, and quickly scribbled in the word before looking back up at you, surprised.

“Thanks a lot. Quick little thing aren’t you? You got a whole thesaurus up there?” He asked, turning his body towards you. As he did, the light caught the gold of his ring, but you kept your smile.

“I wish…just luck I suppose.” You shrugged it off like it was nothing. Seemed like he needed to read a thesaurus. You went to turn back to your coffee, but your heart jumped a little when he spoke again, eager to talk to you.

“H-Hiding from the cold too?” He said, nodding to the outside.

You let out a gentle laugh and nodded as you leaned in to talk, “Yes I-“

Your words, however, were cut off rudely by the sudden opening of the door. A gust of cold air rushed inside following the person who had carelessly stumbled into the quiet shop. Your shoulders tensed and you body temperature quickly descended, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the man you had been speaking to do the same. You both looked at the newcomer with an air of distain for having been interrupted. Said newcomer was another man, looking to be around the same age as the man you had been talking to, and he shot you both an apologetic look but the damage had been done- you were now freezing cold, and you could have throttled him for his inconsiderateness.

But to end the awkward interruption, you turned back to the man who still seemed interested in speaking with you.

“As I was saying, yes I am hiding from the cold…though it seems it still found me.” You added with a little wink and raised brow, and to your joy the man laughed, but hid it with a cough, “I- I’m still new to town…I wanted to explore the city a bit today but I don’t think I’ll be able to without some warm liquid courage!” you lifted your now lukewarm coffee.

The man breathed out a laugh, and his brown eyes crinkled at the sides, “You picked a hell of a time to move to Denver- I hope someone showed you how to dress warm. Where’d you come from?” He asked, giving you his undivided attention.

You laughed softly and shook your head, “I’ve seen worse actually- I just moved fro-“

“Hey I know you!”

A voice from the service counter called out, and you deduced it was the same made who had already interrupted your pleasant conversation once. Your eye twitched in time with your fists clenching and stomach dropping. Why couldn’t you just be left in peace? Who was this-

Then it clicked.

You looked up at the other man who was now standing over your table with a smile on his face like he’d solved a mystery. You knew exactly where you knew him from.

Thick moustache, always a bright button up, and a fur lined jacket. Yes you knew him.

“Yeah, yeah you’re my neighbour! 7739 Irving st, right? The little house with the bush on the side?” The man snapped his fingers and sat himself down across from you like you were old friends catching up. You watched helplessly and your conversation was hijacked, and your eyes flicked between the two men- hoping that maybe the one you had been in conversation with would help you out. But it seemed neither of you could get a word in as this new man slipped off his coat and had started a conversation of his own. You couldn’t even confirm your identity to him; for all he knew you could be a complete stranger he had mistaken for one of his neighbours.

Then, to your upmost disappointment, you watched as your previous conversation partner awkwardly picked up his things and gave you a nod before leaving the shop. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, and opened them on the notably animated man who was now going on about something without a care in the world. You hoped the other man had a nice day…though you were certain you were a better conversationalist than his wife Nancy.

“-lived there our whole lives you know? Well I’m off sometimes, but I always come back- work not going how I thought and what not. But Al’s always there for me, you know? I hate to be a bother to him but he’s rarely home anyways…worka…what are they called? Workaholic! Yeah. Swear he’s more like my dad than our dad was…but anyways you said you weren’t from here right?” He looked at you expectantly, and you schooled a pleasant look on your face.

Don’t be rude. Just breathe.

“I…yes I was. I just moved here. Bit of a transient myself.” You said, and took a sip from your coffee that somehow tasted a little more sour now and was fully cold.

The end of his sentence caught your interest, and you were trying to wrack your brain to recall what he had been babbling on about. His brother being like a father? You almost laughed to yourself- this man definitely needed someone like that in his life. Now that you thought of it, the house across from yours was very quiet save for the times someone left for work at 8:30am every morning of the week, and when you saw the man across from you…though he was usually with a female partner.

“Where from? Maybe we’ve actually been following eachother.” He joked with a smile and a wink.

Unlikely.

But you laughed, “Came from Salt Lake city. Even harsher winters than here.”

The man whistled, and leaned back as he crossed his arms, “Don’t blame you for leaving there…hope you weren’t there a few years ago…nasty stuff going on if you ask me.” He looked at you expectantly and you could feel a cold sweat break under your sweater and your stomach tie in knots. You hoped he just meant what went on in 1975…who was this guy? A cop? A crime enthusiast?

You shook your head apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I think I missed your name?”

His brows shot up in surprise.

“Oh, shit I didn’t even tell you! I’m Max.” He extended his hand to shake yours and you smiled, “Max Shaw.”

“Well Max, can you tell me what you mean about…the nasty stuff going on in Colorado? I was only there a couple years.” You asked, stomach twisting tighter.

This seemed to spark Max’s interest, and he leaned over the table as if he was about to relay a deep secret. Thankfully, you saw no nosiness in his face. The last thing you wanted was to think about…well…to think about less than good times.

“Well you know…those bodies found in the mountains and whatnot? Bundy or whatever his name was sure liked that city…they got him down in Florida now.” He said in a hushed tone like anyone could be listening.

Ah. A conspiracy theorist.

You sighed and nodded, “Oh yes I heard…That happened right before I got there…have to admit I locked my doors religiously when I lived there.” You laughed off your nerves.

“You’d better do that here too, you know.” Max said suddenly.

At this, you gaze jumped to his, “Why?…do you mean the-“

“Grabber.” He nodded and it was like his eyes lit up at the subject.

While you were still a little bitter towards him for being interruptive, you had to admit that your interest was peaked. This man might be a little nuts but it was true you were intrigued by the strange disappearances, no matter how horrible.

“Max, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you know a thing or two about the town terror. Should I be worried?” You raised your brow in faux accusation.

His eyes widened comically, “No! No I just…I don’t know I feel like there’s something more to it all, you know? Someone has to be doing this for a reason…”

You leaned forward a little and nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”

While Max had indeed ruined your morning and subsequently the rest of your day, you had to admit that the man made up for it with wild theories that had you pondering the world around you even further. He had begun with zeroing in on the mass amounts of disappearances over the past decade and a half that had never been linked to any event or person- how he was certain there were some kind of underground tunnel system that people used to get around or hide in. Which then led to the possibility of an underground city or country under your feet; operating just like the one around you.

Then from there he leapt into a tangent regarding the untrustworthiness of the government and how he was certain President Carter was a Rockefeller Republican and not much of a democrat at all.

Somewhere along the way, the morning had turned into afternoon and Max insisted on buying you lunch, though it had turned out that he was -very apologetically- short on cash. Not that you had a problem covering it; this man seemed to be in need of a human sound-board.

Now you knew why those lady-friends you always observed him with would leave after an hour of being at his house. You wondered if his brother was even aware of the female traffic…if he was a hard worker like he seemed to be -what with being out all day nearly every day- then you could only feel a pang of pity for him. Poor man probably just wanted to come home and relax but instead he likely came home to his brother with his tongue down a new woman’s throat or knee deep in a new theory.

At some point the two of you slowly meandered back to the direction of your respective homes. Along the way, however, you began to question if Max even fully lived with his brother or if he just stayed there; he insisted on taking blatantly wrong turns, and you had to gently point in the correct direction.

Eventually, however, you did see your little home, and the one across from it that you knew now at Max’s- questionably. While you knew you should have just said that it had been nice to meet him properly - true or not- he somehow managed to coerce you into coming over. It wasn’t as if you had anything to do after your day had been eaten up…but perhaps he would have something good for dinner or you could get a look into another neighbour’s life to see if they were worth befriending.

The Shaw household was comfortable. It was definitely more lived-in than yours, but you noted that there was only a light smell of smoke in the air -rather than seeped into the wallpaper- and a simplicity to everything that you found quite inviting. You gathered the smoke smell was from Max, rather than his brother…and you presumed the half-cleaned line of cocaine on the coffee table was the same.

Your observation was cut short when you heard the low growl of a large dog; sure enough, there were two huge black eyes peering from the hallway into what you imagined were the bedrooms that caught the light of the living room.

Just as you were about to ask who the beautiful beast was, Max came to your side and handed you a beer- one that you accepted politely but knew you wouldn’t drink from.

“Down Samson…sorry about him. He’s a real softy under it all- just a good guard dog.” Max said as he flopped onto the couch.

You took a seat in one of the armchairs, and cast a smile at the black hound. “Aren’t you a handsome boy?” You cooed to him as he took a few steps out of the dim hall. Though his growling calmed, you kept your eyes on him, and your smile widened as he came closer. The beer in your hand went onto the table so you could beckon the dog over, which it did slowly. “Hello!” You gushed and as soon as Samson was within reach, your hands slipped into his fur. Within a minute he was a puddle in your hands and placed his head in your lap once you sat in your seat.

“You some kinda dog whisperer or somethin’?” Max asked, wiping his nose once you turned to him.

“Nah…I think we’re just two animals who recognize something in each other.” You grinned, and Max’s brows rose up.

“Lucky he didn’t bite your hand off…he’s not usually one for cuddles.” He eased back into the sofa and took a drink from his own beer.

You nodded, “I’m pretty good at getting along with just about anyone. I like the challenge of a hard nut…not everyone is all gruff.” You smiled fondly down at Samson, but looked back up when Max snorted and laughed.

“You’ll just love Al then!” He said, and sat up to run a hand through his hair.

“Oh?” You asked.

“Good guy but uh…let’s just say him and his pup there are pretty much the same.”

Noted.

“Y/n I’m telling you there’s got to be something in the water or food that’s making all these killers!”

You perched your head in your hands and nodded along as Max continued on his third tangent that evening, “Yes, yes…and can you tell me why?” You asked, though you didn’t think you would get a real answer this time- just like the other times you asked him for clarification.

Max thought for a moment, and rubbed his nose- you were certain he was going to get a nosebleed. Then he snapped his fingers and stood up, “Population control. Like a…like a secret mustard gas.” He nodded to himself, eyes getting wider.

You nodded and hummed patiently, so thankful for your furry companion that still sat by you, “Right. But if they kill everyone off…doesn’t that go against their favourite scheme of all?”

“What’s that?” Max’s eyes darted around.

“Capitalism.” You said dead serious.

You both stared at one another, then after a moment you both broke out into laughter. He was nuts, but Max was good fun and made for good entertainment when he fell down a rabbit hole.

The laugher between you died down when you were both brought back to reality as the door swung open and you were greeted with a new face all together. You didn’t know what happened then, but something in you froze. You were utterly fixed to the spot.

Greying hair that brushed his broad shoulders, nice build, sharp jaw, weathered face with crows feet and a deep line between his brows that you assumed was there even when he wasn’t glaring like he was then; and then his eyes. Damn well the bluest fucking eyes you had ever seen.

He was certainly older than Max, just as he had insinuated, and you could almost feel the frustration permeating the air around him. The air from your lungs felt sharp all of a sudden like you couldn’t breathe. A butterfly with a metal pin through it waiting for his dissection and approval. Cut you open and see what makes you tick.

Was it the guilt of being in his home without consent? Was it his direct irritation? The second-hand exhaustion? Or the extra beat your heart seemed to take when you saw him. You felt fuzzy, but you tried to stay calm.

Albert was tense. It was very obvious.

You had hoped he might have been a little easy going with maybe an exasperated sigh at his brother’s antics, but it seemed you might have been the last straw. Not that you blamed him…hell you found yourself feeling like a real ass right then.

He cast Max -who had frozen on the spot- an incredulous look.

“Max?”

You hadn’t realised your hearing had become muffled until he spoke. His voice alone made a slow blush rise to your cheekbones. The one word was rasped out in a tired tone, and you wondered if that was how he always sounded or if it was just from talking a great deal at work mixed with tiredness. It was a ragged rumble in his chest, and while you were feeling quite guilty for doing to him what Max did to you, you wished he would say more.

Max had started talking, likely explaining who you were, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. He babbled and babbled, following his brother into the kitchen like a son trying to justify something to his father.

Your heart beat even faster.

“-she’s actually your neighbour! We just ran into eachother-“

You watched his elder brother, and took him in.

“-you know and I just thought it would be nice to-“

He must have had a good 10 years on Max, and you found yourself transfixed by the deep line between his brows that framed his cornflower blue eyes so beautifully. You also noticed that while the smile he gave Max was bitter and sarcastic, you could see what startlingly sharp teeth he had; each tooth had a distinct tip to it that looked like it could leave a blatantly and equally distinct bite mark on your skin.

Now you had a much better appreciation for Max’s comparison between him and his dog.

“-I know I said I’d be out of your hair but it’s just a couple more days, Al-“

But there was something in his gaze that made you stare a little longer. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that you had seen before…but not there. Something you had hoped you’d never see again. A shiver ran down your spine and you could half feel goosebumps springing up as realization creeped into your mind.

To break your deep trance, you blinked a few times and dug your nails into your palm before standing in up and crossing the living room with your head tilted in an apologetic manor. The two of them continued to bicker under the fluorescent lights, but as soon as you had taken a step towards them, Al’s eyes shot to you. Your body told you to freeze, but your mind was far more powerful and made your legs move.

You gave him an impish smile and couldn’t help but wave a little uncomfortably, “Hi!” You started, and the elder of the two stared you down hard.

Get it together.

You swallowed and shifted on your feet, “I’m real sorry about all this…I should have just gone home. It’s Al, right? I’m y/n…” you extended your hand to his that was braced on the counter as he told his brother off.

Albert could see how uncertain you seemed to be on your feet- he almost laughed at it. Looked like you might damn well bold out of there if he breathed wrong. His gaze flicked to your hand then to Max before he took it slowly.

“Albert.” He said shortly, wrapping his long fingers around your much smaller ones. He looked you up and down with his brows pinched and a firm mouth.

Something felt…off to Albert. There was a look of recognition in your eyes as they trained themselves on him. Like you could…see him. But not the him Max saw- not Albert.

Him.

You smiled a little more to try and set him -and yourself- at ease, “Right. I’m so glad to meet you, though it’s not the best circumstances…” one of his brows rose slowly as if to say “Bet your fucking ass it’s not” but you tried to continue, “I know I’m not a welcomed guest…but I am your neighbour and I’d like to make it up to you if you’d let me? I can put these groceries away for you so you can-“

“I can put groceries away just fine.” He rasped, fixing to you with the same hard stare he gave to Max, and you felt very small. Al turned away but not before casting a pointed look at Max who was sulking slightly.

This man certainly was indeed a hard nut. But you were persistent. You were not about to leave that house without fixing that mess or you wouldn’t sleep.

“I’m sure you can, but nothing bad came from being nice.” You said, taking another step up to the older man and held his unwavering stare though his stare made you squirm, “Right?” You hoped against hope that you weren’t being too pushy, and make the situation even worse. If you pegged him correctly, he probably appreciated a woman taking charge of the kitchen; likely seeing his mother do exactly that. And if appealing to that aspect of him would make things blow over, then you’d do that and bark like a dog if he wanted.

After a very tense moment, Al finally sighed, and pointed to the fridge, “You can just put things in there…I’ll fix it later.”

With that, he walked past both you and Max and gave the Samson a pat on the head as he disappeared into what you assumed was his bedroom.

“Sorry about all that…”

You turned your attention to Max fleetingly before making quick work of the groceries.

He sure likes eggs…

“Oh don’t apologise…this is his home after all. You’re his brother but I’m an unfamiliar face…I can’t blame him for being a little grumpy…” you gave him a small smile and hoped your hands weren’t shaking too bad, “You said he works a lot?”

Max nodded.

“I swear he doesn’t have a day off…even when he’s not working he’s doing something, especially lately…”

You turned slowly, and looked at Max sitting now at the small table, your calm face slipping into a far more serious one. “What do you mean he-“

“So you’re the one who moved into 7739?”

Your heartbeat moved into your ears, and suddenly you couldn’t remember how to move. But you forced yourself to look to where Al was now standing just outside the kitchen; now out of his uniform.

“Yep!” You chirped, putting the coffee in the cupboard.

He reached into the fridge and pulled out a soda before leaning against the counter- sufficiently in your space. It was obvious that he was trying to intimidate you, but you were having none of that- he might be a man and much older than you but he didn’t know who he was dealing with. You might have been squirming under his gaze, but you weren’t weak.

“You know…that house had the same old couple living there for as long as I can remember…you remember them, Max?” Albert began, nodding to his brother. You watched Max nod, “Yeah…you know it’s just so funny how they just up and left town right in time for you to move in.” He took a long drink from the soda, staring you down.

That certainly was a surprise.

“Is that so?” You asked, “Well I guess it was destiny!” You added with a laugh.

Albert breathed out a laugh that neither made his eyes sparkle nor made him smile, “Right. So it’s just you?” He asked, nodding in the direction of your home.

“It sure is.” You confirmed.

“You know you should be extra careful these days…weird stuff happening.” He said.

You just smiled and shook your head, “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

He nodded again.

“Well I know why Max is still alone but what about you? How come no one’s scooped a little thing like you up?” Albert asked, with a tilt of his head.

He was pushing.

He wanted to see what was going on inside your head…how far you’d let him go.

Don’t be rude, y/n.

But your smile didn’t falter, “Still waiting for the right guy to come along. You start to get tired of them letting you down…and it gets messier and messier to cut them out of your life once the fun is over.” You said, tilting your head to the side, “Harder to make up stories about what happened too.”

Albert lowered his drink, and felt every one of his facial muscles go lax.

You watched his eyes- the windows to his soul. Or lack there of.

“I think I know exactly what you mean.” He murmured.

Both of you completely forgot about the other person in the room who seemed completely oblivious to your interaction. It’s not like he would understand, since he didn’t know what was so off about his own brother’s eyes.

Max didn’t see those eyes every day when he looked in the mirror- he wouldn’t know what the eyes of a killer looked like.

But you did.

And Albert did too.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @wayward-persephone @ethanhoewke @fuckerofevilmen @honeycovered-bandaids @dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @theroadreader @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @al-shaw @ebiemidnightlibrarian @katehawke @littleredmuneca @blep--bloop @astroo-babe @Ixdyred @ethanhawkestan @ratpackash @doc-blu @possessedjoker @destiel394 @darkvoidz @belladonnaaura @ang311te @pecter-specter

#the blackphone fanfic #the black phone #albert shaw #ethan hawke #albert shaw x reader #the grabber #the grabber x reader #slashers #Ethan Hawke fanfic #horror

370 notes · View notes

ariesphysics · 1 year

Text

Experiences with the Moon signs

This is my personal experiences with the Moon signs, this is going to be kinda long so I’m going to chop it in several posts (read: it’s 12AM and these are the only things that I have written). Themes refer to shared traits/feelings with the people I have encountered and had a chance to know. But, anyways enjoy reading. Comments are appreciated.

1. ARIES MOONS

Theme: unfavored by their mother, passionate, opinionated, devoted to their nephews/nieces, anger issues, emotionally expressive

a. Father [with birth time] (his Moon sextile my Moon, 1° his Moon sextile my Neptune, 2°)

He is very supportive about my feelings, and does understand how to deal with me emotionally. He also hits bull's eye when he's telling me about something. It's comfortable and I feel very safe with him. He is protective of me and will not be afraid to reprimand or take action to someone who has wronged me.

I also serve as an inspiration to him, he really likes writing and the stuff he publishes are sometimes my idiosyncrasies. He also pushes me to do what I like but I'm really anxious about things I want to start doing.

When we are together, we will talk about politics, religion, history, people. I reckon it's probably his Sag Sun + Aries Moon and my 9th house dominance in work here. It always feels that I always have something to learn from him every time we hang out.

b. Close friend [no birth time] (their Moon sextile my Moon their Moon sextile my Neptune)

When we hang out, we tend to just joke around and talk about people and things happening with us. They really like giving gifts, I tend to just go home as fast as possible because 💕autism💕. But, when we do get together, they will always bring something to give me, whether it be food, an inanimate object, or something they found.

Although sometimes, I feel that our relationship is distant and we don't really get each other at certain times (we never had a fight), I don't really have a reason to call our relationship over. We weren't just as close like before because we have other stuff going on with our lives now. Still, when I'm with them, it's fun. Our relationship is very light-hearted but there were also moments that we spilled our guts to each other.

2. TAURUS MOONS

Theme: grudges, hot-headedness, comfort, opinionated, emotionally secretive

a. Paternal 1st cousin [no birth time] (her Moon sextile my MC)

I look up to her and she's the only person I can freely cry about my worries about my future job or position in society.

She also likes telling me about her work, and she quit her job because her comfort is not met there. She is also very childish in an affectionate sense, youthful.

b. Maternal 1st cousin [no birth time] (her Moon square my Venus)

It seems like I have a pacifying effect on her because when she is with her siblings, she is very chaotic and just screams every time she talks, but when she is with me, she is domesticated.

I have noticed that she picks up on my habits and also starts doing them, which kinda pisses me off for some reason, and she does not respect my personal boundaries sometimes.

You could mistake her for a Fire moon, but it's just her Aries stellium in action. The reason possibly why they are such a cesspit of hell together is her Moon opposites the Scorpio moon sibling and squares the Aquarius moon sibling.

c. Close friend [no birth time] (her Moon squares my Saturn, her Moon trines my Lilith)

When we are together, we just tend to do our own things in one room. But, when we do talk, our topics typically revolve around politics, although when we are out of that topic we just spout literal nonsense to each other (speaking gibberish for some reason).

And for some reason, she has been the only person I am comfortable with being physically close. She is very secretive, even to her circle of friends (which I am a part of), and when questioned about her feelings towards a thing, she will find a way to divert the topic.

3. GEMINI MOONS

Theme: light-heartedness, fun

a. Virgo Venus in question [no birth time] (his Moon conjunct my Mars, his Moon opposite my Pluto)

Yes, he had been stuck in my memory for how many years now. Probably my only proper crush. During the time that we were together, he always puts a smile on my face. To me, he was the funniest thing ever. I felt so light and cheery with him.

He was an amusing storyteller, although he really likes his dirty jokes. He would help me with mathematics and I helped him with languages. He also liked telling me his outlandish ideas and kept updating me on challenges he did (for example, using his phone without charging it for a month).

b. Past friend [no birth time] (her Moon square my Lilith, her Moon trine my Chiron)

We are now just acquaintances, not as close as before, but still on good terms, just grew out of each other.

But, when we were together, we also did childish and hilarious stuff. One time, we got punishment for it, lol.

191 notes · View notes

canonical-transformation · 7 months

Text

things I do not under any circumstances need: more AU ideas

things that my brain held me hostage until I typed up:

---

Nursery of Worldseed

"When there is nothing left to burn, the embers will turn cold. Only the inescapable long night will remain. The morning that follows, the springtime thaw: this is yours to steward. Love the world where I no longer can, ████; see it to fruition."

— Baba-Dekabrya, Tsaritsa of Everloving Peace, whispered to ██████ ████ ████████ days before the latter ███████ select █████ ██ ███████ ████ ████████

◆ Name: Innamorata

◆ Title: The Flower

◆ Nursery of Worldseed

◆ ???: Dendro

◆ Constellation: Ashvatta Diapausis

A rainstorm recently flooded a basement beneath Zapolyarny Palace. Among the many records lost was the contract drawn up between Her Majesty and her Sixth Harbinger. So badly was the contract damaged, it's impossible to tell whether it is centuries old or merely months. All that is left is an addendum, signed in blood, attesting that both parties were very satisfied by the deal.

Innamorata operates behind the scenes in Teyvat, pruning and shearing, nudging mortal innovation and inquiry away from topics that might draw unwanted attention from certain "people in high places".

Put no stock in the rumours that the Tsaritsa and the Flower are as close mother and daughter. To those who know Her Majesty — an unsmiling clown, a bard with aeons-ringed eyes — such an idea is risible. Her Majesty has long since had no love left to give. Any affection she shows the Sixth is a self-soothing denial of this truth.

Innamorata, too, is playing along with this harmless dream. Whatever she is missing, she knows it's gone for good.

Character Story 1

Those who compile dossiers on Fatui Harbingers may devote reams of paper to speculation on Damselette's heritage or Tartaglia's powers. Yet on the subject of Innamorata, there is little to say. Her name is added to intelligence briefings as an afterthought, a perfunctory inclusion.

This is not a sign of disrespect, nor to suggest that the Sixth is insignificant. There's simply not that much to say.

A joint report from Liyuean and Fontainian security services might read like this:

Title: Innamorata, 6th Fatui Harbinger

Aliases: The Flower, Il Fiora, ████, the Gardener of Sumeru, Bough Trimmer

Vision, Delusion, etc.: Nothing of note.

Age: Unknown, but appears of ordinary age.

Height: 0.1–100'

Weight: unknown

Physical description: Female human with unremarkable pinnae.

Skin tone: See previous.

Hair: Light coloured. Hue and colour distribution are unremarkable. Often worn up in a typical manner.

Eyes: Unremarkable.

Other notes (appearance): Eloquence and bearing unexceptional for someone of her age.

Known activities:

- Fatui counterintelligence, responsible for many of the Harbingers' security measures.

- Monitors various technological and research centres, including the Fontaine Research Institute, the Eight Trades, [...].

- Suspected of manipulation and sabotage of the above.

- Influencing foreign and domestic policy within Sumeru.

History: Recruited by the Fatui some time after the Cataclysm and some time before the first draft of this report was completed.

Allegiance: Like most Harbingers, her personal loyalty to the Fatui and Snezhnaya is ambiguous. Neutral attitude towards Fontaine, Inazuma, Liyue, Mondstadt, and Natlan. Not much else to say.

Motivation: Unremarkable.

Known capabilities: Unremarkable; however, unremarkable. Command of various elements unremarkable, and combined with her unremarkable intelligence, her theoretical power is potentially unremarkable. Rumours of omniscience are unsubstantiated and may be her own propoganda.

Known casualties: Nobody of note.

Known weaknesses: None.

Overall threat assessment: Inconclusive.

(with kudos to @dandelion-wings for the "meme" format)

(EDIT: The rest of this was published!)

#au: innamorata‚ nursery of worldseed #if not us‚ then who?#silly headcanons #“silly”#genshin impact #my writing #fic bits #i.e. if i write the rest I'll just post it as a fic :P #genshin ocs #.......kinda #the tsaritsa #undertagged #other characters to be tagged

32 notes · View notes

cherry--cobbler · 6 months

Text

“Ten men stack up at the woman's feet, and she chooses the eleventh, who stands and looks the other way”.

— Michael Weller, "All about life"

~ chapter 1 ~

Dana Scott always knew that Harvey didn't belong to her. Spectrum was a cat walking by himself. Proud, nobody's, independent, rarely given into the hands and then only to selected people. It was enough for Dana Scott to be so chosen.

Good sex, pleasant conversations, exciting battles and negotiations, but more often — the perfect compromise that they found. This synergy between them… Dana cared about it, she liked it, so she was glad to return to New York. Harvey was now the senior partner and aimed higher (to match her). He was still damn good-looking (especially with a new hairstyle). It was supposed to be a pleasant adventure.

Harvey Specter was domesticated while she was building her life in London. Scotty realizes this the moment he gently removes her hand from his face and moves away, drawing a line between them. "Don't get involved, this is someone else's territory," says his whole pose. "Your visa is expired," Scotty sneers to himself, choking on bitterness.

Dana feels almost insulted. She can't do anything about this feeling because she's been special since Harvard. Yes, not a girlfriend or a lover, but someone much closer, bigger. There were so many things that connected them, and sex was just a drop in this sea. The threads stretched and intertwined into a unique pattern. Therefore, Dana can't get rid of the thought that she was deprived of something.

She understands the groundlessness of these claims. They never promised each other anything, but it hurts her to tears. Scotty wanted more. I couldn't escape from it, so I ran away from my fiance.

Dana also understands that it was her choice and she has no right to demand anything from Harvey. But she has a hole the size of Manhattan in her chest, and there's a reason for that.

"Who is she?" Scotty asks on the plane when they are sitting on opposite sides of the cabin because she is being pushed away again, but now insistently and clearly, with words.

Harvey arches an eyebrow and snorts, enjoying her whiskey and not even going to answer. As if she doesn't have enough reminders that he changed the locks, and her name is no longer on the free access list.

"Donna?", randomly beats Scotty, unable to remember another woman close to him.

A woman who could own the heart of Harvey Specter. Voluntarily given away. Never belonging to her!

Spectrum laughs, leaning back in his seat as if he finds the very possibility that he can sleep with the goddess Donna funny.

"There was definitely something between you," Dana shrugs because she's not blind either.

"I'm not stupid enough to have an affair with my super secretary," Harvey finally deigns to answer, finishing his whiskey.

"I'll have to give her your characterization", Scotty teases him without malice, remembering what Donna is capable of when she hears the word secretary.

"The check at the end of the month calls her just super for me," Harvey snorts.

He has become softer, Dana notices and feels a poisonous envy.

"Then Zoey?" Does she still work for you? Dana gets up from her seat and walks over to Harvey.

He gives her his famous grin of the best closer in New York. There is so much falsehood in it that you can draw buckets. It feels like a slap in the face, like the most vile insult.

Harvey Spectrum is now a minefield with a chain-link fence and warning signs through every centimetre. For the first time, Dana learns what politeness is in the Spectrum. When all touches are treated unambiguously, and flirting is a tribute to a beautiful woman.

The proud, independent cat now has a master. And the majestic creature, like a devoted dog, no longer looks at others. Just loses interest.

#suits #suits tv #suits usa #harvey specter #mike ross #harvey specter x mike ross #marvey #fanfic #my fanfiction #dana scott #dana scott x harvey specter #I am not a native English speaker #so I will be glad to receive feedback

40 notes · View notes

xbabybajix · 1 year

Text

Growing Old w/ Kisaki~

A/n: I read a lot of fics w him being a husband and dad w kids but what about Oldman! Kisaki?? My bby deserves a partner he can experience real love with :( this was self indulgent bc I read Kisaki fics at like 7am today. In another life I woulda loved to do laundry and taxes w/ Kisaki. Listened to this while writing!!

-Co-parenting w/ kisaki was definitely a journey because he wasn’t always with you 24/7 due to his job. But your patience and understanding is what made Kisaki dedicate himself to you over the years. Any chance he had free time, Kisaki spoiled you and the children with gifts but made sure quality time was prioritized after hearing you scold him a few times about how you just want him to do domestic things w/ you :(

-Time began to catch up with Kisaki but it only served as a reminder to cherish you and his children for the time you’d both have together

- Though both of you have aged, Kisaki still reminds you that you are radiant and just as beautiful as the moment he first laid eyes on you.

- Still spoils you with flowers and small gifts to remind you that you’re his and he loves to see your eyes brighten up and giggle, “You know you still send me flowers even now? When I’m old and have back pains now? Ya know I can’t move the same way I did back then.”

-Kisaki is easy to respond as he claims his love for you is everlasting and that he can’t help but fall deeply in love with your being because you make him feel young despite having kids that are already in their 30’s

- Your favorite moments with Kisaki are when you both go on your daily morning walks down to a park that’s nearby your home. Prior to this, you both have gotten into a routine where you help each other get dressed and do each other’s hair too. You both find it fun to pick each other’s outfits bc sometimes you end up matching cute little sweaters 💗

-When you’re on the walk together, Kisaki will grab your pinky and will lead you to the little spot you guys found together and sit on the bench while leaning your heads on each other <3 he loves to see you get excited over little new sightings at the park, the sparkle in your eyes drives him to tears sometimes

-Now that Kisaki has retired as one of the heads of Toman, that also means that he still has plenty of money to support you and your hobbies too! He will even indulge you in some even though it’s not something he’d do himself, like crochet.

- Best believe once you teach him the fundamentals, Kisaki will sometimes stay up later while you’re fast asleep, as he’s planning on surprising you with a crochet heart he wants to gift you for Valentine’s Day

- Something Kisaki loves about you is how childish you can still be despite your age. You’ll both be in the kitchen listening to music and while you’re preparing breakfast, you’ll start to dance around the kitchen and pull him away from his chair and have him dance with you

- “Y/n my feet are like rocks I can’t keep up with you” his reply leaves you giggling and cuddling him closer. “But I love this song Tetta, and I know you do too, this was the song that played during our wedding remember? You were so drunk and never let me off the dancefloor that night, even Hanma had to drag your ass out after you blacked out on my shoulder.”

-”I clearly remember yes, ok I’ll make it up to you since I wasn’t conscious last time.” He gives you a small forehead kiss and you both sway to the song <3

-When your kids visit, you like to get mushy and clingy & Kisaki will push you away with the classic “not in front of the kids” line (but his heart is actually pounding & he’s still as flustered as he was when yall were in your teens)

-After your passing, Kisaki still remains as devoted to you and brings you flowers during anniversaries, holidays, or any time he sees something that reminds him of you. Sometimes he feels that you’re still with him through little things that he takes as signs (ie: if he sees a flower that you loved in various places)

- Old man Kisaki! is also so sweet and loves to talk about how amazing you were and loves to look at photos of when you were still alive. His kids often visit and ask him if he’s doing okay and he always reassures them he’s doing fine, and that he’s just waiting patiently for his time to come so he can finally see you again in the afterlife :( </3

#kisaki tetta #kisaki x reader #kisaki x you #hanma x reader #kisaki #ngl this kinda got me in tears #wouldnt mind making this with other TR characters

102 notes · View notes

elysiansparadise · 4 months

Note

Hi there! I have to tell you that your blog is one of the reasons I've become interested in astrology and it's my go-to resource thanks to your beautiful and insightful writing ♥️ That's why I'd like to know your take on a Capricorn stellium (Mercury, Jupiter, Neptune) in the 4th House.

It's just that the energies of the sign and the house are so different that I can't see how they would interact. Would being a water house soften the rough edges of Capricorn? Would Capricorn give a down-to-earth approach to the matters of the 4th House? Most websites paint it as a conservative, family-oriented placement, but I'm not like that at all - is it because my 4th House is in Sagittarius? (I'm a Virgo Rising)

Please help, I'm going crazy, lol. But seriously, thank you for all your great work.

Hi love! Thank you very much for your support and for your words. It is an honor for me to be able to write and help in any way possible.

🟫"Cusp also matters and the nature of the planets involved also does. Also remember that the same house speaks of many things. Some of the matters of the 4th house are: Family, childhood, your relationship with domestic lifesyles, your inner world, spaces that make you feel safe, comfy or cared."

When we deal with Mercury, Jupiter and Neptune in a stellium we see that you can have a little more spiritual vision of the matters that are related to the house in which we find the stellium at. You value emotionally deep bonds and can see the family from a more spiritual than material aspect. If all of these planets are making a great conjunction, it may reflect that you think outside the box, which makes you more likely not only to be different from your family but also to break chains or behaviors.

You can find comfort by having alone time, introspecting, through music or art, getting in touch with your spiritual, learning new things, reading and/or writing.

I think the fact that you have Sagittarius on the cusp of the 4th house makes you have a less earthy approach to the themes of the 4th house. For example, instead of being extremely devoted to the traditional family idea as an archetypal Capricorn would be, you may be the kind of person who sees friends as family. Or as an another example, that you can cut family ties that do not bring you positive things regardless of the "family bond". This house also shows about the emotional world, so Capricorn energy can apply to the fact that you take seriously the task of understanding your emotional world and that of others.

#astrology #natal chart #birth chart #neptune #jupiter #mercury

12 notes · View notes

squad3-sevcase · 8 months

Text

When there’s no one to hold you, I will still hold you down

A/N: Here is the next chapter in this fic. Working on this story has really helped me through a lot of the grief I have been carrying around. I hope it can help you if you find yourself needing it, too. I do not give consent for my works to be reposted anywhere without my permission.

This story is dedicated to the best friend I lost: thank you for being my Leslie Shay. Always. 🤍

Warning: Major Character Death

Content: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Firehouse 51 Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Relationships: Kelly Severide/Matthew Casey, Kelly Severide/Original Female Character, Matthew Casey & Original Female Character

Summary: An in-depth look at how the death of Paramedic Leslie Elizabeth Shay shaped the lives of those she left behind.

2. Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

On days when work hits a little too close to home, Matt and Hale take their time reminding Kelly of what waits on the other side of that dark tunnel. This morning is no different. Amid colorful protests, Matt finally coaxes Kelly down the hall to their bedroom for a much-needed shower and sends Hale with him. Today, he’d said, taking Shay from Hale’s arms, he needs you. He left her with a kiss to the side of her head, nodding down the hall.

Hale enters the room quietly, finding Kelly standing at the foot of the bed. Silently, she waits for him to allow her closer, and waits for signs of that shared desire for intimacy. Once she has it, she steps closer, her eyes lock on his and she begins to peel his clothes from his body, layer by layer, taking her time. Hale lifts Kelly’s t-shirt by the hem, gesturing with her chin for him to raise his arms, and with some help, pulls the fabric over his head. Her deft fingers make quick work of Kelly’s belt, the button and the zipper on the front of his jeans, and slide the denim material down his thighs.

Kelly has never been shy about his body, his confidence―though borderline cocky most days―is one of the things Hale adores the most about him. A tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as he watches Hale’s eyes follow the path of her hands down his bare torso, a kaleidoscope of colors swirling together in her irises. He relishes his partner’s attention, relaxing in the familiarity of it; his own hands at home on Hale’s hips.

He dips his head, warm breath fanning over her lips. His eyes sparkle with mischief, Hale chases his mouth. It’s a game he’s played since the night of their first date; close enough to suffocate her with his presence, with the stifling need to have him, yet far enough to linger just beyond her reach. And Hale Shay falls for it again, falls for him again, every single time.

“Kiss me,” he whispers after the thrill of teasing her has fizzled out to a dull roar.

As another of their unspoken rules, he and Matt never show public displays of affection at work; as it is, they shouldn’t be stationed at the same house, and waiting for reassignment has meant keeping their relationship strictly professional while on duty. Likewise, when Hale visits, none of them ever breaches that boundary.

“Hale. Kiss me,” he says again in a tone he reserves for moments such as this, and Hale does.

She knows at work, Matt and Kelly back each other up no matter the situation, steal glances across the field, and settle for reassuring pats on the back that can’t be misconstrued as anything other than two colleagues in unwavering support of one another. But at home, unrestrained by rules and regulations, they melt into each other with ease and show Hale that same level of devotion and wanting.

Kelly’s grip on Hale’s hips tightens, and he pulls her impossibly closer, unwilling to leave even the slightest bit of space between them. And Hale wraps Kelly up in her embrace, squeezing her arms around his shoulders when he asks for it. The room, the world beyond, begins to fade and they are all that is left. He smells like work; turnouts, the rig, fire and the faint scent of cigar smoke.

Their jobs are not easy, sometimes what they do is brutal and unforgiving. And on the days when it reminds Kelly of all they have sacrificed, all they have lost, Hale or Matt is there to remind him of everything they still have to live for―each other and baby Shay.

Hale removes her pajama pants and Matt’s shirt that she slept in, her undergarments follow, and she leads Kelly by the hand to their bathroom. He leaves behind his boxer beliefs as he follows. The hot water running in the shower cloaks the room in steam and engulfs Kelly in a relaxing fog; here he lets his guard down, and here he allows Hale to carry the weight for him. Though he won't talk about what happened until much later, he lets her take care of him.

It’s Kelly’s turn to pull Hale by the hand, tugging her gently behind him as he enters the tub. He positions her under the spray of water from the rain showerhead, whatever misses her lightly pelts warm droplets on his skin. His green eyes hold a tender adoration, roaming the length of her from head to toe. She is all he has left of the woman who made him who he is today, and he doesn't know how but he wonders if it's possible that Shay had nudged them together all along. That she made sure the two most important people in her life would have each other if anything happened to her. No matter how it happened, he is grateful that it did.

The sun broke through the clouds, beaming down on Marquette Park where the 2011 annual Friends of Firemen Barbecue is underway. Kelly followed Andy through the park to the section 51 had claimed as their own; Andy’s boys, Griffin and Ben, ran ahead of them. He transferred the extra bottles of beer and cans of pop he agreed to bring from their cases to the coolers.

Checking his watch, he scanned the park for Shay; she had insisted on meeting him there, had said something about bringing someone with her, and promised to save him a seat. He knew Squad would pull him to whatever table they secured at some point and as their lieutenant, he would be hard-pressed to say no. But he just needed to see Shay first, to calm his nerves and make sure she was okay. He spotted her, finally, next to a young woman he couldn’t recall ever meeting before.

Approaching the table, he greeted Dawson and the members of Truck, smiling when Shay caught his eyes. He noted that the woman beside her bore a striking resemblance to his best friend, though he was certain now that he’d never seen her. She looked up from her conversation with Dawson when Shay rose to round the table and pulled him into a hug; her hair was slightly darker than Shay’s, her eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel unlike Shay’s green, and the smile she gave him was utterly breathtaking.

“What took you so long?” Shay said, poking him lightly in the chest.

“Had a stop to make,” he said, chuckling.

Shay raised an eyebrow in disbelief but said nothing else about it. Instead, she pulled him toward the head of the table, near the girl he had trouble taking his eyes off of since he spotted her. “Hale, Kelly Severide. Kelly, my sister, Hale.”

“Sister?” He balked, surprise evident in his tone. His eyes darted back and forth between them. “Hang on, I thought―”

“I have two sisters, Kelly. Some people do have more than one sibling, you know?”

“Right. Yeah. No, I know. You’ve just never mentioned her.”

“Happens a lot, actually. That’s because Megan’s the favorite sister,” Hale answered with a smile that made Kelly’s heart flutter.

“Megan meddles more,” Shay corrected.

“Sorry,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” He smiled, shaking her hand.

“Yeah, you too. Shay talks about you all the time.”

“Shay?” he repeated, bewildered. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard a civilian call Shay by her last name, even stranger is that it had come from her sister. The melody of laughter that spilled from Hale’s lips at the look on Kelly’s face punched through his stomach; she was beautiful in a way he couldn’t describe, and his brain refused to form the words.

Hale’s amusement sobered when her sister’s elbow found that space under her ribs. She glared playfully at her before returning her attention to Kelly. “I was a combat medic for almost 10 years, calling her Shay instead of Leslie just came naturally to me. I guess that’s one thing I haven’t quite figured out how to grasp about civilian life yet.”

“She was always just Hale to me,” Shay said, her face wreathed in a beaming smile. Kelly heard the pride in her voice and tucked it away.

“Thank you for your service. So, 10 years as a combat medic; what are you doing these days?”

“I’m actually not sure yet. Got back a few months ago, honorable discharge. The transition has been rough, and I haven’t found anything that satisfies my desire to help people.”

“You will.”

“Do not flirt with my sister, Severide,” Shay scolded, punching him in the shoulder.

Kelly pulls himself from his thoughts, opening his eyes to find Hale standing before him, waiting. He smiles and it’s soft and kind and exactly how he looked at her when they met, when she told him they were having a baby, when their baby was born, and when he knew he wanted to name her after Shay. Lifting a hand to the side of her face, he gently cradles her cheek, stroking the soft skin with the pad of his calloused thumb. He can’t help himself, he drinks in all she is and all he remembers her to be.

“Kel? Did I lose you?” Her voice is soft, soothing. “What are you thinking about?” She reaches up with her right hand, settling her palm against his temple, her thumb ghosts over his forehead, smoothing out the lines between his eyebrows. “Talk to me, hmm?”

Kelly leans his head into the warmth of Hale’s hand, he closes his eyes as her finger continues to stroke a soft path along his browline. He takes a breath in and on the satisfied exhale, he says, “No, baby, you didn’t lose me. I’m still here. I, uh, I was just remembering the day we met, at the barbecue.”

A sweet hum emanates from Hale’s lips and her forehead finds the strong, hard muscles of Kelly’s chest. His heartbeat tattoos itself against the softness of her cheek, his other hand still protectively around the other side of her face. Hale’s sudden shyness fills Kelly with a strange feeling that blooms warmly in the spot where his heart should be. He realizes, while holding her to him, that it’s love: pure, sweet, beautiful love. A feeling similar to the one he felt when she looked at him for the first time.

“Shay was so annoying that day,” she says, voice muffled in his pectoral. She places a kiss there and lays her cheek against his sternum. “She was always so weird about you, and I never understood why.”

“She loved you,” he replies, running his fingers through her hair and along the base of her skull. “She was protecting you. And me, I think.”

“Hmm...wish she wouldn’t.”

“Nah, don’t say that. You wouldn’t have liked me much back then; not how I wanted you to, not with the way I was. Shay knew what she was doing.”

“Right. So, my sister played the long game for you.”

“Hey, no! No! On my behalf.”

Hale giggles, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing playfully.

“I was...an asshole when I met you. She didn’t want me getting too close, she didn’t want you getting hurt. Shay knew who I really was then; she’s the reason I changed, became a better man.”

“You have always been a good man, Kelly Severide.” Hale presses another kiss to his sternum, and more after that across his chest. She shifts up onto her toes and presses their lips together. Her kiss is different this time; slower, softer, but filled with every ounce of love and passion that resides bone-deep within her. Kelly chases after the high her attention brings, Hale gives it to him willingly.

“I thought I found Shay on a call this morning,” Kelly says, pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. Hale frowns and then it clicks that he’s talking about their daughter. “A little boy and his mother were trapped in their apartment. I could hear him crying when Mills and I were searching for survivors. She had placed him in the bathtub when the commotion started, by the time she realized it was a fire and they needed to get out, she had already inhaled too much smoke and couldn’t make her way back for him. We got them out before the building came down, they’re both recovering at Med. Will says they’re going to be fine, better than. But I-I― I couldn’t get the image of you and Shay out of my head. I just...” His voice trails off and he takes a shuddering breath in, his throat is tight against the memories assaulting his mind, fear squeezes his heart in an iron grip.

Choking sobs fill the air, pinging off the tiles around them. Hale’s arms tighten around his torso, and she lets him cry. Between his memories of Shay and the call at work, his meter for emotional control is lower than Hale is used to seeing. Exhaustion weighs him down, she does her best to hold him up.

Hale rubs her fingertips through the hair on the back of his head, massaging his scalp as she does. The best way to help him relax is to tell him about what they’ve done in his absence. “Shay is okay, Kelly. She slept most of the time, on her own schedule. She’s been a little fussier than usual, I think she misses you and Matt. I know I do.

“Christian helped so much while you both were on shift, I want to do something nice for him to say thank you. This morning Shay woke up at 2 and has been vocal about her disdain for you being gone ever since. She is still just as strong and healthy as she was when you saw her two days ago, and I’m sure she’ll be even stronger than that any day now.”

Kelly nods his head where it lays on her shoulder, tucking his face into her neck, breathing her in. His body stops shaking as his tears subside; he can breathe again.

She turns her face to kiss under his jaw. She presses her left hand in the middle of his back, molding their bodies together, letting the curves of her chest, her waist, her thighs press into him. “I am still here, my love. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. You have me, Kel, as long as you want me.”

He snakes his arms around her lower back, pulling her flush to his chest. “Until the stars go out,” he says quietly.

“Until the sun dies,” she promises back.

They stay there under the water for what feels like an eternity, soaking in the safety of being in each other’s arms. Then Hale mutely persuades Kelly to let her ease the burden. With a little convincing in the form of a few more soft kisses placed along his jaw and his right shoulder, she turns them around and pushes him back under the water. She grabs the bar of Irish Spring soap and lathers it up along his body from his neck down, working her fingers into his tense muscles. The familiar scent of eucalyptus and mint alleviates his stress and lifts the haze of fog that had been clouding Kelly’s mind since he’d returned to the station. Next, she’s squirting a generous amount of shampoo into her hand and working it through his hair and scalp. And here in their bathroom with the mother of his little girl, the woman he fell in love with the moment he saw her, he finally finds peace.

#chicago fire fanfiction #kelly severide x matt casey #sevasey fic #kelly severide x ofc #matt casey x ofc #kelly severide fanfiction #matt casey fanfiction #one chicago fanfiction #kelly severide #matt casey

7 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 2 years

Text

💙🧡 Suddenly My Life Doesn't Seem Such A Waste (Camsco) - Puppy

Summary: Bosco and Camden have movie night.

ao3 link

A/N: Hey y'all. <3 I get to be a musical and film nerd on main! Moulin Rouge has become a minor hyperfixation, and it fits because of Moulin Ru being the rusical that season. Here's some domestic fluff with like a twinge of feelings. title comes from "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge.

After subjecting her to an Alien and Aliens double feature, Bosco figured it was time to let Camden decide the movie for movie night. As soon as she showed the cover of Moulin Rouge!, they couldn't help but giggle a little bit. It was a complete 180 from anything they've ever suggested. "I somehow knew you were gonna choose that one." They teased. "Might as well have gotten whiplash just from seeing the box art alone."

"Don't say that." She knew the camera could get a bit crazy -- this was the director's bread and butter after all --, but she wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. "Have... you seen this before?" Camden opened the DVD case and leaned over, putting it in the machine.

"I've seen it like... once or twice...” Bosco leaned over the couch, getting a slightly better view of Camden’s… assets. “Wait, isn't this an incel movie?"

"What? No!" The redhead stood up and popped the cover shut for added emphasis. "This is a story about love and learning to love and be loved in return! Despite class and status, love survives!"

Yeah, but Satine doesn't, Bosco almost said but held their tongue. "I tease, but I think I’m still onto something. I mean, Satine has to choose between a dogged nice guy and a duke who we're supposed to hate, making the first guy look better by comparison.”

“It’s art… and music… and I guess I can see where you’re coming from. The Duke is technically an incel if you think about it like that.” Camden squirmed a bit, the slang feeling foreign on her tongue. “I don’t exactly know where you’re going with Christian though…”

“Maybe it’s just me,” They paused, “I love Ewan McGregor, but his character here is giving me too much… All that utter devotion – and I get it, Nicole Kidman’s hot as fuck in that movie -- just… irks me.”

“Or maybe you’re just allergic to affection.” Camden teased back. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

“Thank you. He may be all soft and naïve but has a more subdued version of that… ‘if I can’t have you no one else can’ mentality towards her. He and the Duke are like two sides of a similar coin.”

“I don’t know, maybe…”

“Camden, he called her a whore –granted, he’s not wrong–, but Satine has to apologize to him?! That’s just wrong!"

“He had no choice! If he showed his love, he would be dead, so he had to treat Satine like everyone else in her life treated her.

“Personally, if I were her, I’d ditch both of them.”

“And do what?”

“Work on myself maybe?” Bosco shrugged their shoulders. “I don’t know. Get a doctor? Belting all those nights a week can’t do well on your lungs. Especially if they’re brimming with consumption.”

“To be fair, she didn’t know she had it yet.”

“She should have checked herself out when she started fainting and coughing up blood! That’s kind of a sign of not doing okay, if anything!”

Camden nodded her head, “Would you like to start now or are we just going to keep arguing?”

They sunk into the couch, snuggling next to Camden and prompting her to press play. The 20th Century Fox theme swelled to life, transitioning into the film’s proper overture. “It’s a change of pace to see an overture in a movie musical,” Camden thought out loud. “At least, a modern one. Modern enough…”

Bosco couldn’t help but laugh. How were they so lucky to end up with someone so passionate, someone with a good taste in movies? The more they watched, the more they remembered how batshit yet cliche the plot was. All of that could be excused if there were enough pretty people on the screen. Maybe she’d show her Showgirls next… If their relationship got that far, at least.

“Man, if I knew about this earlier, I would have made this my whole personality.” Bosco mused, leaning into Camden’s lap and nuzzling into her like a cat. “And then there would have maybe been some backlash. I bet the youth ministers would have eaten this shit UP!”

“Call me dumb, but I don’t see how it could be a metaphor… for Christianity, I mean.”

"Cam," They deadpanned. "Their names are Christian and Satine. That couldn't have been a coincidence. Pure, upstanding Christian… gets tempted by nightlife and a hot woman with the promise of premarital sex and hedonism which end up killing her at the end of the day. All the while, he tries to convert her to the one true path of—” Bosco stopped herself, unsure of where to finish the parallel. “love and Jesus or something.”

“You’re making sense. Don’t worry.” Camden reassured them, the way she always did.

“Oh, I don’t know. Now that I think about it, it sounds like a stretch.”

“There could be something though…” The redhead proposed. She wasn’t very religious, being mainly in the Christmas and Easter crowd before meeting Bosco. They did take her to an Ash Wednesday service once just to show her what mass was like, so she had a vague idea of some of the doctrine. “Something about redemptive love and… loving regardless of background.”

“But all that redemptive love means nothing if she still dies at the end!” They sat up and placed a pillow between the two of them.

There was something a character said near the end that really got Bosco’s attention, and they were already on the verge of tears.

“We’re creatures of the underworld,” Zidler told Satine. “We can’t afford to love.”

She knew exactly why that spoke to them. They always considered themself to be the villain, the outcast, the demon. It was a badge they wore with pride. She showed less skin so people would know she had the mark of the beast. They stopped being a good girl the moment they wanted to be a girl. But she never thought of any of the downsides to any of this.

It was a Faustian bargain: exchanging sentimentality for sensuality. The benefits outweighed the costs.

At least, until they got closer to Camden.

"Camden…" She whined — a bit too overdramatically — as she blinked back some tears. "You've got me crying! I hate that! Why are you doing this? Do you hate me that much?"

Maybe she was allergic to affection.

“My apologies for choosing something with less chest-bursting aliens, but it’s good to see you aren’t all one-liners and innuendoes.”

“It’s just…” Bosco observed while hiding back sniffles. She didn’t want her own emotions to overpower the cover of Queen’s “The Show Must Go On”, and that was emotional in of itself in context. “She finds someone who genuinely loves her and– and self-worth, but that’s all taken away from her in the blink of an eye! And… I don’t want that to happen to me.” They admitted, hoping that no one could hear her, but she did.

Camden gently pulled Bosco into a side hug as if the pressure from that could stop all of the tears. “It– it won’t. I’m right here… I’ll always be right here.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.” They replied, their eyes still glued to the screen in front of them just in time to see Satine break Christian’s heart.

“What’s wrong, love?” She asked once that scene officially ended.

Bosco was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what they wanted to say and letting the ambient noises of the film play behind them. “I guess everything about this just seems too good to be true.”

They reflected on the nights where lovers just up and left while she still had welts on her ass from a good spanking or before she could even make them breakfast. They could remember one morning when she was in the middle of surprising her hookup with some French toast. She went to the bedroom, hoping that the smell of cinnamon and frying brioche would wake them up, only to be met with an empty bed.

“It may be too good to be true because… it is. True, I mean. This isn’t making sense, but,” Camden stopped for a moment, trying to figure now not to sound cliche. “Dreams come true.”

“I guess.”

“What I mean to say is, you deserve this. Everything good that happens with you – with us, really – happens for a reason, and there’s no reason for you to doubt any of that. Because you are enough.”

“Goddammit, now you’re making me cry harder!” They kept blinking back tears, but it was about as useful as the windshield wipers in a hurricane. How was she supposed to make dinner later if she could barely see what she was cooking? “It’s probably just these new womanly emotions, but I love you so goddamn much right now! It’s not even funny.”

Neither of them realized it was the first time those words were said aloud. Bosco still found themself snuggled into Camden, their tears turning into ones of joy and wetting the human pillow’s shirt. Camden pulled a blanket over the two of them as she unpaused the movie and the two of them just watched it play.

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” Bosco sat back up once the movie ended, wiping whatever wetness was left off her cheeks. “I’m becoming a sap!”

“You’re my sap though, and I love you for it.”

“Maybe,” They sniffled, struggling to get off the couch with the sudden addition of the two cats who decided to join them mid-death scene. “Next time, can we choose something with a little less… feelings?”

Camden cuddled next to her girlfriend again, eyeing the rest of her DVD collection as the movie took them back to the main menu. “Well, The Notebook’s out the window.”

“Wasn't my speed anyway. Super big gestures, threatening to off yourself unless this girl goes out with you, the usual turn-offs…”

“That was mostly a joke anyway.” She admitted as she gently nudged the blanket off so Bosco could get up (and that Tito and Tobi wouldn’t be too perturbed). “I’ll think about it more. Can’t really think on an empty stomach”

“Oh, yeah!” They scrambled their side of the blanked off of them as she scrambled towards the kitchen. “What did you want again?”

“Surprise me.”

A bold request from Camden, but they made sure not to go too buckwild. She grabbed a box of penne and some spices from the cabinet and some other ingredients from the fridge, and she was going to make some pasta alla norma so well that their mother would rise from the grave and give them a pat on the back and some encouragement.

After all, they loved Camden, and she deserved the best.

#rpdr fanfiction #bosco x camden #bosco #lady camden #s14 #fluff #domestic fluff #mild hurt/comfort #lesbian au #trans character #puppy

6 notes · View notes

theageofthemovies · 2 years

Text

NOSFERATU, EINE SYMPHONIE DES GRAUENS - (Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau, 1921/1922)

The idea.

I won’t say a single word about this universally known story (a very personal adaption from Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”) preferring, instead to examine the narrative structure in the aim, through it, to reach the core of the real meaning of the film. The thematic axis of so a complex and seminal movie is constitued by the constant motive of the protagonist’s autoconscious voyage along a initiation path that is destined to end through the connaissance of himself and by “the acceptance of solitude as fundamental category of the human existence”. With this statement in our mind, we can see also “Nosferatu” project as a coherent system of signifiers devoted to create an allusive scripture in which, the losses, the empties and the undeterminesses of the narrative, push the viewer toward a non-impressionist lecture of the film. The passage from the literary text to the screenplay (by Henrick Galeen) allowed the creation of a new object of significance much richer than the book and it is just to this “newborn thing” that Murnau impressed a personal, original narrative structure that enhances the ambiguities of the meanings, blurs the causal relations and, in particular, add the story a sort of “suspense-ion of the sense”; all of these choices seem to me masterful stylistic solutions made in order to materialize the characters’ restlessness.

Style

“Nosferatu” is a movie made by accomplished scenes where any scene is made (I’d dare) by accomplished plans and images. Any image is alone with itself and “feels” the vertigo of its loneliness while any scene comprehends its story and shows itself to us as a narrative fragment that contains the destiny (or the aenigma) of a single gesture; this way all plans and all images form a scripture that transforms itself into the obsessive quest for discontinuity through the refusal of what I could call: “the visible surface of the facts”.

Story/ies hints.

The plot rigorously develops as a voyage into the arcane of the unconscious in search of the buried otherness so even if this “mission” (the self-understanding) involves the detachment from the daily existence and the temporary (?) loss of the domestic affections (and in general, the removal of those barriers that make the esoteric voyage impossible), Hutter, predestined to the discovery of his evilish double, doesn’t hesitate to hit the road, careless of his young wife’s pain and indifferent to the many warning signs that mark his nearing to the vampire’s castle (caption: “Stop, young man. It’s not enough to run away to avoid your own Fate”) and, at last, when also the horses give up, he is made absolutely convinced (by the double call) to unveil the dynamics of his unconscious (aka to understand the consequences of his libido’s dynamics).

Now, in this distorted universe (the phantom coach with its accelered movement, the forest shot in negative, etc) there is a constant allusion to an inverted world (a world built by the overturning of the traditional values and dominated by transgressive impulses and the Death’s code) and here the introduction to the libido territory (where the instinctive pulsions unleash) is exactly defined (”And when he crossed the bridge, the phantoms came to meet him”).

Blood. The nocturnal arrival to the castle determines, marks and progressively defines the aggressiveness, the sexual instinct, and the deadly impulse that the vampire represents. Hidden under the unsuspectable person of Count Orlok, Nosferatu (aka the “Untote”, the not dead, actually Hutter’s double) lives. Being introduced to the “cursed side” however calls Hutter for a counterpart: blood; Hutter accidentally wounds his finger (caption: “Blood. Your precious blood!”) but it is only during Nosferatu’s nocturnal aggression that “the meeting with the Outer” is definitively concluded: the eager voyager, by giving Nosferatu his blood, “accepts”, from now on, the vampire as a part of himself (I mean: as an irrepressible component of his own personality).

Ellen. Both Nosferatu’s aggressiveness and Hutter’s inhibitions directly concern the woman; Hutter’s wife, as a representative of femininity and beauty, suddenly becomes the target of the vampire’s deadly instinct as his nature tends to suffocate and destroy the radiance, the poetry, the life itself and to plunge them in the dark tangle of the libidinal in order to invade the sphere of daily normality and “to vampirize” the world.

The will to completely know his inner image/identity means the choice of transgression; breaking the rules unavoidably bring the man to self-destruction; the same happens to Hutter when, going down the Castle’s crypt (that is: entering deeply the layers of the unconscious during a journey with no return) he discovers not only the identity of Count Orlok, but also his own obsessive death-bearer double, the Shadow, knowingly denied, by now becomes unavoidable why it was wanted, was searched and it is now there, present.

Now, the meeting is sealed and the action needs a more articuled and broader scene: a complex web made of metaphisycal and existential clues as well as psychoanalytic notations begins to move toward the dialectic centre of the story: the woman. Ellen becomes the pole of attraction of the contrasting, but converging forces of Hutter and Nosferatu. This has an important implication to the story and the way it is cinematically told.

Two voyagers.

If the vampire’s travel to the town (the men’s world) and his nearing to Ellen means an attack against the heart itself of the civilized “regularity”, Hutter’s coming home doesn’t mean (imo) his choice to fight (in the sense: to recover a daily existence to combat the negativity and the Death) but “to escape from the terror that comes from the discovering of himself”; to him, his returning journey is a desperate attempt to delete the terrible experience he lived (is living).

The Last Fight.

The second part of the movie is centered on the “undead’s” attempt to vampirise the “universe of the Light”; to visually develop this intent, Murnau creates a complex nest of signifiers that involve a number of characters and situations: Prof. Bulwer lesson; the events of Ellen (crucial for the solution of the plot); the quick elimination of the "Demeter”’s crew; the boat carrying Nosferatu (caption: “the men didn’t imagine what hideous load they were carrying downstream”) and the sudden spreading of the plague (signalling the increase of the destroying energy). Obviously all these scenes are cinematic devices and, in this respect, they are quite extrintic if relating the deep dinamics of the narration that rely on those psycho-emotive ropes and etic/metaphysical contrasts on which the evolution and the progression of the tale partially depend to let the viewer “feel” the exoteric plot made by the underground relation that, in different ways, binds Nosferato to Bulwer, Knock and Ellen. And it is just Ellen, the character who deserves a sharper notation. If she impersonates the beauty and the “uncontamination” of the existence, Ellen doesn’t calls the viewer to be seen under an ambigue connotation that marks her as an undefined, tragic character. As the alternate editing shows, she is deeply involved in her husband’s events at Nosferatu’s castle and, unavoidably, she experiences them in terms both oneiric and “in trance” (a caption reads; “An impossible fever. Doctor thinks her visions are provoked by the fever”). Just as she represents the beauty, Ellen is the victim of the vampire’s charm and therefore she (unwillingly) initiates an attractive/repulsive relation with the negative side of existence. His husband’s arrival seems to release Ellen’s conflicts (caption: “Thanks God, you comes back safe! Now it is as I myself I was safe” but her pains are not over. Both Hutter (who tries to both conceal his cursed side and refuse his libido’s conflict) and the upsetting presence of the vampire, prevent Ellen to recover the daily normality. One facing the other, beauty vs evil, the life’s energy vs the death’s impulse, they exhaust one another by a reciprocal request full of silence and desire. Hellen, in contravention of her husband’s warning (she reads “The Vampire’s Book”) increases the tension and starts a dinamic flow that, involving herself and Nosferatu, definitively excludes Hutter from the story.

Caption; “Only a woman with a pure heart can defeat the vampire, if she can retain him till the rooster’s song”). So, as soon as Hutter leaves the scene, the story is kept by the vampire till the end. Ellen bedroom becomes the theatre of a primordial fight that attains the myth: the pure beauty offers herself to the contamination of sexuality through the annihilating meeting between Eros and Thanatos; the Beauty, aware of his frailty, stares at the other, enchains him by the chilling nudity of her unveiled body and can hold him till the sunrise.

At this moment, in the lighting dawn, free at last from the deadly spell, Hutter, the decent, normal man, who wanted to walk by himself the path of the self-understanding, stands, irremediably alone, with no possibilities of redemption, “in the misery of the inauthentic”.

Realization.

To show this narration placed to the extreme edges of the reality, Murnau renounces and overthrows the expressionist codes about the use of space and mise-en-scène; he doesn’t use artefact materials of the studio and natural places rebuilt into an enclosed environment, but he takes advantage, instead, of real locations and chooses the concreteness (and the risk) of natural sceneries. In this respect, I think Mornau’s need to give up the enclosed universe of the studios, comes from his will to realize (according the specific codes that rule the cinematic language of the dinamic images) a narrative situation that otherwise (if he would have added the characters’ and the action “anomalies” to an illusory scenografic space so aggregating two levels of unreality) would have been translated into both a stylistic “decompression” and a fall of the expressive tension. In “Nosferatu” the natural elements are tightly bound to the events lived by the protagonists in an original way, as in Murnau’s film, differently to the codes stated by the romanticism (in which the dinamics of the natural forces should reinforce the psychological choices of the hero), the nature acts like an amount of signifiers in order to add a number of aenigmatic situations to a rationally determined overall picture. Under this aspect the water plays a crucial function as it always reveals the presence of the evil why always it leads to Nosferatu (we see the vampire who descends the river, travels by sea and, when in Bremen, crosses the channel that separes his new house from Hutters home; and it is not senseless that Ellen waits for her husband sitting near the seashore, facing those waves that soon will accompany the entrance of the vampire’s boat into the harbor.) Like the water, also the animals play an important part to define the nature and the function of Nosferatu as epitomized by Professor Bulwer lesson about the carnivorous plants (”the vampire of the vegetal reign”) and the octopus (”the vampire who, in the sea’s liquid castle, feeds with his victims”) without to forget the presence of mice who, as inhabitants of the under-ground, recall the vampire’s indispensable element to recover his power.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere of the movie is ambiguous, so much peopled by shadows and imbued of an undefined tension charged with allusions, while, the narrative structure, leaving aside any attempt to historicise the action, agrees with the timelessness of the instinctual universe; at this regard one can note that, neither some defined chronological moments (”He was Nosferatu who in the year 1838, carried the plague to Wien”) nor the allusion to some hours of the day (”You are late, youn man. It is almost midnight...”) are able to give the tale’s atmosphere a real concreteness. Here the time of the story is almost “crystallized” or “suspended” in a mythical time that concentrates, in some paradigmatic moments, the spatiality of gestures and facts. This way the tale progresses according special internal rhythms that detach the events from the normality and insert them into a circular structure characterized by the irremediable juxtaposition of the day and the night, two eternal entities that recall the antithesis between awakening and sleep and the fight between life and death.

Night

Night is the kingdom of the vampire. At midnight (the contact point between due days) Nosferatu displays his own identity, shows the duplicious nature of his being and unveils the libidinals instincts of the “Untote”. And it is just why the night is reserved to Nosferatu (and devoted to protect the evilish forces and the elicitation of the libido) that it is fatal to Hutter, the everyday man who can only suffers, impotent, its violence. But the night is also fatal to Ellen who, indirectly living the pain of her husband, “feels” the call of the darkness and prepares herself to the evocation of the Death. So, binding herself to the destructive instinct represented by the vampire, she is brought to the fatal embrace and the contact with the mystery of the death will represent, to her, the loss of the transient life and the conquer of an outer side of the reality: the “decryption of the aenigma”.

Objects

As the action doesn’t develop chronologically (but only psychically), the objects that are present in the movie have neither a substantial weight nor symbolic suggestions; they possess instead the quality to transmit arcane, magic resoundings that transform, enhance and expand their functions in such a way that, the general atmosphere that defines the whole narrative fiction, is intensified to make the viewer to experience: “the effect of a a sort of terror that the natural forms can’t transmit” (Kurtz: “Expressionismus und Film”). So, the clock loses its timing function and alludes, instead, to the moment when the vampire will attack, while the “Vampires’ Book” becomes a crucial component of the story plot as it explains the reasons of the plague that falls on the town and it gives (it could give) the reader the necessary suggestions to understand and solve the aenigma (both Hutter and Ellen read the book but the man don’t take advantage from it as he is unable to proceed beyond the surfaces of the things while Ellen, by realizing the meaning of the written words, “understands” how to solve “the root of the problem” and by a deadly counterattack she will annihilate the terror of Nosferatu).

End

Sadly, the victory of Beauty and Life is only an apparent conclusion: the annihilation of the vampire involves, unavoidably, the woman’s death through the total offer of her femininity to the contamination of the evil’s embrace; as the love is twarthed and the beauty is canceled, the world can now sink into the mediocrity of the Bourgeois Order. I want to better explain my thought: as the movie empeaches Hutter’s impotence (that is: the fake consciousness of the common people who, incapable of emotions and resistences, suffers the daily blackmails of the Power) it recognizes also the negative essence of the existential bourgeois attitude.

Murnau’s Nosferatu

“Nosferatu” is a movie that allows the viewer to discover and translate the elements of poetics that are present in the exoteric plot that forms the background of the cinematic text. The ability to handle the narrative devices and the technical features in order to create a powerful existential and “political” reflection about the Eros/Thanatos motive, let me suppose the personal involvment of the director to the core itself of the story; under this aspect, I think Murnau, by transferring his own obsession to the protagonists and by committing to the cinematic scripture his existential terror, reveals his unconscious conflicts and, just by clarifying the lacerations of his conscience, “he gains connaissance”.

This way, Murnau allow us to discover the deep root of that stylistic tension by which poetry arises (that is: the magic of the film). Indeed, only the magic allows us (they who are willing) to decipher the mystery.

R.M.

R.m.

#Roberto Mulinacci #Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau #nosferatu

0 notes

isinfra · 2 years

Text

Tips On How To Avoid Work At Home Scams

Congratulations on your clever choice! Simply the truth which you are analyzing this text tells me that you need greater out of life. I recognize i definitely do. The ones of us inclined to stay centered and devoted will have the lifestyles we desire. For the majority of us, working our day by day nine-five jobs just isn't going to get us to that stage. After looking into the community advertising industry, i determined this would be my roadmap to achievement.

I ought to say, i am playing the ride and that i look ahead to what the future holds for me. You may earn a living from home or start a home-based totally business and create your personal roadmap to achievement. There are numerous valid approaches to earn earnings from domestic but earlier than you decide to sign up for any undertaking, right here are a few guidelines to help you determine if fraud is worried or if you are being scammed.

One of the maximums not unusual errors a person makes approximately the concept of working from domestic, is that one turns into wealthy with very little paintings. The internet and television commercials promise humans that they may end up wealthy by means of really working from domestic a few hours an afternoon. They show pix of satisfied people on their laptop computer systems while at the seashore or their favored vacation resort.

Not to mention the big fancy houses and cars. Those commercials lead you to trust that for doing not anything or a little painting you can be richer than you ever dreamed. Warning number one... If the employer guarantees riches with little or no work, run the opposite manner! Any domestic-based totally commercial enterprise calls for hard paintings and dedication for any form of success.

Every other thing one must do earlier than starting a brand-new commercial enterprise project is to study the excellent print. It's far very crucial to have all the facts in advance before becoming a member of any business. Do not sign-up for any online commercial enterprise project at the website until you examine the entirety very well. Particularly ensure you read the FAQ web page and the disclaimer and privateness policy pages.

Reading these pages will optimistically give you an idea of what the business enterprise is presenting and permit you to recognize if it's miles the proper suit for you. A third way to shield yourself from being scammed is to apply the search engines like google for statistics approximately a specific corporation or work at home possibility. You may do a search on the agency call which includes the word "rip-off." This usually brings up a variety of effects.

You will likely see links to forums and chat rooms in which the company is being discussed. There also are weblog postings and articles which evaluate the businesses. What you have to look for is terrible comments or comments about the enterprise. If you locate any poor critiques or comments, read them cautiously. In case you read terrible comments from someone that has never labored for the organization, then i would ignore them.

You need to study feedback from human beings that have without a doubt worked for the agency. After you study any poor evaluations from a person that in reality worked for the organization, you need to discover why they feel the manner they do. Did the corporation no longer pay the person for their time or service? Was there no support for the person? Did the organization take their money and then close down? Did they decline to reply to emails or phone calls?

Make sure you examine many evaluations and comments about the business enterprise earlier than you decide. One character, or maybe making negative claims against the enterprise, does not always suggest the agency isn't legitimate or scamming people. You need to recall a few human beings may have sour grapes towards a employer if it did no longer exercise session for them. This could be due to a number of distinctive motives.

Remember, having a home business requires hard work and dedication. Finally, you may protect yourself from being scammed through asking questions. One way to do that is to touch the agency immediately. By doing this, you can ask more exact questions. Listen to how the enterprise consultant responds to your questions. Are they polite with you? Do they have endurance for all of your questions? If they're rude, indistinct of their solutions, or simply sincerely do not respond at all, then I might look elsewhere for a home-enterprise or make money working from home activity. In ultimate, i want to inform you that there are valid methods to both earn a living from home or begin your home-primarily based enterprise.

0 notes

ashesandhackles · 3 years

Text

The Abandoned Boy And His Problematic Fathers: Snape with Voldemort & Dumbledore

"He and Voldemort and Snape, the abandoned boys, all found home here..” - Forest Again, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

This comparison line of Harry, Snape and Voldemort being abandoned boys is not an accident. There is an intentional parallel being made between three of them - not only in terms of their parallels with the Hallows (as Tumblr has astutely pointed out), but also the commonalities in their upbringing. Given that Harry empathises so deeply with both of them, I am going to argue one of Harry’s attributes was present in all of them. We know that as an abandoned boy with lack of male authority figures to model after, Harry strongly craved a father. Here is a meta by u/metametatron4 that tracks Harry’s feelings about James (and Snape) through the series.

In Voldemort’s case, Tom believes his father to be the magical one and keeps his father’s name until he could no longer prove that it was his father who gave him his “special” lineage. He goes as far as searching Hogwarts records for his father because in his mind, his mother was “weak” to die. Once he is forced to concede that his mother is the magical one, he chooses to emphasise her ancestry in a paternal sense - “Salazar Slytherin, greatest of Hogwarts four”, tying himself up in grandeur. He also killed his father and his own paternal side of the family, his source of rage and shame. He sheds his father's name and becomes someone else, only known by his "special" magical lineage - cutting off that undesirable part of himself. Voldemort’s reaction to both his parent’s abandonment is to be special in every way, and choosing to discard love and seek power and control - a place where he is not rejected at all.

Snape is different from both Harry and Voldemort is that he specifically rejects his abusive father, having known him. As a child, he is seen wearing his mother’s clothes, only with an overlong coat that might belong to his father on a hot sunny day. As per Pottermore, he occasionally got whipped - so one can assume the coat is to hide that. Harry identifies strongly to Snape wearing overlong clothes that don’t quite fit him - a clear sign of neglect, if anything else. The fact that he wears his mother’s smock (and is willing to comfortably wear it in private with Lily in the scene before Hogwarts express) is an interesting detail to me. It feels like a rejection of his father and a sense of identification with his mother. With a person who he is comfortable with, he cuts an "impressive figure" with his smock. We see this detail pop up again in his textbook - where he is proud of being “Half A Prince”, emphasizing his magical lineage, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home.

Snape rejects his father (implied to be a violent man) by also rejecting hypermasculinity - as he tells sneeringly to James Potter: “If you’d rather be brawny, rather than brainy-” and by mocking “foolish wand waving” and how Potions is much more complex than that ("bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses" - thanks for some sensual imagery, Snape :D). His skillset, with the exception of Sectumsempra, is further testament to his rejection of hypermasculinity: Potions (a witches’ brew), spying (again, noted to be something women were famous for in war), branches of mind magic such as Occlumency. He is also strongly associated with mother figures - Eileen Prince (by his own admission), Lily Potter, Narcissa Malfoy. He has a feminine Patronus, in memory of his love and devotion to Lily. The insults also thrown his way are also emasculating: “Snivellus” “a lapdog”, and Dumbeldore’s own “a basket dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort”. So if he rejects his own father, who does he look to as a male figure to model himself after? After all, he does discard the smock quite eagerly when he gets on Hogwarts Express - so he is keen to perform masculinity.

But we see that teenage Snape and Adult Snape are entirely two different personas. Teenage Snape is anxious, twitchy and walks around like a spider. He swears, he is barely in control of his emotions, is often rendered incoherent when he is emotional and lashes out. And he lashes out in ways that is reflective of a power dynamic he models from home: he feels small, so he will look for someone else to make feel small.

Adult Snape, save for being around Harry where he regresses, is the opposite. He glides when he walks or "swoops like a bat" and if you see him in scenes apart from Harry’s, he is very in control of himself and his jabs are intended to discomfit rather than lashing out. (See the Bellatrix scene in Spinner’s End).

We don’t know too much about this phase of life - we can only speculate. Adult Snape has choice words to say when he witnesses Harry's lack of control over his emotions. He may have been speaking of himself: "Fools who wear their heart proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers!"

Speculation aside, what we do know is that teenage Snape shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult. He also shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

I believe Voldemort, as the man who has experimented with boundaries of magic in ways no one else has, is an attractive father figure for someone like Snape ( and Barty Jr. as well). After all, Snape spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has a genuine thirst for learning and is inventive and original. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. Voldemort, as a man who pushed boundaries, is an attractive mentor who shows him a new path. Joining a cult not only gives you power and protection (one he desperately needs because of his social inferiority and as someone who is relentlessly bullied), but it also gives you an identity.

Cults usually instill a homogenous, stable identity centered around charismatic leader. Cults turn your unbearable feelings (sense of rejection, social inferiority), and externalise it and manage to a higher purpose. A cult acts as a safe container for people who cannot understand their trauma or overpowering feelings. As a boy with an unstable identity, it is easier for him to project on Voldemort and re-enact an attachment that he has rejected in early childhood: the one with his father. Voldemort also reinforces a world view that the system had taught a half blood working class boy with nowhere to go arrives at: "There is no good or evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it".

And then, Voldemort does something Snape doesn't believe a father figure could do, something he cannot conform to or abide by - he threatens the only relationship in his life that he puts on a pedestal. To ensure Lily Potter’s survival beyond asking Voldemort (who he no longer trusts to keep his word), he goes to Dumbledore. Why doesn't he trust Voldemort to keep his word? We don't really know, but given the dynamics we see at play in the first chapter of DH, where Voldemort employs Legliemency to confirm the information from Snape, the trusted spy who at that point had killed Dumbledore - it is safe to say ruling through absolute control can only take you so far. Contrast this with his later scenes with Dumbledore, where Dumbledore trusts him with magic he does not trust himself with: "I am very fortunate that I have you, Severus" .

But before we get there, we see their first scene. In his very first scene with Dumbledore, there is a power dynamic established. He visibly shrinks from Dumbledore’s judgement: “you disgust me”. He is also "stricken" when Dumbledore says "perhaps we sort too soon" - indicating a need for Dumbledore’s approval and validation. (Dumbledore’s own reaction to Snape is interesting - he doesn’t express this kind of strong disgust with Fenrir Greyback in HBP, for example. Perhaps he sees something of himself in this man who lost his way?)

Their next scene together is a grief stricken Snape, who has turned his misery and self loathing inwards and wishes to die. Dumbledore is cold, harsh: “What use will that be to anyone? If you truly loved Lily Evans, your way forward is clear”. Once Snape accepts the path of atonement Dumbledore lays out for him, Dumbledore is demonstrably gentler with him and is even exasperated that Snape asks him to keep “the very best of him” between them.

Once Dumbledore becomes his new father figure, Snape’s loyalty to him is absolute. He will back up and defend Dumbledore where it is not even required - when people accuse Dumbledore in GOF of being unfair, Snape is quick to say: "Don't blame Dumbledore for Potter's lack of respect for school rules. Potter has been crossing lines ever since he first came" (Defending Dumbledore and insulting Harry, he has a talent lol). And at the end of GOF, he shows his Dark Mark to Cornelius Fudge, essentially outing himself as a former Death Eater, to back up Dumbledore's claims because Fudge was insulting him. Even in front of Bellatrix, he emphasises: "Dumbledore is a great wizard, yes he has - the Dark Lord acknowledges it".

He is also resentful of Dumbledore's trust in Harry with secrets that he is not privy to. He enjoys being Dumbledore's closest confidant..("why may I not have the same secrets?" "You trust him, you do not trust me"). It's a less intense version of Harry's "This isn't love, this mess he has left me in. He shared a damn sight of what he was thinking with Grindelwald than with me”. He angrily tells Fake Moody that Dumbledore happens to trust him and he "refuses to believe" he gave permission to search his office. Similarly, he tells Umbridge "jerkily" to ask Dumbledore why he doesn't have the DADA job. Snape is offended at any suggestions of Dumbledore's lack of trust in him.

He also has a similar disillusionment like Harry's with Dumbledore - "you have used me. I have spied for you, lied for you, all intended to keep Lily Potter's son safe and now you are telling me he is being raised like a pig for slaughter". All of this and yet, just like Harry, he chooses to do what Dumbledore would have wanted of him. He goes as far as committing a sort of patricide, just like his former father figure (who did it for different reasons) on the wishes of his current father figure.

And ultimately, he chose Dumbledore's plan of Greater Good rather than Lily's fierce intention of keeping her son alive. It’s also interesting that Dumbledore, a queer, non conforming man is what Snape ultimately chooses as a father /mentor to his path of atonement.

There is a cyclical projection of father among all three boys: Harry inadvertently projects a desire for a father figure on Snape when he wishes that the Half-Blood Prince was his dad. (Read more about Harry’s relationship with Prince in wonderful meta by @thedreamermusing here) Snape projects a wish for a father figure by projecting on to Voldemort. Ultimately, both of them project this desire onto Dumbledore, and it is Dumbledore who ends up being the ultimate guide and father figure for both of them, guiding them through their respective roles in the war.

Thank you to @thedreamermusing and pet_genius for the inputs for this post 🌻 here is a suggested reading from pet's treasure trove relevant to this meta: Death Eaters As A Cult.

#severus snape #hp meta #harry potter meta #character analysis #albus Dumbledore #lord Voldemort #tom riddle #the half blood prince #pro snape #snapedom #snape community #the abandoned boys

553 notes · View notes

zaprlcorn · 3 years

Text

Moon Synastry In the Houses

The Moon changes zodiac every 2-2.5 days, the Moon and it’s position in our birth chart is very important as it represents our mind. More specifically—our emotional mind. It represents our soul, it shows how individuals of the same sign think differently from each other. The Moon is an all powerful force that controls the oceans tides, that controls life here on Earth. The Moon gives us life, as it represents the mother/maternal figure in our birth chart.

MOON IN THE FIRST HOUSE:

Good overlay for marriage, relationships (platonic and non platonic) and friendships. The two will automatically get along and feel “seen” by each other. The house person will be nurturing to the Moon person. The house person automatically has a soft spot for the Moon person and the two automatically feel vulnerable around each other. House person sees Moon person as someone who needs to be protected. The Moon person feels understood, seen, and safe with the house person. The Moon person will be nurturing to the house person, but it is moreso the house person giving to the Moon person as the Moon needs light to shine. The amount of light will depend on element, sign, nakshatra, and how close the Moon is to the ascendant. Additionally, the amount of “light” will depend on the aspects made to the Moon in the chart as aspects between the Sun & Moon parallel with the Moon’s phase.

MOON IN THE SECOND HOUSE

The Moon person will challenge the house persons values and morals. The house persons values and morals will depend on the Moon persons Moon placement. This creates a relationship where “acts of service” and “gift giving” are the main tongues of love. The more devotion the house person gives to the Moon person, the stronger their relationship will be (think of sowing seeds). Additionally, this can create a possessive relationship as the house person may become possessive over the Moon person especially in an Earth sign. On the negative side, this can create a co-dependent relationship because the 2H is about our values, morals, and esteem. If the house person is finicky, the Moon person’s demeanour can easily influence the house person and when all fails, they will depend on the house person for light and the house person will depend on the Moon for nourishment. The two value each other.

MOON IN THE THIRD HOUSE:

“Talking to the moon”

The Moon person is naturally in tune with the house person and serves as a great listener. The Moon person will have good intuition when it comes to the house persons thoughts and feelings especially if the water element is involved here. Communication is emphasised and usually not an issue here unless there are afflicting aspects. If there are afflicting aspects, then the Moon person can be a source of mental stress for the house person. This overlay would be an indication of domestic activities for the two people since the 3rd house is about transportation and short journeys. The two would have fun going on an adventure with each other. Want to explore a new attraction in your place or stay? Do it with someone who has their Moon in your 3rd house.

MOON IN THE 4TH HOUSE

This is an intense placement and precautions should be taken. The Moon person sees the house person as a home, and if the two are not careful the lines between what is ok and not can get blurred. The house person will feel an intense and deep connection with the Moon person, and the Moon person will feel the same. However, the Moon person will sometimes live in the house person, causing fatigue and exhaustion. This can create a relationship where the Moon & House person lose themselves in another and do not realize they are two individuals. On the bright side, this creates a very domestic relationship and the two may enjoy spending time doing domestic activities and not going out. These are the two people who are in their own little bubble on a date at a restaurant. Nothing matters except them.

MOON IN THE 5TH HOUSE 🔥🔥🔥

Good placement for conception as the 5th house rules children. The two will enjoy each other’s company and will have a strong bond. A strong friendship. The Moon person will makes the house person happy and vice versa. The house person sees the Moon person as their inspiration, and the Moon person is passionate with the house person. The Moon person is entranced by the house person and what they have to offer. These relationships however can be short lived as the 5th house rules crushes, and the Moon changes signs every 2-2.5 days. There will be times when the flame is not as strong. This is a good synastry overlay to have, these are the lovebirds. Reminds me of Thinking Out Loud.

MOON IN THE 6TH HOUSE

The Moon person automatically feels obligated towards the house person. They feel as if they must do everything for them which can create unnecessary stress. If the Moon is in Libra, this can create a situation where one takes advantage of the other. This can also create an emotionally volatile relationship because of the saying: “scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.” But what if you forget to return the back scratch? The two will be helpful towards one another, but the house person may take advantage of the Moon person. Additionally, the Moon person may cause the house person stress and anxiety due to the Moon’s constant changing nature. The house person will bring order to the house persons life, the Moon person will do favours in return.

MOON IN THE 7TH HOUSE

Good placement for marriage. Depending on how close the Moon is to the descendant, the two will accept each other as they are—flaws and all. This is a good overlay for a long lasting relationship, and create comfort in one another. The two get each other automatically and can breathe around each other. This is a better version of “scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” Moon in the 7th house indicates an amiable relationship. However depending on aspects, the relationship may turn sour or be sour as the 7th house is the house of open enemies and jealousy. Be aware.

MOON IN THE 8TH HOUSE

This overlay can become very uncomfortable. The 8H is about secrets. Because the Moon represents our mind, there may be suspicion between the two and a lack of trust. Fights and misunderstandings occur especially if Mars aspects the Moon in any kind of way (especially with the Square aspect). This overlay creates an emotionally intense relationship where the two can get each other riled up easily. The house person can influence the Moon person to engage in acts they would never do before, and vice versa. The Moon person wants to explore all aspects of life with the house person—especially the dark parts. The 8H is also about intimacy, so when you have this overlay, expect deep emotional intimacy with this person. You two will have deep feelings for each other that lie in the pit of your stomach. This reminds me of the couple who are crazy in love—crazy in love; crazy and in love.

MOON IN THE 9TH HOUSE

This overlay creates a person you would take home to your mother. The Moon person is the “golden” and prime example of what a person should act like and behave in the eyes of the house person. The Moon person sees the house person as someone inspiring, and smart. Growth on both ends is emphasised here. Both live and act on the same wave length. Maybe different levels, but the same wave length. You will have thought provoking discussions with each other and generally get along. The Moon person may feel insecure with the house person though due to their depth of knowledge or their way of life. The pair will enjoy engaging in adventurous activities with another, and travelling.

MOON IN THE 10TH HOUSE

“Professional loving” This can create a detached love type of situation. The Moon person may only be there to make the house person look good in the public eye and vice versa. Behind closed doors, there is an air of coldness between the two. The relationship between the two may be transactional, and the two may be with each other or in each other’s lives just for the sake of it. On the other hand, the house person may feel like the Moon person is a prize and the Moon persons presence pushes the house person to be successful and make gains. What happens in this relationship will find a way to make a way to the public eye, and many eyes will be on the two.

MOON IN THE 11TH HOUSE

Great overlay for friendship. The natives have a strong friendship—best friends. They are supportive of one another and help one another obtain their desires and wishes. You can lay your head on each other’s shoulder. The house person will be naturally supportive of the Moon person. The two will have a deep connection with each other. They will be very exclusive with each other, not letting anyone into their “circle”. The two will confide in another about their deepest secrets, the moon person will see the house person as “amazing”. They will see them as the person they’ve been looking for their entire life. This overlay is where you would find your best friend in your partner. The house person will see the Moon person as someone they can trust, and rely on.

MOON IN THE 12TH HOUSE

The Moon person will always know how the house person is feeling. They are naturally in tune with the house persons needs, and emotions. This can make the house person feel like their privacy is being infringed on and this can be emotionally exhausting for the two. The Moon person is overly concerned with the house person and feels as if they may be hiding something from them. The house person will know the Moon person inside and out. The two will have a “psychic” connection and almost telepathic way of connecting with each other. The house person will see the Moon as someone who can nurture them, and help them work through their issues. A shoulder to lean on, but the Moon person may not receive the same in return. On a more positive note, this overlay can be great as the pair will be in tune with each other’s needs, never having to jump through hoops. Why? Because you will be able to read the other persons mind, you will intuitively be able to cater to them as you just “know”.

#astrology #moon signs #synastry #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #zodiac compatibility

957 notes · View notes