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autumnshighlady · 4 months

Text

Yes, sir

Eris x female!reader

part of The Professor Series

summary: you've been trying to impress Dr. Vanserra for weeks, and an opportunity presents itself when he offers you private study sessions ;)

warnings: smut, power dynamic, name calling, oral sex (f receiving), thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, inappropriate use of mirror, tw: Ianthe

word count: 6.7k

request/prompt: Eris would undoubtedly be a history teacher, sarcastic at times and rigid

a/n: i got my degree in medieval history so there's a bit of rambling in this fic about my area of study since Eris is a history professor, figured i spent 4 years researching it so may as well incorporate it into this fic lmao feel free to breeze past the reader's monologue about the study material (or read it if you're interested hehe)

series playlist on Spotify here

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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“Does anyone know why this manuscript was significant to political theory at the time of its creation?”

A few hands raised around you in the lecture hall, yours included. Political history professor Dr. Eris Vanserra paced slowly across the floor, his amber eyes scanning the rows of students for someone to pick on. His red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a look that had more than a few of you swooning. His red button up shirt complimented the brown tweed jacket on his shoulders, an outfit that no doubt cost you more than you made in a month. Dr. Vanserra always had the nicest outfits out of all your professors, never coming to class with a thread out of place.

Over the last few weeks, you had come to terms with the fact that you were harbouring an intense crush on him. You couldn’t help it – he spoke with such elegance, explaining the most boring concepts in a way that had you utterly entranced. Frequently, you found yourself staring at his slender hands, which he often gestured with as he spoke. He was a strict professor, who had no patience for any fooling around during class. But his dry jokes were laced with sarcasm, adding to his charming wit. Everyone tried to impress him – Dr. Vanserra was a distant male, often brushing off students in his office hours as if he wanted as little interaction as possible. He never complimented their work either, a simple head nod being the closest anyone has gotten to positive feedback. He was quick to point out what you did wrong, never beating around the bush.

And so you moved your seat from the back of the class to the front, always making sure to be the first student in the door and the last one to leave. It was tough, with other students just as eager to gain a minute of his attention. But you welcomed the challenge, craving to be the one who broke his rigid exterior and get him to show that he at least had a heart. That included always being ready to answer any questions.

Eris’s glowing gaze landed on you, and your heart fluttered. For a moment, you were sure he would call on you to answer the question. But his gaze came as quickly as it left, landing on the blonde female two seats down from you, Ianthe.

“They’re important because they were written by a woman,” Ianthe said proudly, her annoying voice raising three pitches higher than what you knew was her normal voice. “The only one of its time, too. Proof that women in the elite class were learning to read and write just like the men.”

Ianthe proudly lifted her chin up, satisfied with her answer. Dr. Vanserra took a single step towards her, and she crossed her arms together and leaned her elbows on the table, her big eyes wide as she batted her lashes at the professor. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her lack of subtly, noting how ridiculous she looked trying to push her breasts together to show off her cleavage.

“A weak and shallow take, Ianthe, as per usual.” Eris said, sarcastic disappointment lacing his voice.

You had to cough to conceal your laugh. Ianthe was always trying to suck up to Dr. Vanserra, always humiliating herself along the way yet failing to recognize how foolish she looked.

“Is there anyone who can answer my question with a point that’s actually worth my precious time to listen to?” He continued, surveying the hesitant class.

Your hand shot up once again, and this time the professor’s gaze landed on you. He nodded, his stoic face revealing nothing as he waited for you to make your point.

“It’s the only manuscript we currently possess that’s written by a woman in its time,” You began. “That doesn’t mean it’s the only one to have existed. And the author being our only example of a body of literature written by a woman in its era doesn’t mean all elite women were doing the same. Her husband was a close friend of the emperor’s, acting as one of his closest counsellors. It’s highly likely that her husband’s unusually high status is the reason she was able to read and write.”

Dr. Vanserra nodded. “Carry on.”

You tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze as you scrambled to remember your information. “Well, the manuscript itself gives us insight into the political strife of the realm. Many of our other sources from that era never address the problem because they don’t want the history books to remember the bad times. Not only does she directly address the political issues at hand, but she also inserts herself into the narrative, something no other source from its time does. So while it’s written as a book of advice to her son who’s a political prisoner in an enemy court, it gives us insight into 3 aspects of family in that era: feelings, authority, and consciousness. Which also links back to what we talked about last week regarding the connection between the theme of consciousness within this era’s literature.”

You let out a breath, trying not to shake. The professor continued to stare at you, expressionless, leaving you unsure if your points were completely bogus or not. Finally, Dr. Vanserra dipped his head. “Good.” He said plainly, and Ianthe audibly huffed. “Now speaking of last week’s material…”

Dr. Vanserra continued his lecture, and you felt Ianthe shooting daggers at you with her eyes. But you didn’t care, you were too busy riding the high of your first ever praise from the instructor – anyone’s first ever praise from him, now that you thought of it. You happily scrawled down your notes for the remainder of the period, until the clock struck 9am, indicating class was over.

“I will expect the first draft of your midterm essays in three weeks, do not forget.” Dr. Vanserra said as students began packing up. “It’s going to take me a hundred hours to go through them all, so make them worth the headache it will cause me.”

Students began scurrying out the door, and you were grateful that you had no classes for the rest of the day. You packed up your things more slowly, your books and notepads stacked in an organised pile, just how you liked it. You stepped around the front of your desk and scooped them up in your arms, but quickly collided with a blonde female carrying a very full mug of coffee.

“Oh my goodness!” Ianthe squealed, her voice sweet as honey. “Your notes! I am so sorry hun, let me help you clean that up.”

Anger boiled in your blood, and it took everything in you not to yank her by her blonde hair and drag her face through the spilled mess. “It’s ok,” You forced yourself to say through gritted teeth. “It was an accident.”

“Oopsies!” She chuckled, her blue eyes glittering. “See ya!” She skipped away, miniskirt bouncing with every step. Gods, you hated her.

You looked down at your fallen pile of notes, now drenched in caffeine and completely illegible. Kneeling down, you tried to see if anything was salvageable, but nothing remained. Tears welled in your eyes – weeks of hard work, just gone. You felt your white t-shirt sticking to your chest, now strained with brown.

You hadn’t even noticed Dr. Vanserra approach. His pale, slender hand appeared next to yours, picking up a drenched piece of paper. You looked up, seeing him crouched down in front of you.

“Can any of it be saved?” He asked, her voice still stoic but slightly softer.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak without crying yet.

Dr. Vanserra clucked his tongue. “Unfortunate. You’ve worked very hard on those.”

“Those are all my notes from the last few weeks,” You said quietly, lip wobbling. “Sir… I have nothing to work with for my essay draft now.”

He merely hummed as if deep in thought before grabbing the soaked papers from your hands and standing up. You heard him stride over to the trash bin and lift the lid, tossing the remains of the material inside. His expensive shoes clicked on the floor as he walked back over to you. His hand reached out, coming into your lowered field of view.

You looked up at him through teary eyes, confused.

“Come on, get up.” Dr. Vanserra said, sighing. “She wins if you sit like that, just sulking. So get up and come with me.”

Trying not to tremble, you grabbed his hand. He pulled you up with surprising strength, his hand warm despite the freezing temperature of the room. Wordlessly, he grabbed your bags along with his own, walking out of the lecture hall with long strides. Puzzled, you scrambled to follow, too nervous to say a word. This was the most Dr. Vanserra had ever spoken to you, you didn’t want to risk screwing it up by saying something stupid.

You followed him all the way to his office, shutting the door behind you as you entered the space. Rich tones of red, amber, and green adorned the room, expensive looking furniture and decor scattered everywhere in an organised manner. The office was filled with more candles than you could count, their orange flames flickering gently. Dr. Vanserra set your bags down on one of the chairs before finally speaking.

“Twelve lectures worth of your notes are gone, and you cannot do anything about that.” He said sternly. “So do not cry over it. However, I do not want to see you fall behind and try to redo the notes off of memory alone. You will fail the course if you do so. Therefore, for the next two weeks, we will meet in my office every day at 5pm. Each session we will go over one lecture, and you will redo your notes. We can go slow to ensure you do not miss anything, and you may ask me any questions you need. That will give you only a week to complete your draft, but at least you will not be lacking half the material needed for it. Does this work for you?”

Your jaw went slack. One on one review with the professor? It was the golden ticket you needed to succeed in this course, and you were going to make it count. “Yes, sir, absolutely.” You replied quickly, letting out a breath. “Thank you, Dr. Vanserra, thank you.”

“We are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next two weeks, my dear. You can call me Eris.”

Your heart flipped. “Eris.” You corrected yourself, testing his name on your tongue.

He smirked. “Excellent. Now that we are on a first name basis, I can comfortably tell you that the coffee has rendered your shirt see through.”

The blood drained from your face, and your arms shot from your sides to cover your chest. As luck would have it, you weren’t wearing a bra that day, meaning your nipples were likely visible through the wet white shirt. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You stammered, cheeks flushing red.

“It’s quite alright.” Eris strolled towards a small dresser in the corner of the room, opening up the middle drawer and pulling out a cream coloured polo sweater with a v-neck. “Put this on, I won’t have my student walking around campus with her tits in plain sight.”

You blushed deeply, taking the fabric from him. It was the softest thing you’d felt, and smelled strongly of the cologne you frequently caught a whiff of whenever the professor walked by you. The plainness of his words made your brain go haywire, and you stood there dumbly.

“Unless you want to give me a show, I suggest you turn around and change so I can put your shirt in a bag for you to take home.” Eris said, a hint of mischief behind his amber gaze.

You turned around, reaching down and pulling the ruined t-shirt over your head. You shivered, feeling those eyes burning into your bare back as you carefully held your arm out behind you with the shirt balled inside your fist.

Eris took it, and you heard him turn around and walk away, presumably to grab a bag. You quickly pulled the sweater over your head, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach that danced happily at the thought of wearing your professor’s sweater.

“All done.” You said, turning around. “I’ll get this dry cleaned before I give it back.”

The male only shrugged as he tossed your shirt into a spare grocery bag. “Clean it, keep it, shred it, it matters not to me. I have three more identical to that one.”

“Uh, ok.” You muttered. The idea of keeping his sweater felt wrong, but you were secretly thrilled that he suggested it.

Eris took a seat behind his desk, pulling out books from his briefcase. “Now be gone with you, I have research to do. And remember, 5pm tomorrow. Do not be late.”

“I won’t.” You promised, grabbing your bags and making your exit.

Maybe it was a good thing Ianthe spilled her coffee on you.

************************

ONE WEEK LATER

You tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep hours after your study session with Eris. At first, they had been gruelling. Eris would grill you for every answer you gave him, making sure you could confidently back up your claims. Your brain was exhausted by the end of it, but you were happy. Eris had also given you helpful anecdotes that he hadn’t mentioned to the class. You had twice as many notes as before, and they were twice as helpful.

He was different than when he taught in class. More patient, less demanding. He spoke slower, allowing you to catch up if you fell behind. His strict persona was as rigid as ever in class, but you found he was calling on you more and more to answer questions. It delighted you.

At first, you had sat in the chair in front of his desk. But today, the chair was moved beside his. More than once, your leg knocked against his muscular thigh, and you’d murmur an embarrassed apology. Eris never acknowledged it, only smirked before returning to the material at hand. You still felt the tingling sensation on your own thigh from earlier when he gently squeezed it. You had gotten a tough question right, and Eris had reached down and put his hand on your thigh, quickly squeezing it before retreating.

Your face had gone bright red, and there was no way he hadn’t noticed. Just that one simple action had made your core throb with need. It didn’t help that he had begun calling you pet names, such as ‘my dear’ and ‘love’. You drank them up, his silver tongue making the nicknames sound just right. Every time he said them, it went straight to your core.

Studying with your professor had suddenly become incredibly hard.

You rolled over in your bed once more, hoping that perhaps this side of the sheets would finally bring you sleep. But every time you closed your eyes, all you could think about was Eris’s touch on your thigh, and how it would feel if his hand was higher up, right where you had dreamed about it being. You imagined his slender fingers pumping inside you, filthy words falling from his lips like the first snow of winter, red hair falling in your face was his body moulded over top of yours–

“Get it together.” You scolded yourself. “He’s your fucking professor. It was nothing. Stop overthinking.”

But that didn’t stop you from sneaking your hand between your legs in a last ditch effort to ease yourself into sleep.

************************

A few days later, you checked your outfit in the bathroom mirror at 4:55pm before heading to Eris’s office. You hadn’t slept well last night, so you opted for a casual pair of soft, flowing green pants paired with a simple cream coloured button up. You’d be lying to yourself if you claimed you hadn’t deliberately chosen the pants that seemed to be Eris’s favourite shade of green. It was hard to sleep when all you could think about was how close you were going to be sitting to him the next day.

At 5pm on the dot, you opened the door to his office. “Good evening, sir.” You greeted him, locking the door behind you. It was something he insisted on, claiming he didn’t want his other students barging in thinking you were getting special treatment.

“Hello, my dear.” Eris said. “We’re covering lecture 10 today, I assume you brought the material.”

You nodded, setting your bag next to the desk before making your way around to Eris’s side. You paused, noticing something was missing. “Where’s my chair?” You asked.

“Oh, that thing,” Eris tutted, lips drawn into a faint smirk. “I gave it to my brother for the week. His office chair broke, and he has fifty students lined up outside his office every day who need it more than I do.”

Your mouth was dry, unsure of what game he was playing. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“I think there’s enough room over here for you.” Eris’s voice was velvety and laced with smugness. His brown eyes glowed, like a viper approaching a small creature to make its first strike.

“Oh, do you want me to stand?” You tried hesitantly. No way this was going where you think it was going, right?

“For two hours? I wouldn’t do that to you. Come here.” He beckoned you forward with a come here motion and spread his legs ever so slightly, making your stomach do a somersault. Your body obeyed him without question, stepping forward until Eris grabbed your hand and pulled you down, causing you to fall onto his lap with a yelp. Strong hands gripped your hips, adjusting you so you were perched on his right thing, one leg on each side.

You bit your lip so the whimper that had built in your throat didn’t slip through. Your throbbing core was pressed right into the hard muscle of Eris’s thigh, emitting a heat you were sure he would feel.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He purred, his lips dangerously close to your ear. His breath was warm, sending shivers down your spine.

You stuttered something incoherent in response, but Eris cut you off casually, reaching forward and opening your book. His knee hiked up a bit, pushing his thigh further into your core. This time, you couldn’t stop the noise you let out.

“Are you alright, love?” Eris asked innocently. You gritted your teeth – he knew what he was doing, and was trying to get a reaction from you. As much as you wanted him, you were stubborn.

Two could play this game.

“Just fine.” You quipped, attempting to keep your composure.

“Wonderful. Let us begin.”

************************

An hour later, your lip had indents on it from your teeth. It was the most torturous study session you’d ever had in your life. It was less than 10 minutes in before Eris took it up a notch. He had rested one hand on your hip, a simple gesture as if to steady you. But his thumb found its way underneath the fabric of your shirt and began to rub small circles above the bone.

The more questions Eris asked you, the closer he leaned into you. His lips began grazing your ear as he spoke, driving you wild. He didn’t sit still either, casually moving his leg from time to time, causing you to slide forward, clit grazing the sinewy muscle.

It was a slow torture.

“You seem distracted.” Eris murmured in your ear, readjusting himself again and sending another wave of pleasure through your core. You couldn’t help it, a quiet moan leaving your mouth as you felt yourself giving up.

He chuckled darkly, sliding the rest of the hand under your shirt fabric and resting it on the skin above your hip bone. “You’ve been working so hard my dear, I can’t have you unfocused.”

The rest of his fingers began tracing lazy, teasing circles against your flesh. You arched into his touch, tears from the lack of stimulation to your cunt threatening to form in your eyes if he didn’t touch you soon.

“Please.” You murmured quietly.

“Please what?” Eris asked, feigning cluelessness but letting his teeth scrape the shell of your ear. “If you need something from me, you need only ask. And I will be happy to oblige.”

The bastard was really going to make you admit it. He knew what he had been doing for the past hour, teasing you subtly to the point where you’d beg for more. Your earlier determination was gone, replaced by a pathetic neediness for his touch.

“Touch me, please.” You whined, not caring how weak you sounded.

Eris paused for a second. “No.”

Your eyes shot open in surprise. If this was some sick game to humiliate you, you were going to kill him. “What do you mean–”

“You know what you want to do right now,” He cut you off, his voice low. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my thighs for the past few days. This is your chance to take what you want, sweetheart. Only once you grind yourself into my thigh to show me how desperate you are for me, will I finally touch you.”

Humiliation burned through you. No matter how stubborn you were, it was no match for Eris’s. There was no way you’d be able to convince him to put his hands on you without first doing what he asked.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on his knee for support as your clit finally made contact with his thigh. You began rocking your hips, moaning at the relief it brought you.

“Come on, I know you can give me more than that.” Eris remarked from behind you.

You groaned and ground your hips harder into his thigh, pleasure intensifying. You swivelled your hips back and forth and in circular motions, trying to find a path to the release you had been craving.

“Fuck.” You moaned, glancing sideways at the mirror that was propped against the wall adjacent to his desk. The sight nearly made you gasp. Your face was flushed, blissed out as you grinded into Eris’s thigh, a small wet patch having formed on his light brown trousers. Eris was leaning back in his chair, his eyes hungrily drinking in the view from behind of you riding his thigh. His face was dark with want, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the side of the chair.

You continued your motions, grinding into your professor’s thigh in his locked office, coming so close to building that familiar coil in your stomach but never quite getting there.

“Eris…” You moaned.

“Yes, my dear?” Came his reply.

“I need you. Please, sir, I need you to touch me.”

One glance in the mirror and you knew you were victorious. Calling him ‘sir’ seemed to have softened his determination to make you grind into him until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Aw, can you not get yourself off on my thigh without help?” He mocked, stroking your hip again. “You need me that badly, don’t you? You know how unsatisfying it would be to cum without my touch.”

He spun the chair around, lifting your hips with one hand and peeling your pants and underwear off at the same time. The two of you were now facing the mirror, able to take in the sinfulness of the situation in full view. Eris adjusted you on his lap so that you were sitting atop his bulge, legs spread over each of his legs. Your needy cunt was on display, and you leaned back into his solid chest.

“Such a greedy little thing.” Eris said. One of his hands reached down and stroked your clit, while the other wrapped around your other hip and began to tease your entrance. For a second, you thought he was going to cruelly pull away, leaving you high and dry. But moments later he plunged a finger inside you, increasing the speed and pressure on your clit as well.

Your entire body twitched with the sudden wave of pleasure, ten times more intense than anything you had given yourself. Your moan this time was loud, echoing throughout the vast space of the office. His hands worked you in all the right places, confidently finding the perfect pleasure spots as if he had been given a map to your body and spent years studying it.

“Is that better?” Eris cooed, running his lips up and down your neck. “Is this what you’ve been fantasising about, being completely at my mercy as I make you feel good?”

“Gods, yes.” You cried out, arching into him.

“There are no gods here to help you, my dear,” He chuckled darkly. “Only me.”

Eris bit down on the juncture between your shoulder and neck, causing you to gasp. But you welcomed the sting of it, sighing as his silver tongue caressed the indents in your skin. Your legs began to tense up, feeling the orgasm you had been so desperately craving building up. The wet squelching sounds of Eris’s fingers on your cunt sang in harmony with your moans, as you watched the scene in the mirror through half-closed eyes.

“That’s it, love.” Eris murmured, sucking your neck just below the curve of your jaw. “Cum all over my hands.”

Your body obeyed, erupting into a burst of flaming pleasure as your orgasm hit you hard. Eris’s fingers continued to work you through your high, intensifying it tenfold. You were a whimpering, twitching mess in your professor’s lap. Finally, he removed his hands from between your legs, giving you a merciful break. You slouched into him, panting.

Your professor had just given you the most intense orgasm of your life.

After a few minutes letting your body recover, Eris picked you up with ease, bridal style in his arms. He settled you both down on the couch, placing his hand on your inner thigh and slowly sliding it back towards your core. You whimpered as his fingers grazed your sensitive slit, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh you poor, sweet thing,” Eris mocked. “You didn’t think that would be it, did you? I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Your mind reeled as he adjusted himself, laying back flat on the couch and pulling you on top of him. Luckily, you caught yourself with one arm on his chest so you didn’t land flat on his body. Eris’s hand reached behind your neck, grabbing you firmly and pulling your lips into his. You groaned, shifting on top of him so you were straddling his waist to get more comfortable. Eris’s grip was tight, putting you at the mercy of his kiss as his lips consumed your own. You melted into his mouth like butter, sighing as his tongue danced with your own.

His other hand reached down and squeezed your backside, pushing your hips into his crotch and causing you both to moan into each other’s mouths. The noise that emitted from Eris’s lips was the most delightful thing you had ever heard, you decided. It filled you with determination to see what other sounds your professor could make. So you ground your hips into his bulge again, causing him to groan.

“Careful,” He growled, nipping at your lip in warning. “You’re playing with fire here, my dear. Did I say you could grind on my cock like a desperate whore?”

You paused, heat rushing to your core at his filthy words. You’d always loved the sound of Eris’s voice, and hearing him say such sinful things to you brought a fresh wave of arousal.

A hard smack landed on your ass, making you yelp in surprise.

“I asked you a question.” Eris said sternly. “Did I give you permission to grind on my cock, yes or no?”

“No.” You answered sheepishly.

“No is right. Sit up. You’re going to make it up to me.”

You frowned in confusion, but did as you were told, propping yourself up and sitting back down on Eris’s hips, trying to ignore the way his cock dug into your backside. You took a second to admire Eris’s form laying on the luxurious couch beneath you. His red hair was fanned around his face like the morning rays of sunshine, a beautiful contrast with the dark green of the sofa. His expression was relaxed, but calculating as always – angular cheekbones made more prominent in the light of the candles, his amber eyes glowing with desire. It was a sight you wanted to commit to memory forever.

“Remove your shirt, and come ride my face.” Eris said plainly. You baulked, having expected him to tell you to get on your knees and take his cock down your throat. You were supposed to make up for disobeying him by… letting him eat you out? Most males you had been with had been selfish, only going down on you if you sucked them off first. But Eris was different.

“I would suggest you listen and do as I say, unless you want to be bent over my knee and spanked until you cannot walk, and are ordered not to cum for a week.” Eris’s voice was less patient this time, noting your hesitation.

Something dark in his eyes told you he meant it, so you obeyed, unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it off your shoulders, followed by your bra. You were now completely naked on top of Eris, who remained fully clothed. Under any other circumstances, you’d have insisted he at least partially undress first. But you knew his patience was wearing thin, and as much as you secretly wouldn’t mind being spanked, the thought of not coming for a week was something you couldn’t do.

You crawled your way up his body, seating a knee on either side of his head. You lifted your hips, core inches from his face. The male was practically salivating beneath you as you gingerly lowered your cunt to skim his lips.

“I thought I told you to sit.” Eris said.

You gawked. “But I don’t want to suffocate–”

Your sentence was interrupted by a frustrated growl from your professor. He gripped your hips firmly and pulled you down hard, seating you fully on his mouth. You cried out as his tongue expertly stroked your folds, flicking your clit as he ate you out with precision that made you weak. Instinctively, one hand came down to grip Eris’s red locks, causing him to moan into your cunt. His hair was soft in your fingers, and you relished in the feeling of it.

You felt Eris’s hands guide your hips back and forth, encouraging you to rock them against his face. Moans left your lips as you obliged, grinding into his face like you had on his thigh. Evidently, this pleased Eris and he groaned, which sent delicious vibrations through your core.

You let your head fall back, shamelessly riding Eris’s mouth as you pulled on his hair. If your grip caused him any pain, he gave no indication of it. Whenever you tried to lift your hips to let him breathe, his grip only tightened and firmly held you in place. It wasn’t long before you climaxed again, letting out a choked cry as your juices covered his face. After catching your breath, letting Eris wipe his face with his fingers before sicking the digits clean, you climbed off of him, collapsing into a sitting position on the couch as Eris sat up next to you. His skilled fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt, and you hungrily drank in the sight of his bare chest as he pulled the expensive material off.

“You did so well, my dear.” Eris purred. “I think you can cum one more time for me. Ride my cock this time, love, make a pretty mess all over it just like you did with my face. And my fingers… and thigh.”

Your mouth went slack. After two orgasms, you weren’t sure if you could handle a third. But the desire to please him outweighed any reservations you had about your sensitive body, so you reached down and unlaced his breeches, making eye contact as you did so. Eris smirked, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion as you pulled out his long cock and stroked it once. The tip was red and needy, leaking with precum and making your mouth water. You swung your leg over his hips, straddling them. One of your hands reached towards Eris’s cock, grabbing it and lining it up with your entrance. You took a breath, and began to sink down.

You stopped after getting just the tip in, trying to catch your breath. The stretch stung, and you weren’t sure how you were going to fit the rest of it in, especially being so oversensitive still. Eris simply watched with his hands behind his head casually, a smug look on his face. He did not help you, seemingly content to watch you struggle to take his length.

You forced your body to relax, sliding to about halfway down before stopping, moaning dizzily. All of your senses were completely overwhelmed, and you felt so full with only half his cock inside you.

“Aw, are you finding it difficult to take me, love?” Eris mocked. “Maybe you can’t handle it–”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, for his teasing tone filled you with sheer determination and you slammed yourself down onto him. Eris was cut off in a strangled moan, eyes widening as you impaled your cunt on his cock. The force of it knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t let it stop you. You swirled your hips, pulling yourself up his length before falling down on him again, bracing your hands on his shoulders for support. Gods, he was so deep inside of you, touching places that made your head spin.

“Fucking hell.” Eris groaned, his voice rough as you slid up and down on his cock at a relentless pace. You twisted and swivelled your hips as you did so, your cunt squeezing his cock at new angles that made your professor gasp. You threw your head back, and Eris took the opportunity to lean forward and wrap his arms around your back, pulling your chest closer to him and taking your breast in his mouth.

The new sensation made you cry out, but you refused to let your pace falter. Eris’s teeth scraped your nipple, sucking harshly before moving to your other breast. His hips began slamming up into you to meet your own, making the coil in your belly tighten.

“Eris…” You whined, tangling your hands in his hair again.

“That’s it, love, say my name,” Eris reached one hand down to roll your clit with his thumb, while the other gripped your throat and squeezed. “Let everyone know who’s fucking you dumb right now. Let them hear you scream for me as your tight little cunt takes my cock.”

You rode him with a vigour you didn’t know you possessed, shamelessly moaning his name over and over again. “Eris… Eris…. Eris!” It was overwhelming, your professor’s cock slamming in and out of you, his hand rolling your clit while the other held you by the throat. You kept your grip on his hair, yanking as you climaxed one last time, the action of your fingers pulling his red locks making Eris cry out too. His hips stuttered as his cum shot through you, your cunt clenching around him as you rode out your own orgasm. It was the most intense out of all the ones you had so far, the warmth of Eris spilling inside you making you dizzy with pleasure.

You leaned forward, dragging your lips up Eris’s throat as he moaned with you clenching around him. He cursed, the slip in his control filling you with pride. His skin tasted like rich autumn spices. You pulled his cock out from inside you and collapsed into his chest, panting. You didn’t realise how exhausted your body was until now. Every cell in you was completely spent, leaving you unable to move. You fought the sleepiness, but the warmth from Eris’s chest was too comforting and darkness overcame you.

************************

A few hours later, you opened your eyes. For a moment, you expected to be in your own bed, the whole thing having been a dream. But you took in your surroundings, realising you were still in Eris’s office. The professor was sitting at his desk, quietly grading. You scrambled upright, the blanket that had been draped across you falling onto your lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You stammered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Eris looked up at you, smirking. “You have nothing to apologise for. I take pride in your passing out, actually. Means I did my job well, not that there was any doubt based on the noises you made.”

You blushed furiously, but then looked down at your body. You expected to be sweaty and gross from the sex, utterly naked and exposed. But you felt clean, as if you had been wiped down with a wet cloth and then dried. Your old clothes were neatly folded on the ground next to you, and you were dressed in a pair of soft, forest green sweatpants and a white crew neck sweater. They definitely were not Eris’s size. “You keep women’s clothes in your office?” You asked, confused.

“I keep a spare set of attire for all the female students I fuck in here.” Eris’s voice was dry, and you whipped around to stare at him with wide eyes. “That was a joke, my dear. I had them picked out last week. You know, in case Ianthe decided she wanted to spill more coffee on you in the future.”

You snorted, heart fluttering at the surprising thoughtfulness of his actions. While you had hoped he wouldn’t just toss your clothes at you and send you on your way without a word, given the professor’s rigidness it hadn’t been entirely out of the question. “You’re not funny.”

“On the contrary, I am terribly funny.”

“You got these clothes last week, was it really because of Ianthe or was your plan to fuck me all along? Is that why you offered to help me in the first place?”

Eris rolled his amber eyes, giving you a stern look. “No. My offer to help you was, and is, genuine, and with your best academic interests in mind. I may be a prick, but I am not cruel. Fucking you was a delightful bonus, not an expectation.”

His words reassured you. Despite his strict reputation, it seemed Dr. Vanserra had a heart after all. You checked the clock, realising it was almost 9:30pm. “Shit, I have to get home now. My roommate is going to think I fell off the face of the earth.”

You hastily grabbed your things, giving Eris a quick kiss on the mouth before hurrying to the doorway. You had no idea what this meant for the two of you, if it was a one time thing to satisfy both your needs, or something more. Regardless, you didn’t want to think too much about it, content to bask in the aftermath of the best sex you’ve ever had.

“Same time tomorrow.” Eris piped up right before you opened your door. “Don’t be late.”

“Yes sir.” You smirked at the twitch of his face at your words.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

A sadistic grin crossed Eris’s face. “When you get home, I’m positive you will be reminiscing about the mind blowing orgasms you just had. But you are not to touch yourself until I see you tomorrow night, am I clear? There will be… repercussions, if you disobey me.”

You baulked, embarrassed that he had seen right through you, but nodded anyway. As the door closed behind you, you wondered if you were going to last the next 20 hours without breaking his rule.

#amara's professor series #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris acotar #autumn court #acotar #acotar smut #acotar au

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0vereasy · 5 months

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Life’s Creations and Love’s Manifestations - Dr Ratio x Female Reader

Summary: Your promotion as one of the heads of the Security Department at Herta’s Station was full of many headaches, one of the biggest being a visiting scholar from the Intelligentsia Guild, and delegate of the IPC, Dr. Ratio.

When you were forced to team up with him to solve several crises emerging at the Station, how will your tense relationship change? And what exactly is the Doctor hiding?

Dr Ratio x Reader, implied Screwllum x Reader

LATER CHAPTERS WILL BE BASED ON THE 1.6 TRAILBLAZER QUEST!

Enjoy the fic? Consider leaving Kudos on A03!

Masterlist | Chapter 2

Chapter 1: New Arrival

Word count: 5.7k+

“I’ve got to say, Mr. Screwllum,” your voice was smooth as you spoke, a clear playful undertone underlying your words. You crossed your legs in the chair you sat in, leaning in slightly closer to the robot. Your elbow rested on your knee as you leaned in, hand moving to support your chin and to cover the growing smirk on your features, “An offer for dinner and drinks? In your private quarters? At this late hour?” your gaze briefly flicked to a nearby computer screen, scanning the time, before moving back to your robot companion, “If I didn’t know any better, I would guess you were asking me on a date.”

“Hypothesis: Would that particular offer be so awful, dear?” Screwllum’s face, as usual, was devoid of emotion, his robotic features forever remaining neutral. His voice though; that was what you had to focus on to understand his tone; his meaning. Based on the way he was speaking now, you knew the robot, like yourself, had less than pure thoughts running through his mind, his robotic tone of voice lighter than usual, playful even, “It is not as if you frequenting my quarters at such a late hour is a rare occurrence. Question: Would it be an offence to catch up with someone I hold so dear?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you hummed, drumming your fingers against your chin in playful thought, “You know I’m not the kind of woman to turn down drinks… or your company for that matter.” You let a small chuckle escape the ever-permanent smirk on your lips, “I wonder though; what ideas do you have to occupy our evening after our little dinner party is complete?” You uncrossed your legs, briefly standing up to scootch your office chair closer to his, your warm knees now touching his cold metallic ones, “It must be something important; you interrupted my on the job after all.” Your eyes scanned the dark security room, focusing briefly on the cameras you were supposed to be watching. As expected, they were devoid of activity, researchers and most security members long having retreated to their quarters for the evening. You were happy for the privacy though, considering the direction of your little conversation. You were quick to focus back on him

“Ah yes, the job you were so carefully conducting whilst reading the same book you have been trying to complete for the last two months,” the book was now long discarded on the desk, the boring contents much less important than your current predicament. You narrowed your eyes none-the-less, allowing yourself to rest a hand on the robot’s metallic knee in front of you.

“A genius like yourself should know your company is more valuable than one of Adler’s little research books,” you said slyly, allowing your hand to drift slightly further up Screwllum’s thigh, “You can’t hide anything for me, you know. So tell me, Mr. Screwllum; what exactly do you have planned for tonight?”

He sighed, letting a small chuckle escape that had you clenching your knees together to control yourself, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by your companion, “Conclusion: You are right, nothing escapes your careful observations, dear,” the usually cold security room seemed impossibly warm now, your heartbeat increasing in your chest as Screwllum copied your actions, allowing his own metallic hand rest on your knee, “During my previous trip, I happened to stumble upon a quaint shop that sold candles and such,” he started, his words slow and sensual, leaving you internally grasping for more, “The owner happened to sell a collection of essential oils as well; for massages.”

“Interesting,” was your simple reply, not trusting yourself to comment further as a flood of dirty imagery grew in your brain. Screwllum watched your expression carefully, another chuckle escaping his metal mouth that had you completely willing and ready to jump out of your stupid office chair and straddle him right there and then.

“Hypothesis: I know you have been stressed lately. Conclusion: A relaxing meal and massage may help revitalize you before Ruan Mei’s expected visit. I have been told that I am exceptional with my hands.” You couldn’t help but swallow hard at that, your throat bobbing slightly as Screwllum’s began massaging your knee with his hand, fingers expertly kneading the flesh. You resisted the urge to clench your thighs together once more.

“You’re always full of surprises,” your voice was slightly shaky this time, body hyper-focused on his touch on your knee. You stood up again, allowing you to be face-to-face with the robot who usually towered over you, “I gotta say though, I’m curious about one thing… Mr. Screwllum.” You whispered his name, your words causing goosebumps on your own skin, as if the universe or some aeon out there was making up for the lack of physical reaction that Mr. Screwllum could afford from his own body.

“And what would that be?” He asked simply, glowing green eyes staring back at you defiantly, briefly flickering to your hands, which now rested around his neck, allowing your two bodies to be even closer together. At this rate, you weren’t even sure you could make it to dinner, your arousal ever-growing.

“Everyone knows that massages start at the shoulders,” you commented, rubbing his own metallic shoulders through his shirt, despite the knowledge that the motion would do nothing for him, “and then often trail down the back,” you allowed your hands to dip down his metal spine slowly, brushing the green butterfly wings on his back “but ultimately, they have to stop,” your hands came to a rest at his hips, your face moving close to his so you could whisper in his metallic ear, “So, Mr. Screwllum, where will your hands end up?”

He chuckled, one of his hands tilting your chin slightly so he could better look you in the eye. The room was practically spinning then, your hair clinging to your forehead due to the heat building up in the small space, “Interesting line of inquiry, my dear. Of course, my hands would end up-”

BRINGGGGG BRINGGGGG

The sudden ring of your walkie talkie from the desk made you jump, you and Screwllum separating from each other, and whatever little world you had been in, in shock. You muttered a curse under your breath as you slumped back into your chair, trying to contain your annoyance as you spoke, “This is Y/N from the security department. What is it?” You rubbed your thighs together angrily as if you were a horny teenager who couldn’t get off… though you supposed that description was pretty accurate given the circumstances.

“Y/N, it’s Leonard reporting from the Supply Zone,” you couldn’t help but hold back your groan, glad that audio could only transport through thesed damned devices. Of all the people who had to call you right now, it had to be Leonard? The same Leonard who managed to lose a hacking battle with that damned Stellaron Hunter girl? The man attracted too much drama for a night like this, “there’s a ship trying to dock in the Zone, but we weren’t expected any visitors!”

“And the identity of this person?” you asked, forcing yourself to switch into work mode despite the ever-growing desire to make out with the robot beside you. Your swift fingers quickly pulled up the feed from the Supply Zone, showing a modest sized ship waiting for permission to dock, the few staff around looking between each other and the ship like lost, confused dogs.

“He says his name is…. Dr. Ratio, a scholar from the Intelligencia Guild,” Leonard repeated the name awkwardly. At the mention of the Intelligencia Guild, you looked back at your robot companion, exchanging a look, “He says he’s a representative of the IPC on his way to Penacony, and that he emailed Ms. Asta early this evening about dropping by for a few days.” Leonard paused for a few seconds, not yet hanging up the call from his end of the line, “He’s getting impatient that we won’t let him dock, and we don’t know what to do! Were just following protocol after all.”

You let a few seconds of silence pass, briefly closing your eyes as you internally kissed your evening of drinks and a massage goodbye, “...Tell him that I’m on my way to the Supply Zone… I’ll come as quickly as I can.”

“Roger that, thanks!” Leonard sighed in relief, the walkie talkie going flat as the line died. You resisted the urge to groan and bury your head in your hands, instead only allowing a frustrated sigh to break through your lips.

“I’m sorry Screwllum… I have to deal with this tonight,” you stood up, patting the robot on the shoulder sympathetically, “but maybe we can make another night work… I still want to take you up on that massage offer.” You spoke, leaving the implied context of those words unaddressed.

“It is quite alright dear, your work is more important that our leisure, though I must admit that your prescence in my chambers will be missed tonight,” Screwllum spoke honestly, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing it in his hold, metallic grasp, “But I will look forward to having you grace me with your prescence in the upcoming days.”

“Thanks for understanding,” you said earnestly with a small sigh, quickly pressing a kiss to his metallic cheek before regrettably letting his hand fall from yours, turning away to grab your walkie talkie and Station ID card and lanyard, which you let hang around your neck, “Do you know about this Ratio dude at all? Name ring any bells?”

“Affirmative, I have heard of him,” Screwllum nodded, “He’s known for his desire to spread knowledge across the universe… and his arrogance and self-centered nature.”

“Sounds like a pleasure to deal with tonight,” you rolled your eyes, turning back to Screwllum briefly, “I’m sorry again about everything.” You hoped that he understood the truth behind your words as you stared into his glowing green orbs, though you knew you would never truly understand what he was thinking in that moment.

“Please do not worry yourself, my dear,” he said, tone light, though the playfulness from earlier had dissipated. He reached over to the desk, passing you Adler’s boring book and your waterbottle that definitely was not filled with water that you had overlooked while grabbing your items, “Please send me a text once you are sure everything is okay. I will remain here to watch over the cameras until the next guard arrives.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtful gesture, pressing another quick kiss to his cheek, lips lingering slightly before you forced yourself to move away

“Thank you,” you smiled, before your mouth slipped into a sly smirk, “I won’t forget this the next time we are together… I’ll have to repay you for everything, hm?” you turned to leave then, letting the robot ponder the true meaning of your words as you strutted away.

~~~

You could hear the new arrival before you could speak to him.

Aeons, his voice was so grating on the ears, his tone refined and moderately deep, but insanely unpleasant as he yelled obscenities through the communication port connecting the office in Supply Zone to any ships preparing to dock at that station. Even from the ever white and shiny metal hallways of the Space Station, you could hear his annoying voice echoing off the walls, doing nothing to help your annoyed attitude. You took a swig from your water bottle, allowing yourself a modest sip of the alcohol inside. You had to get through this interaction somehow, right?

“... and I must say! The gall of the renowned Herta’s Space Station to treat potential guests as akin to petty criminals is preposterous! For an institution dedicated to knowledge, I would expect the grace and intelligence of the security team to be able to determine friend from foe, and to allow those with the best intentions inside. To treat a guest like this! An IPC Representative! The service here is admismal!” Leonard shot you a panicked look as you walked into the security room, the voice of your oh-so-kind visitor somehow even more grating from inside the confined space. You flashed him what you hoped was a reassuring and confident smirk, striding towards the communication system as if you were born to do so.

“I must ask you, Mr. Ratio, to avoid insulting our staff. I would expect a smart man like yourself would know how to manage his words,” you spoke cooley into the microphone serving as the communication device, which was placed in front of a few monitors in the smaller security room overlooking the docking station, “My name is Y/N, I am a leading supervisor in the security department.”

“Did I ask?” was his deadpan response from the other end, “I simply want entry into the Space Station, miss Y/N, but you’re incompetent and completely unprepared coworkers have no idea how to check the identity of guests that checked in prior for visitation rights!” Clearly he wasn’t going to let up easily, a thought of which made you sigh. You cracked your knuckles in anticipation.

“Ah yes, the check in email,” you replied drily, scrolling through your phone, “An email which was sent to Ms. Asta a mere two hours ago. I assume, given your work experience Mr. Ratio, that you understand the concept of a 9 to 5 and working hours, no?” you kept your tone neutral as you spoke, though your words themselves carried enough attitude themselves.

“You-” the man on the other end seemed flustered for a moment, his end of the line going dead for a few seconds, “I am well aware of the concept of working hours! And yet, clearly given that you are hear gracing me with this oh so pleasant conversation, working hours vary. I would expect that people with your experience, Miss, would have the foresight to check an email inbox, especially concerning the arrival of potential guests.”

“You’re right, that would be expected,” you conceded, your tone still even, though the amused smirk grew on your face, “Which is exactly why all inquiries pertaining to visits and arrival times should be sent to the alternate security email address when Miss Asta is not in working hours, a fact you would have known if you had bothered to read past the first line of the automated response you must have received when you emailed Miss Asta earlier this evening.” The eyes of the security department members, or at least the few who had had been unlucky enough to have to work in the Supply Zone tonight, were glued to you as you spoke, just as you hoped Mr. Ratio was glued to his seat as he attempted to reply to your quips.

“Again, as I am sure you are aware, the use of technology in space can be fickle when travelling, especially when older vessels are not in the proximity of an electric source,” the scholar’s voice rung though as annoying as ever, though the loss of extreme exclamations in his tone was glaringly obvious, “I therefore did not receive this automated message you speak of until I arrive here and connected to your ships internal power supply.”

“Ah, so you did receive the message?” you quipped, dropping the respectfulness in your tone with this opening the scholar oh so graciously dropped at your feet, “And yet instead of sending another email to correct your mistake, you decide to harass my colleague? For a genius, your logic seems to be lacking.” You couldn’t hide the excited bite in your tone now, or the giddeness you were experiencing due to this conversation.

You hated to admit it…

This was… kinda fun. Definitely not on the level of rizzing up a robot like you had been earlier, but this conversation was clearly entertaining. What more could a woman ask for than sassing a renowned genius to release sexual tension that had built up earlier that night?

“You- you are clearly trying to-”

You didn’t let him speak, “Lucky for you, as a senior member of the security department, I have access to Lady Asta’s emails, and was able to check them after Leonard told me about the situation. Loe and behold, there I found your little check in email. I was able to confirm your identity and status after talking to a collegue, and after running a voice analysis on this call…” you paused as your fingers quickly moved over the keyboard in front of you, “I can can officially welcome you to Herta’s Space Station, Mr. Ratio. I am disabling the external security systems now… and I’ll see you on the dock shortly.” With that, you pressed a button on the keyboard, hanging up the call before leaning back into the office chair with a small sigh.

“Miss Y/N, that was awesome!” Leonard was at your side immediately, patting you on the back as a look of relief passed over his features. He watched your fingers and you quickly disabled and re-enabled the external security system to the station, allowing the passage of the ship through, “What’s that guys deal anyway? He’s such an ass!” Leonard allowed himself to collapse in the desk chair after you stood, grabbing your book and your water bottle, which you allowed yourself a triumphant sip from.

“We should know better than anyone, Leonard,” you commented, quickly moving to the door of the security room so you could rush to the docking platform, “Geniuses are fucking weird.” With that, you walked out of the room the same way you walked into it, confidently as if this was your Space Station, leaving Leonard and the researchers to gossip over the juicy call they had just listened to alone.

You’re sure Arlan would hear about this in the morning… a fact that he wouldn’t find quite as amusing as Leonard and the others. Oh well, future problems, you supposed.

The walk from the security room to the docking platform was short, a mere 50 feet or so down a ramp and across a small black platform. As you walked, steps quick but not overly rushed, you could see the ship docking in the platform, a small ramp extending from the door to allow for easy passage to the walkway below. The man inside clearly was in no rush, and was remarkably more quiet compared to your first impression of him, with no noises traveling towards you as you approached.

You didn’t exactly know what to expect as you stood at the bottom of the ramp. Considering the vast number of people hosted on the ship, each different from the last, there could be pretty much anything inside that space ship. Your only had one experience with the IPC was with that one debt collector, Topaz, who stopped by once in a while to collect loans taken out by Herta to support the massive money sink which was the Space Station. If he was anything like Topaz, you were expecting a scantally dressed man with a nice figure and a cute trotter to accompany him.

Well you weren’t too far off with two of your guesses as you watched the man of the hour finally make his appearance. The man front of you was definitely well built, your eyes scanning over his muscular arms and broad shoulders as he descended the ramp. He also was fairly scantally dressed, his Greek-esque outfit barring cut outs on the sides, showing off his toned stomach, along with his aforementioned muscular arms, one of which was completely visible.

Unfortunately, the man was not accompanied by a trotter. Instead, he wore a alabaster head over his own, blocking his face from your view.

“Well Miss Y/N, I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I always tell my students that one shouldn’t lie in a professional setting,” he stood in front of your now, having finished descending the ramp. He was a head taller than you, and his close proximity meant you were basically face to face with his stupid broad shoulders and toned chest. Maybe if you were less pissed off and the it wasn’t past midnight at this point, you would find the nerve to exchange pleasantries. However, with the alcohol loosening your inhbitions and lips, you let you true thoughts ring out.

“Can you even see through that thing?”

The lack of direct response to his taunts and the sudden change of subject were clearly not expected by the scholar, who clutched the codex he carried to his toned chest, almost as if he was recoiling from your words.

“I beg your pardon?” He spoke a moment later, as if finally snapping back to reality, he tucked the codex under one arm, allowing him to awkwardly cross his arms across his chest in a show of… defiance? Toughness? You weren’t exactly certain.

“The alabaster head, can you see through it?” you tapped on the nose of the head, as if testing the material, “seems pretty thick to me, how do you even walk around in that thing?”

He now physically recoiled from your touch, quickly yanking the alabaster head off his own and allowing it to vanish, a technique of some weapon bearers that you didn’t quite understand yourself. You concealed your surprise at the man underneath. His shoulder-length blue-purple hair framed his face almost perfectly, and the golden leaf pin adorning the top of his head brought out the gold and amber red in his eyes; the very eyes that were now narrowed and glaring at you as he too looked over your appearance, “Enough! I forbid you from touching this head, do you understand the time that went into crafting this? Or does an imbecile like you not understand the concept of art and the beauty of sculpting?”

“Given the way you’re looking at me now, I’d guess the answer to my previous question was no,” you retorted with a smirk, before sticking out a hand in greeting, “Welcome to the Space Station, Mr. Ratio.” He stared at your hand, not moving to stick out his own.

“That is Dr. Ratio to you,” he snapped, “I expect someone of your standing would understand the importance of a proper label and greeting, or do you need me to read you a list of my credentials so you can truly understand the importance?”

“Considering were already stuck together, I would hope you would refrain from making both of our evenings more unbearable,” you commented, unable to resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I would expect someone of your status to shake my hand so we can end these non-existent fake pleasantries so I can escort you to your quarters so we will both be oh so happier.”

The Doctor let out a sound the mix of a scoff and a groan, reluctantly reaching a hand out to shake yours. His grip was strong, as expected based on his figure, you supposed, as he shook your hand with all the enthusiasm he could muster, “Thank you for the oh so kind welcome.”

“Great, you’re sounding more like an IPC delegate already!” you cheered in fake enthusiasm as he released your hand, “Let’s get going then, so both of us can rest easier.” You gestured for him to follow you down the platform, turning your head and not glancing back as you did so. You were reassured he was following you based on the sound fo his footsteps, evident by the quiet supply zone given the late hour.

“I must say, when that Leonard fellow said he was contacting his supervisor, I did not expect someone like you to show up,” he commented as he followed you, his tone of voice as arrogant as ever.

“Meaning?” you rebutted, not willing to show your hand and work up a retort until you truly understood what he was getting at. You glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze briefly, his golden eyes fixed on you.

“Most higher ups in security departments are stern and unforgiving men, not some over confident zealous girl,” he expanded, spitting out the word girl as if it was some sort of insult. You didn’t bother with a reaction, somewhat used to comments of such a sort.

“Our boss, Arlan is the stern one, though he’s definitely pretty forgiving,” you shrugged, leading the man inside the security room, smirking when you caught him with a slightly frustrated expression when you look over your shoulder, “My job is to be the witty moodmaker, isn’t that right Leonard?” You let your eyes move from the scholae to Leonard, who looked up from the security cameras he was monitoring.

“Y-Yes Miss Y/N!” he stammared, flushing slightly as you smirked at him. He was quick to change his focus to the doctor beside you, “It is our pleasure to have you on the Space Station, Doctor Ratio.” The Doctor didn’t spare him a nod, only quickly glancing in his direction. Leonard’s face dropped at the lack of response, a change which angered you.

“I’m sure Mr. Ratio is thankful for the welcome,” you replied despite the indifference seen on the man beside you, “I’m sure he’s just too busy thinking of how he’s going to apologize to you, right Mr. Ratio?” you turn completely now to look the purple-haired man in the eye, tilting your head to the side innocently.

“Excuse me?” he glared at you, again crossing his arms, almost as if he was dealing with an unruly student rather than security personal on one of the most renowned Space Stations in the world.

“Oh, was that not on your mind?” you feigned ignorance, shifting your book under one arm and placing an exaggerated hand over your mouth, “my apologies, I guess I just expected for a intelligentsia guild member and delegate such as yourself to maintain pleasant relations with the station, and to apologize to those you wronged.” You let out an exaggerated sigh, looking at the other security members in the room, “I guess with the small crowd tonight, your reputation wasn’t exactly on your mind?”

He was fuming now, fists clenched at his side as he glared daggers at you. He fists remained there as he let his gaze wander from Leonard to the other security members, “I… apologize Leonard, and all of you, for letting my temper get the best of me. I suppose I am tired after my long day of travel… please forgive me.” His fists were practically shaking now, his barely-controlled anger begging to be released.

“Ah, look at that!” you exclaimed, shifting your book under your shoulder so you could place a mocking hand over your heart, “I can almost see the diplomatic relations between the IPC and the Space Station improving as we speak! Amazing! Let’s get going then, shall we?”

Leonard and the other securiy members stare at the both of you as you leave, mouths slightly agape as they watch the angry proud scholar trail after you, fists still clenched and face now red in a mix of embarrassment and anger, though he was forcing himself to take deep breaths as he went to calm his own temperament.

Arlan would definitely hear about this now…

You allowed yourself another long swig from your water bottle as you made your way through the winding silver hallways of the space station, the doctor on your heals.

“You’re breath smells like alcohol,” he stated simply, taking a few large steps so he was walking beside you, “I’ll let you know that that is the only reason I allowed you to treat me like some fool show for your co-workers. What would that Arlan fellow say if he learned you were drinking on the job?” his gaze flickered from your mouth to your water bottle, mouth crinkling in disgust.

“I was technically off work…” you glanced at your watch, “almost an hour ago at this point. Guess I’m not truly drinking on the job, hmm?” you spared a glance at the doctor, his face much less red, but his eyes angry still. You really had poked the wasps nest, huh?

“I am no fool, Miss Y/N,” he rolled his eyes, sighing in disappointment, “Based on how you are carrying your bottle, it is almost empty,” he eyed your hand, the only thing holding up the bottle being a few of your fingers clutched around the hand hold on the lid, “and based on your delayed reactions and unexplained confidence, it is clear you have been indulging in alcohol throughout the day.”

“Wow Doctor, I’m impressed,” you replied with a smirk, “I guess all the supposed titles you have aren’t only for show.” You both paused in front of the elevator, doing the best to ignore the growing tension between you to. You liked tension though, and this interaction was filling you with as much heat and excitement as your previous more steamy encounter with your robot companion earlier that evening, albeit much less pleasurable physically, the desire you had felt long ago fading away to a dull ache you would have to deal with yourself later.

“You are insufferable,” he replied, pushing in front of you to step into the elevator before you could. You rolled your eyes at that, quickly following in afterwards. You easily press the button to the floor containing the living quarters and guest rooms, cursing whoever designed the space ship for making the travel distance to them so unbearably far from your current location, “Though I must say, I am surprised a person of your intellect level is aware of Adler’s System of Ecological Classification.” Both you and the scholar’s eyes trail down to the book in your hands, a bookmark placed very close to the front cover.

“I’m not,” you said plainly, drumming your fingers against the hard cover, “I honestly don’t understand it at all. I told Adler I would try to read it so he would have someone to rant to about it.” You shrugged, looking from the book to the Doctor’s face.

“Ah, as expected, you truly are an idiot, just simply following the crowds and what people tell you to do instead of using your brain to come to your own decisions and calculations,” he sighed, as if disappointed in the outcome, “Though I don’t know what I expected from a security girl exactly. I should not have gotten my hopes up, I suppose.”

“You seem awfully sure of your abilities,” you commented offhandedly as the elevator finally reached the right floor, metal doors opening, and you and the doctor stepping out, “Interesting how this ‘security girl’ has managed to best you twice in one night. I suppose even the smartest people can be bested.”

Alone on this secluded floor, you could feel the tension building behind you, a glance in the reflection of your water bottle once again showing the Doctor clenching his fists in anger. It was kind of funny, you pondered, how someone such as him had no outlet for his emotions. Yet, the anger now was different, as if his body was a volcano on the brink of expkosion.

You heard his arm move before you saw anything.

In an instant, you let Adler’s book, the bookmark falling out of the marked pages, and your water bottle fall to floor, arm moving upwards towards your head to block the force of his codex from hitting you. Clearly surprised, the Doctor had no time to react when you turned on your heal, grabbing his wrists and slamming him into the wall beside the elevator, his muscular arms firmly held in his grasp. He attempted to wiggle free, his muscles clenching against your arms, but your grip remained solid, holding him there despite the height and size difference between your bodies.

He stared at you in shock, those golden eyes that he just loved to glare at you now wide an innocent like a childs, his lips parted slightly in shock as he blinked cluelessly at you. He almost looked beautiful then, your mind conceded, someone as stubborn as him put into his place by a woman half his size. The heat between you two was obvious, growing by the second as you held him there, staring into those pretty eyes just liked you owned them.

You had expected you would be pinning some man against the wall tonight. Though your predictions were not as exact as expected, and least the core of the guess had come true.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” your voice came out as a whisper as you held his wrists against the wall, speaking into his ear, “See, Mr. Ratio, though you may be some stupid academic genius with outstanding credentials and a stellar reputation, you clearly lack any common decency and respect.” Your breath fanned his face as you talked, “Calling me a girl, insulting the security team. You’re someone who doesn’t know their place here, so let me make that clear to you.”

You released one of his pinned arms, though his body seemed to shock to move away. You let your hand trail down his defined jaw, tilting his head downwards so he has no way to look away from your gaze. Your body felt sweaty again, hair sticking to your forehead much like it had earlier. Your love for tension, your craving for control, they were all shining through right now as you practically degraded the man in front of you.

“You have the book smarts. I have the street smarts… so next time you think about swinging that codex at me, know your place. I won’t be so merciful next time.” You let the one hand holding his wrist dig into his flesh slightly, twisting and flinching it until the Doctor winced, involuntarily letting out a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

You released his other wrist then, satisfied with your work, but he remained against the wall for a second, as if too shocked to move. You were quick to turn around, grabbing your items from the floor, before strutting away, “Come on, Mr. Ratio… Your room is this way.”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai starrail #honkai starrail x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #doctor ratio #doctor ratio x reader #screwllum #screwllum x reader

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percheduphere · 5 months

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LET’S TALK ABOUT EXPLORING LOKI & MOBIUS THROUGH THE LENS OF QUEER EXPERIENCE

Thank you for this request, @nabananab

Before I dig into this juicy ask, I think it’s important to note (however obvious the fact maybe) that an individual’s unique engagement with art is an inherent and integral part of art. The intention of the artist and the sociopolitical influence of culture, while important in our interpretation of a work, are not the sole source of drawing the work’s meaning. We are all artists in one form or another. I consider myself one of the pen, and nothing is more important to me than art giving someone a sense of emotional connection. I should hope other artists would agree, and for this reason I am an ardent believer in art taking on a life of its own once it has been created. The creator’s word, while it matters to some degree, does not supersede an individual’s relationship with the creation. Our histories, our desires, our fears, our likes, our dislikes, indeed our infiniteness as fragile human beings, allow us to create an elevated, spiritual interpretation beyond the confines of original intent. With art, there is no such thing as “reaching” or “reading too deeply”.

I leave this message with all of you as we look at these beloved characters through the lens of queer experience.

LOKI

Culture influences what we see and hear, which in turn influences artistic portrayal. Setting aside Norse myth, Marvel’s Loki is a classic example of a queer-coded villain (later canonized as a queer antihero). Deception, daggers, sexual temptation, transformation, and magic are all culturally tied to the “immoral” facets of femininity. Just as a strong, independent woman untethered to the control of man is deemed a “wicked woman”, a man demonstrating gender ambiguity and like qualities is similarly judged. Only masculinity is viewed as pure and good, and this no doubt was—and continues to be—a key force in white, western colonization’s destructiveness. It all but crushed our rich global history of divine femininity, gender diversity, and romantic and sexual expression.

Asgard, as Marvel portrays it, is without a doubt a masculine-dominant warrior society. Only two women feature prominently: Queen Frigga and Lady Sif. Whereas Sif embraces her masculine qualities and fits in easily with Thor and the Warriors Three, Queen Frigga embraces her feminine powers, though her authority is submissive to the All-Father, Odin. Her influence is most heavily seen in her adopted son, Loki, with whom she shared and taught magic in hopes that Loki might “feel some sun on himself” despite the “long shadows [Thor] and [Odin]” cast. The magic that Frigga gifts Loki, however, attracts scorn. The subtext here is that Loki’s specialness, his individuality, comes from feminine powers despite presenting as a man, and a gender ambiguous one at that. Unlike Thor and Odin, he is not masculine. While strong, he does not exhibit Thor’s brute strength. He is cautious, thoughtful, another feminine quality, whereas Thor’s courageousness often veers toward foolhardy and brash.

Thus, if Loki cannot be loved and accepted as he is (a queer person of another race), he will force love and acceptance through the power of the throne. Kings oft inspire fear, coercing subjects to love them whether they wish to or not. But we know Loki never truly wanted the throne. The throne is a mere distraction from, perhaps even a poor replacement for, what he truly wants: genuine love and acceptance that cannot be bought. Unfortunately, Loki believes he will never get these things, which is why, when Mobius questions him, Loki’s desire for control (Loki, King of the Midgard; Loki, King of the Nine Realms; Loki, King of Space) can never be satiated. Mobius challenges Loki for the exact purpose of revealing this to him. What do you really want? At this point, Loki does not have the words to form an answer. In S2E5, Syvlie raises the question Mobius originally asked in S1E1. It is then, after experiencing Mobius’s friendship and the other relationships that come to being as a result (including Sylvie’s), that Loki can articulate his answer.

Loki’s othering, even before the discovery of his true identity as a Jotun (an allegory for a villainized foreign race), creates a lonely environment in which Loki’s potential for goodness is quashed by centuries of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy. His attempts at masculinity take the form of violence, all of which are, as Loki admits in S1E1, “part of the illusion; the cruel elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Loneliness and the desire for love and acceptance are a universal human experience, but they are felt far more acutely within our intersectional queer communities.

MOBIUS

His fascination with Loki is compelling because there are many things we can infer about its reasons. The first, most obvious explanation is Mobius’s “soft spot for broken things”, which is in some ways tied to his qualities as a compassionate, forgiving, and supportive father. A secondary explanation is a wish for partnership. We know from S1 that Mobius’s friendship with Ravonna spanned eons. We later learn in S2E6 that he and Ravonna started out as peers, hunters. They were partners on the field, but where Mobius “failed” because of his humanity, Ravonna “advanced” because of her ruthlessness. This change in relational dynamics left him partner-less. Finally, a third, less obvious reason is Mobius’s desire to express himself in ways Loki does so effortlessly. That desire may come from the suppression and repression of his own softspoken queerness in order to survive the fascist culture of the TVA.

Mobius is captivating for many reasons. Whereas Loki is a textbook example of culture viewing “queerness as evil”, “queerness as flamboyance”, “queerness as stylishness”, “queerness as loudness”, “queerness as sexual promiscuity and deviance”, “queerness as chaos”, Mobius very much aligns with the image of a straight-passing, repressed queer individual. This is an identity that does not get as much attention or presence in artistic media as it deserves, for there are many who need this representation to reflect them. He is not stereotypically queer by any means: he is not colorful. He is not stylish, flamboyant, or loud. His sex appeal primarily derives from the viewers’ attraction to his personality, though it certainly helps that Owen Wilson is quite handsome.

Combine these three reasons, and it becomes easy to see how a character (or person!) like Mobius might fall in love with a character (or person!) like Loki.

There is a certain amount of beautiful irony in how Loki and Mobius affect one another and consequently their identities. Mobius, feeling compassion toward an individual who has been brutally othered and oppressed, seeks to free Loki from the confines of his narrative, as determined by the “Time Keepers”. The only feasible way to do this is to bring a variant of Loki out of the timeline and into the TVA. Mobius then provides Loki with the opportunity to change by: acknowledging Loki’s strengths, giving Loki the chance to use his strengths in productive ways, praising Loki when he does well, listening to Loki, believing in Loki, calling out Loki, and accepting Loki as he is, with all his history, without judgement. Mobius does not try to force change like Thor or Odin. Rather, he creates an environment in which change could happen naturally. This kindness and, indeed, what becomes unconditional love by the end of S1E4, allows Loki to embrace his authentic queerness with self-love and use his feminine powers for altruism rather than masking them with self-hatred and masculine rage.

FREEING LOKI

In S1E1, Mobius is enthralled with Loki’s hijinks as the handsome, charming, devil-may-care, D.B. Cooper. This minor escapade in Loki’s life, which was likely only intended for laughs by the writer, reveals something interesting about Mobius: Loki’s mischievousness, his magic, his cunning, are all quite endearing to him when no real harm is being inflicted. That is, Loki, when not under duress, is someone to be admired when he’s being himself. We admire in people what we wish we had in ourselves, and this, at times, may lead to powerful attraction.

Loki, for his part, does much the same for Mobius. The environment (the TVA) which allowed Loki to thrive is also the same environment that has abused and constrained Mobius.

The heat that Ravonna presses upon Mobius, however, changes his tone with Loki himself. When Loki asks Mobius why he “[sticks] his neck out for [him]”, Mobius provides Loki with two options to choose from: “A. He sees a scared little boy shivering in the cold, or B. He will say whatever he needs to say to get the job done”. Option A, while insulting, has compassion layered beneath the barb. Loki, an expert at cloaking truth with meanness, sees through this and indirectly chooses what he believes to be true in the cafeteria scene: that Mobius feels sympathy for Loki’s painful childhood. The subtext of this acknowledgement is that the true means to the end is reversed: Mobius doesn’t need Loki to catch the Variant on the timelines. Mobius needs the Variant to free Loki from the timelines. The Variant is an excuse and another agent of poetic irony: when Sylvie unleashes the multiverse, she literally frees Loki of his predetermined narrative.

The conceit of S1E1 is that Mobius intends to use Loki for the “good” of the Sacred Timeline. It is important to remember that characters, while not real, are meant to mirror human complexity. Multiple, seemingly conflicting things may be true concurrently. In S1E2, we see in Mobius’s conversations with Ravonna that he deeply believes in Loki’a capacity to be a wonderful person and wants him to have the opportunity to change. His enthusiasm for these things outshines his desire to catch Sylvie.

And, because the Variant is Loki, because Sylvie is Loki, because, as she says, “[they] are the same”, Mobius’s own freeing of Loki, his unconditional love for him, cascades from Loki to Sylvie. Sylvie would not be free to live as she pleases if not for Mobius’s compassion for Loki in the first place.

In S1E4, Loki reveals the TVA’s sham. Mobius’s sense of self becomes fragile alongside his sense of partnership with Loki. But because of our sociopolitical culture’s influence on capitalism, the creative voices of the Loki series self-censures what could be (what is) a queer romance. This self-censureship makes itself known in Mobius’s own self-censureship. His jealousy and heartbreak cannot be spoken directly. It must be spoken through the words of a woman, someone who presents as the opposite sex. Through a looping memory of a scornful Sif telling Loki, “You are alone and always will be”, Mobius makes known the nature of his feelings for him.

BUT WHO WILL FREE MOBIUS?

In the same cafeteria scene in S1E2, Loki asks Mobius if he’s ever ridden a jet ski. Mobius’s response is demure, saying him riding one would “cause a branch for sure”. The jet ski gives the audience another clue as to what Mobius seeks in life: something fun, thrilling, and reckless. Yet Mobius sets aside his desires for what he believes is for the good of the TVA, and thus humanity. This suppression and repression of authentic selfhood mirrors the queer experience of living within a heteronormative culture, especially one with religious doctrines that equate pleasure with sinfulness.

Because Mobius extended his heart, his partnership, his love (symbolized by twin daggers hidden in his locker [a closet]; notably a male phallic symbol of which there are a pair [partners]) and was soundly rejected, Mobius retaliates with the loneliness he himself feels. This loneliness may be interpreted as an allegory for the loneliness of being closeted as opposed to the loneliness of being out but othered.

Ultimately, Mobius’s love for Loki shifts from selfish desire to unconditional love when he chooses to help Loki save Sylvie. In S1E5, it is conspicuous that after delivering Sylvie safely to Loki’s side, Mobius’s partings words are, “Guess you got away again”, to which Loki replies, “I always do”, which echos the lover’s trope of “the one that got away”.

[It drives me absolutely bananas that I can't find the specific gif I need when I literally saw it multiple times earlier this week but didn't need it THEN]

Owen’s acting choice is interesting here. He laughs, smiles, then looks down before looking up again, his eyes shifting from fondness to what feels like longing. Mobius extends his hand, a sensible choice for someone who believes his love is unrequited and is unsure of how Loki defines their relationship. Loki, appreciating what Mobius has done for him, closes the distance with an embrace and thanks Mobius for his friendship.

In S2E1, upon Loki’s time-slipping into the war room, whatever apprehensions Mobius had about physical contact was wiped away by the collapse of the TVA and the memory of Loki’s hug. In this scene, it becomes clear to Mobius that Loki is panicking. He makes the executive decision to use his physical contact as a grounding force, relocates Loki to a quiet environment, asks after Sylvie with no bitterness in his voice, then prioritizes Loki’s physical well-being. Perhaps, in Mobius’s view, his love is unrequited, but there is nothing in place to stop him from expressing that love more freely while honoring Loki’s feelings for Sylvie. This regard, which may be construed as platonic, may also be viewed romantic, courtly love.

The fight between Loki and Sylvie in S1E6 sets the stage for Mobius to receive Loki and become a refuge for heartbreak.

S2E2 and S2E3 has Loki’s and Mobius’s temperaments when it comes to investigating flipped. In S1, Mobius was focused on the mission and often had to reign in Loki. In S2, Mobius is more casual, more willing to take his time and enjoy the sleuthing as it unfolds, while Loki administers pressure to stay focused. The question is why?

In S2E2, Brad attacks Mobius’s sense of self. He points out how weird it is that Mobius is not at all curious about looking at his timeline and stresses that the TVA, and everything in it, isn’t real. Brad calls into question Mobius’s reason for staying. Knowing that the answer is Loki, we can surmise through the queer lens that Brad also corners Mobius into potentially outing himself in front of the object of his affections, someone he believes does not return his feelings, and whose knowledge of those feelings may threaten their friendship. This is a traumatic experience for queer people in the real world, and this extra layer of emotional conflict adds depth to Mobius’s violent response.

Mobius influenced Loki in a myriad of ways. One that has not been discussed yet is an appreciation for focus and order. Loki, in turn, has cracked the door open for Mobius to explore pleasure. We can speculate that, in his own way, Mobius is testing what happiness could look like living a life between the TVA and the timelines. For him, this means cocktails at the theater, cracker jacks, and exploring the World’s Fair, all of which are pleasurable on their own but are even more so with Loki’s company. His queerness, once again, is quiet, mundane, but playful in its own right, and finally brave enough to explore. These scenes suggest that Mobius is indeed happy at the TVA and, as we see in the finale, this happiness is solely rooted in his relationship with Loki and the emotional intimacy they share together.

Loki expresses concern for Mobius, noting that he has “never seen him like that before.” Mobius, interestingly, deflects every concern by absurdly blaming Loki: “He got under your skin”, “I was following you!” The psychological undercurrent here is that Loki is the reason why Brad got under Mobius skin. Loki is the person that Mobius will follow.

Loki takes Mobius’s distress in stride, responding in a way the Mobius normally would. However, Brad’s question piques his interest, and his own care for Mobius prompts him to gently challenge Mobius’s lack of interest in his own timeline. Mobius’s reason for avoidance is, “What if it’s something good?”

In S2E5, it’s interesting that “good” in this narrative is defined as a heteronormative fantasy of a house, two kids, and (possibly) a puppy and a snake. The “good” in Mobius’s original timeline, however, is imperfect. There is a partner that is missing (partners being a recurring theme in the series, particularly in S2E3), pronounced gone not once but twice. The entire scene between Don and Loki has been discussed at length by many, so there’s no need to reiterate it here. However, let’s bring our attention to Mobius’s avoidance of this “good” because this avoidance resonates with another queer experience.

The TVA, for Mobius, is the place where he studied, saved, and developed a close relationship with Loki. The fear of the “something good” is the fear of being confronted with something Mobius “should” want more than the TVA, and therefore “should” want more Loki. The fear is wanting something (or feeling pressured to want something) other than a queer relationship with no children. The question of “choice” is impacted by what is considered the “norm”.

S2E5 very pointedly focuses on the concern of choice, especially Mobius’s choice, in the bar scene between Loki and Sylvie. “Mobius should get a choice now, no?” At this point, Loki’s regard for Mobius has finally caught up with the romantic nature of Mobius’s feelings for him. And Loki, living his own queer experience, is also afraid of his true desires like Mobius. In being part of the intersectional queer community, the psychological need to guard against disappointment is high and commonplace. Desires are easily disappointed by the expectations of oppressive social mores. This survival tactic manifests itself with our hope and heartbreak with mainstream media, Loki the series being among them.

But Sylvie, the harbinger of true and absolute freedom, takes on the role of supportive ex and challenges Loki to answer Mobius’s question in S1E1: “What do you want?”

In this, Mobius and Loki’s individual relationships with the TVA are identical. It was never about where (the TVA), when (time works differently at the TVA), or why (the timelines). It was about who. It was about each other. The TVA represents a liminal space which became home by virtue of the people who brought love into it. The TVA is code for Loki and Mobius when each speaks of it.

Again, the artists behind the media must self-censure. In this, Loki also self-censures while giving the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. I want my friends back.” It cannot be denied that Mobius is Loki’s first truest and closest friend. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Mobius back.” Sylvie appreciates and validates this desire, but also points out that showing the TVA is something that cannot be unseen. The implication of this response suggests that Sylvie believes that Loki’s friends will feel compelled to join the TVA out of moral pressure. She reiterates the true lives that are being lived, and Loki, loving his friends, loving Mobius, elects to not take that away from them. “You are just fine without the TVA.”

Yet, Loki must choose an act of profound selfless love to save everyone. In doing so, he saves and frees Mobius in the way Mobius saved and freed him. The tragedy and, once again, poetic irony is that they both would have chosen each other. In giving everyone freedom, the true freedom of Loki and Mobius is sacrificed. This double-standard reflects in our reality between those who identify as cis and heterosexual and those who do not.

When Mobius looks at his timeline in S2E6, he does so for one reason: that timeline survived because of Loki’s sacrifice. He must honor that sacrifice and see what Loki protected. Mobius appreciates what he finds, but he doesn’t belong there. It is not what he ultimately longs for. And there must be worry, shame, in recognizing he would prefer to give up the house and two children if a life with Loki were a viable choice.

We all experience loss in our lives. Loss without a goodbye is also commonplace but is another pain that is more acute within the intersectional queer community. I speak of missed opportunities for happiness due to external forces. I speak of loss of self. I speak of loss of friends and family and home. I speak of death, losing a loved one without a goodbye, because same-sex lovers are not considered next of kin, an impossibility without marriage. Marriage echoes back to Don, who has no spouse, and Mobius, who has no partner.

#asks #loki #mobius #lokius #loki season 2 #loki series #loki meta #my meta #loki analysis #my analysis #queer community #queer #queer representation #queer relationships #lgbt representation #lgbtq community #lgbtqia

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flowerandblood · 8 months

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The Pearl and the Sapphire

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, obsession, angst ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Crystal EXPO was their company's most important annual event. The Targaryen family had been trading and selling precious ores and stones for decades, supplying major jewellery houses. Companies from all over the world flocked to this festival, traders like them looking for new customers and connoisseurs of exquisite jewellery looking around for outstanding makers and their creations.

That year Otto, as the head of their company's management, was to be accompanied by Aemond. Otto insisted that Aemond should also represent the family business physically and wear a sapphire exchanger instead of the artificial eye he wore every day.

Aemond felt that he would have made himself look ridiculous and attracted widespread attention, but his grandfather said he had to put it on and stop acting like a little baby.

He was furious and frustrated, but he managed to at least take Alys with him as his assistant. With her, he was able to vent his anger in different ways like when he fucked her so hard on the hotel bed, while strangling her at her request, that he felt like he was going to pierce her stomach.

Alys loved the environment she was surrounded by. She loved his gifts, the sapphire earrings and necklaces she wore whenever she went out somewhere with him, to his satisfaction.

She was much older than him and he knew that their relation was her feeling that she could still please a younger man. Even after the first time he fucked her on the desk in his office, he had already specified to her what this acquaintance would be like.

She was to ask no questions and expect nothing from him.

This was not a relationship.

It was an exchange of mutual benefits that suited him. To her too, apparently.

His grandfather pretended not to see what was going on, nor did he say anything to his mother.

He did, however, warn him not to be a fool and fall in love, because this woman would squeeze all the money out of him. Aemond involuntarily burst out laughing at his words, his smile, however, did not reach his eye.

"Don't be ridiculous." He said with an amusement that elicited a grimace of embarrassment on his grandfather's face.

He felt a sense of satisfaction at the thought that it depended on his whim to decide what would happen to her, how many gifts and money she would get, whether she would feel beautiful or ugly, smart or stupid. She was a witty and bright woman, but not as much as she thought.

She knew how to fuck well, though, and she fulfilled his every whim without a word of objection.

Her presence was comfortable for him.

As always, there were jewellers exhibiting at the Crystal EXPO. They also often had the kind of shows where models presented their jewellery, which could then be admired up close at their big stands. These shows were often very elaborate and themed, with the audience sitting in a circle around them watching.

Aemond grew tired of these, usually boring and exaggerated, but his grandfather pressed him to go and see how their clients presented themselves and whether it was worth investing in someone new.

The Targaryen company worked most closely with the Lannisters, a company that mainly made jewellery from gold, which was their domain. Their small works of art cost crores, often reached for by big stars going on the red carpet or to some important events.

Their show was pompous and, for Aemond, downright embarrassing, baroque overkill circling his eye as models dressed in gold glittering gowns walked in front of him, the reflections from the columns of light falling on them making him have to turn his face away and close his eyelids once in a while.

In addition to them, the company that used the precious stones they bought from them were the Hightowers, who specialised in handling emeralds. Green was their dominant colour and, although the theme changed every year, this colour was their trademark.

After them it was time for the Baratheon family show. They were a small family business with centuries of tradition, specialising in making high-end jewellery reminiscent of the Victorian era.

Their works were a treat for connoisseurs, and although business-wise they had no interest in their family, Aemond had to admit that the pieces by Borros Baratheon and his son were some of the most beautiful he had ever seen.

He was surprised when the lights dimmed a little, changing to a warm colour, large vases of flowers placed all around. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and watched with interest as young models of essentially portrait beauty strolled around in exceptionally finely tailored attires from different eras, wearing jewellery that matched their colours, with calm music playing in the background that made him think of medieval royal balls.

He thought it was a very good marketing move on their part, he saw that he wasn't the only one impressed, the other guests were talking to each other about what they had seen with interest.

After a while, the music changed. It too sounded like something suitable for a court dance, however there was a much older sound. A couple emerged from the entrance dressed in renaissance costumes sewn with incredible for him details.

The attire of the young dark-haired, bearded and well-built men consisted of an elaborate black tunic over which was superimposed a chain with animal head motifs. He, however, could not take his eye off the girl who walked holding his hand.

Her gown was phenomenal, a brownish-blue, its bodice only beginning below her breasts, which were covered only by a thin white undershirt. Her buff-coloured sleeves were slit and tied with ribbons, with white fabric sticking out from underneath, he had the impression that the whole thing was made up of coloured stripes.

Around her neck hung a beautiful, delicate gold necklace of three teardrop-shaped pearls, complementing her sun-shaped earrings. Her dark hair was woven into an elegant braid, with the netting at the back of her head, characteristic of renaissance hairstyles, also interspersed with pearls.

There was something about her appearance, the way she gazed softly and warmly at the men standing before her, her barely perceptible smile, the glint in her eye, the lightness of her movement made him hold his breath.

He swallowed loudly when they suddenly began to dance, he felt as if he had been transported back in time and was in an italian renaissance mansion at a feast of one of the great princes of Florence or Milan, their movements unforced, fluid, graceful and respectful.

They made motions to the rhythm of the music moving in a circle so that everyone could see up close what they wore around their necks and hands. Only then did he see that there were beautiful rings on her tiny fingers, one of which had a sapphire wrapped in a gold leaf border.

The whole time he was looking at them his throat was squeezed, his heart pounding hard for some reason.

He wasn't sure he had ever been so enamoured of anything or anyone as he was of this young girl he had just seen before him.

Unlike the other models her facial expression was not indifferent or neutral, she was smiling all the way through as was her partner, she seemed to him to be really enjoying what she was doing.

There was something noble, at the same time proud and tender beaming from her person, something inviting, a kind of openness that by his nature was completely alien to him.

He wondered who she was.

Was she simply a model, or perhaps a dancer hired for a show?

Despite the fact that Alys was sitting next to him, he thought hard about what to do to make her end up with him that night in his bed.

He imagined how sweetly she would moan beneath him, how warm her gaze and touch would be, how much reassurance and tenderness he would have to put into caressing her body to win her trust and let him consume her.

He licked his lower lip involuntarily at the thought, Alys' voice leaning towards him snapping him out of his reverie.

"Beautiful costumes, don't you think?" She asked softly.

"Mmm." He muttered in reply, his eye did not leave her for a moment. And then suddenly it happened.

At one of their turns, as they shifted position and both turned their faces sideways from each other, she looked up at him.

He was sure their gazes met for a second and a great shudder went through him. He thought she must have seen the flash of his sapphire artificial eye and swallowed loudly at the thought.

Do it again, he thought.

Look at me again, give me assurance that this was no accident.

The music ended, there was thunderous applause all around him, he heard even Alys give her admiration in this way. He didn't clap, he looked at her intensely, playing involuntarily with his fingers extended on his armrest.

The men she was dancing with kissed her hand while saying something quickly to her, and she laughed and nodded, a lively joy on her face from which he felt discomfort.

Were they together?

And suddenly it happened again.

The men were speaking to her as they went to bow before the audience, and she froze in mid-answer when she saw his gaze from afar. She turned her head away, a microexpression of embarrassment passed across her face, through which she pressed her lips together and immediately went back to continuing her answer.

Aemond felt with shame that his thoughts were reflected in what was going on his trousers.

For all the shows that followed, he couldn't concentrate, staring blankly ahead, tense. He never looked forward to the opening banquet, finding it a tiring event that required talking to many people he hated.

This time he awaited it with eager anticipation.

When it was all over Otto told him about the shows he had enjoyed and surprisingly they appeared to have similar feelings.

"I think the Baratheons' idea was exceptionally apt and brilliantly executed. I'm sure a lot of their goods will sell out this year even before the event is over. His children did a great job at the end, you can see they are very supportive of their father every step of the way." He said with some kind of admiration, taking a sip of the coffee the waitress had literally brought him earlier. Aemond lifted his gaze at him, confused.

"What?"

Otto raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"That couple who danced at the end were his youngest daughter and only son. You can see right away, they resemble him, although this girl has more of her mother." He said lightly, but Aemond was no longer listening to him, looking dully at the coffee table in front of him.

This was not a model.

This was his daughter.

Fuck.

He pressed his lips together at the thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach.

He couldn't just fuck Borros Baratheon's youngest daughter.

"I have to say that their collection this year has made a special impression on me. I am considering whether to speak to Borros. He turned down my generous offer a few years ago, but I know he is conflicted with his current supplier. I admit that, despite our company policy, I would like to include him in our patronage. It would greatly enhance our prestige in the eyes of other clients." He said thoughtfully, and Aemond raised his eye at him. He answered him before he had time to think about what was coming out of his mouth.

"I'll talk to him." He said dryly and coldly in a tone his grandfather hated. He saw his disgruntled expression and continued, wondering in the back of his mind what he was actually doing.

"Since you haven't succeeded it's worth having someone else to try. I'll just talk to him and present him with options without any pressure." He explained quickly taking a sip of coffee between his words in an attempt to somehow alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat.

Otto pondered silently, looking at him suspiciously, his brow raised in indecision. He knew he found his behaviour strange; Aemond always took after the big shots and didn't deal with the lesser customers deeming them unworthy of attention.

After a moment, however, he nodded, letting out a quiet breath as he reached for his cup.

"Fine, but you can't insult him even if he refuses outright. Borros has an impulsive temper, but even if he is not our client we must remain on good terms with him." He said, looking at him knowingly, and Aemond nodded.

He was tense during the banquet. He tried to concentrate on what Alys was saying to him, dressed in a long, golden evening gown with a thigh-high cut-out, emphasising well her large, firm breasts which he had suckled so often, between them the sapphire necklace he had given her.

He couldn't enjoy the view, his gaze turned to the entrance all the time in suspense. He took a sip of the whisky he had ordered moments earlier to calm himself down. He nodded and answered "Mhm", swallowing hard when he saw her, she entered the room with her father and brother.

He was fascinated that she as well as her brother were still dressed in their costumes from the show, walking together arm-in-arm. He thought they were still fulfilling a marketing role for their father, there was no way they could show off his artwork better than on her long neck and fingers.

He watched as people came up to her and her family congratulating them on their success and wonderful performance, praising her dancing and her looks for sure. She looked around the room and met his gaze. She didn't look away this time.

She smiled.

So warm, friendly, light, as if they had known each other for ages, as if they had seen each other for the hundredth time.

There was comfort in that smile, some promise of solace and understanding, of peace. He felt uncomfortable and this time he looked away, taking a sip from his glass, realising how much his heart was pounding, his member betraying against his will what he thought of her.

He thought he should stop.

That he would hurt her.

He would use her, get bored and leave her.

That didn't stop him, after he'd fucked Alys in her hotel room as brutally as ever, imagining her lying beneath him, from finding her on every social media possible.

He had ghost accounts there, anonymous and without a profile picture, needed sometimes for private dealings. Now he felt like a regular stalker, but he decided he didn't give a shit.

He needed to find out more about her.

He easily found her on Facebook but, not being friends with her, he could see practically nothing. Apart from being relieved to learn that she was of legal age he found out very little. Frustrated, he tried on Instagram and pressed his lips together with a smirk seeing the hit.

Her account was very deliberate, consisting of photos of her figure, but usually backwards. There were also photos of her sewing and a whole host of historical gowns in which she herself posed.

He got curious and began to look through her photos reading the descriptions as well.

There she sometimes described her days, ideas or projects she was working on. It turned out that she designed and sewed costumes for producers of TV series and historical films at their request. Her father's money certainly helped her, but there was no denying that she had talent.

Her profile was satisfyingly aesthetic and thoughtful, dominated by blues, whites and pinks. As someone who read books on history and ancient kingdoms in his spare time, her interest seemed extremely intriguing to him. Like when she danced in her beautiful costume, he had the impression that she was transporting him skilfully to a particular era.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day, sitting at the hotel breakfast table, talking to Alys about the day's plan and where she could squeeze his meeting with Borros in, he spotted her standing by the coffee machine.

Now he no longer had a sapphire in his eye socket, but his usual prosthetic eye, which, if it were not for the long scar on half of his face, at first glance was no different from the real one. He felt more confident with this thought.

"I'll make myself a coffee." He said suddenly, rising, Alys furrowed her brow.

"I asked you if you wanted coffee when I made mine for myself." She said in surprise, but he sidestepped her and walked over to the table.

She didn't notice him at first.

She was leaning over an open box of various teas, part of her hair tied back with a blue ribbon, her body framed by a pretty, navy blue fitted strapless dress with small white flowers.

He wondered if she had sewn it herself.

Involuntarily, he reached for the free cup and set it under the machine. She twitched as she heard the clatter of dishes beside her and glanced up at him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and saw the same warm smile on her face as when he had seen her at the banquet.

"Good morning." She said softly, noncommittally, looking down at her mug again, her choice was Earl Grey.

He lowered his gaze to the coffee machine, looking at it dispassionately, pressing the double espresso button. He felt a tightening in his chest at the sound of her voice, pleasant and smooth.

"Good morning." He replied dispassionately feeling as if it was obvious from his tense face that all night he had been browsing her Instagram account, reading and looking at all her posts several times each.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she had poured two teaspoons of sugar into her cup.

For some reason this didn't surprise him.

She looked at him and he pressed his lips together feeling as if she had caught him in the act. He felt he should say something, that watching her like that for no reason was strange to say the least, and she looked at him expectantly.

He'd been thinking about her for hours, and now that she was standing in front of him, he couldn't get anything out.

She dropped her gaze and smiled slightly. He felt embarrassed at the thought that she had seen his inner struggle, that she had noticed that she had gained his interest.

He felt like a fool.

He took his cup and wanted to walk away, but her voice stopped him.

"Your sapphire eye. It's beautiful."

He looked at her in disbelief, feeling a twist in his stomach at the thought of her taking notice, of her thinking about him, his scar, the fact that he had no eye.

That he was a fucking cripple.

He wanted to see pity and sympathy in her face, something by which he could look down on her or walk away. But her face was gentle and content, her gaze warm.

She turned her head and set her cup under his automaton, taking a few steps closer to him, his nostrils struck by her floral scent.

"Who made these for you?" She deepened her question, and he watched her alertly, coolly, wondering if he should tell her.

Did he even want to go into it.

He hadn't even told Alys about it, and she was a stranger to him.

"The Hightowers." He replied cautiously after a moment. The gaze of her bright eyes lifted to him again with curiosity, her dark lashes obscuring her irises slightly.

She nodded and did not speak again, evidently thinking she had exhausted the subject. He stared at her with clenched lips, watching as her cup filled with water, the liquid beginning to colour into shades of tea.

She would be going in no time.

He will never speak to her again.

"The jewellery you were wearing at the show. Will it be possible to see it up close?" He asked dispassionately and she looked at him surprised. She nodded with a slight, contented smile.

"Yes, of course. At our stand, they will be on display along with other works of my father and brother worn yesterday by me and my sisters." She said softly, and he blinked, wrinkling his brow.

Were the other models her sisters too?

They both picked up their mugs seeing that another person had stood down in line to make their coffee and moved aside. He looked down at her and only then was struck by the height difference between them.

She was so petite.

So gentle.

It seemed to him that her skin must have been softer than velvet.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"See you later." She said lightly and he nodded practically invisibly.

She walked away towards the table where the rest of her family was already seated, and he swallowed loudly, only now feeling his throat dry up, his heart pounding like mad.

Their exchange had lasted less than three minutes and he was in a complete muddle. He returned to his table, Alys' gaze betraying that she had noticed their conversation.

"Are you being chatted up by little girls? I think she likes you." She said feigning indifference, the amusement in her voice on the edge of mockery from which he threw her a warning glance.

"What is your problem? Is menopause slowly getting to you?" He asked coolly and ironically, he didn't even have to look at her to notice how she froze.

Their age difference was the cause of her biggest complexes even though she pretended it didn't matter. He saw how she chose her make-up to cover the wrinkles that were appearing, how she chose her dresses and outfits to make her breasts distract from her neck.

Whenever she frustrated him, whenever she crossed the line he had set for her, he showed her no mercy. He knew she clung to him to make herself feel better, to have the satisfaction of keeping a young, rich, high-powered men with her to boast about.

She swallowed his words with difficulty, taking a bite of her sandwich, her cheeks red with rage and shame.

"I see she's carried you out of balance." She said inadvertently, and he set his cup down with a loud clack on the table, standing up, a cool displeasure mixed with a kind of disgust on his face.

"Send me my schedule to my email." He said and moved ahead without even turning around.

Stupid bitch.

Despite meeting clients and strolling around the stands with his grandfather, he kept looking around him nervously wondering if he would see her again.

Their conversation this morning had brought him out of his thoughts. He felt ashamed at the memory of not being able to get anything out of him, silent like a complete idiot.

When they reached their stand he was tense. He spotted her immediately, she was discussing something with some older woman showing her one of the rich ruby necklaces.

He thought he could reward her for how good and gentle she was, for the way she affected him, that when he looked at her he felt a tickling in his fingertips.

He thought he would love to visit her in her room and kneel between her thighs, see if she tasted there as sweet as she smiled.

He would drive her crazy just as she did him.

He didn't understand what was happening to him.

Why this desperation, this rush.

He stood with his hands folded behind his back looking at the showcases of rich, almost regal jewellery created with such detail that he had to consider them little works of art.

He glanced at her nervously, heard her brother with whom she had danced the day before mention her and say something to her quickly. She answered him something and he nodded. He froze when he saw that she had moved towards him, the warmth and contentment on her face.

"Come with me." She said softly as she walked past him. His legs spontaneously moved behind her.

They entered a dark small room in the middle of which stood a large illuminated table, on which lay her pearl necklace, earrings, apart form that tiaras, rings and a few other things decorated with sapphires.

She prepared a whole display for him.

"I heard that you wanted to talk to my father. He sent me away to discuss the matter with you." She said with surprising lightness as she walked around the table, looking at its contents thoughtfully.

He looked at her from a distance disbelieving what he had heard.

Was he supposed to set possible business terms with her?

The girl looked at him apparently anticipating his answer, but seeing his reaction she laughed heartily.

"Believe me, you'd rather talk to me than my father." She said amused.

His gaze escaped to the table and for a moment he wondered if they would be very audible if he sat her on it, slipped her panties off and started fucking her.

Would he have to press his mouth against her full, pink lips to silence her mewling as he stretched her tight, hot walls with his cock again and again.

He grunted, wondering what was happening to him, how he could think about such things right now.

"We'll talk on my terms." He said cooler than he wanted it to sound. He lifted a look of tension to her and met her uncertain, surprised gaze.

She waited to see what he would say.

"Tonight at 7 p.m. You, me, wine and a hotel restaurant."

_____

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returnsandreturns · 7 months

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i was expecting this doctor who rewatch to just be light background noise but i'm on s4 and just screamed, "THE MOST IMPORTANT WOMAN IN ALL OF CREATION," to my empty apartment at midnight while actually sobbing so maybe not. i would commit a murder for donna noble and i'm being so normal about that.

#i was just going to watch the tennant ones but i might keep going #or loop back to nine first #doctor who

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megyulmi · 18 days

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➠ Sukuna, the ‘shunned’ child and the demonisation and worship of ‘unwanted’ children in Japanese folklore:

[long read. trigger warning: referenced folktales and practices depict themes of infanticide, religious rituals and child exorcism, demonisation and worship of children, ableism, suicide, implied sa, and period-typical outdated social views. they are not a representation of my personal beliefs. please read with caution.]

New revelations of Sukuna’s past in Chapter 257 made me look deeper into some of the tales and customs from Japanese folklore about children deemed ‘abominable’ in the eyes of society that I had previously noted down and I decided to share as I think they could offer a better insight into Sukuna as a character and what might have inspired Akutami Gege’s depiction of him.

It would be better to start with a bit of the social background of Japanese folklore. I will use the Emishi (an ancient ethnic group of people who lived in parts of Honshū, especially in the Tōhoku region) as an example, the oral tales of whom later blended with Shintō and Buddhist religious concepts and heavily influenced Japanese folklore. It is believed that many of their tales were shaped by the region’s difficult history of natural disasters, famines, and geographic isolation. In the Tōhoku region, infanticide was sometimes used as a form of ‘birth control’ due to repeated famines. The bodies of ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in rivers or lakes.

Another important source of such folklore is the city of Tōno in Iwate prefecture, known particularly for Kappa, tales of which could offer a good basis for the beginning of my intended analysis.

Kappa, a green, amphibious, child-like creature with a yellow beak for a mouth and a turtle shell on its back is one of the most popular Yōkai from Japanese folklore. Some researchers say that the darker aspects of Kappa tales in Tōhoku may be an echo of the region’s tragic history of famines and the high rates of infant mortality caused by a harsh climate, natural disasters, and the tax system that was paid in rice. Similarly, many people in Tōno (which is part of the Tōhoku region) believe that tragic history is one of the origins of the stories of Kappa. The Kappa of Tōno specifically are said to be red in colour rather than green, which may allude to the Japanese word for infant - akachan, which derives from aka, the word for red. From this perspective, Kappa are creatures born out of social challenges and disasters. They may not seem all too relevant to Sukuna, but the need to mention them will come up in the later part.

Moving on, at the beginning I mentioned that ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in the rivers and lakes, which is also found in the Japanese creation myth. I discussed the variations of the myth in this post about Sukuna previously (you do not need to read it for the moment, but please note that it has many variations), but somehow I did not mention their first ‘inadequate’ child. According to the myth, before they had Kagutsuchi, Izanagi and Izanami had a child as a result of their first attempt at a union, but the child, known as Hiruko (‘Leech Child’), was born deformed. The mistake was attributed to a ritual error on the part of Izanami, who, as a woman, should never have spoken first (i.e. initiated the union). Considering the child inadequate for a diety, they set him adrift in a boat in hopes he would die at the sea. This myth reflects how women and children who were born ‘different’ or seen unable to serve their ‘purpose’ were treated.

Continuing from the myth, Chapter 257 made me think of the tale of Katako, in which the protagonist is born half-human and half-oni. What is Sukuna’s true nature we cannot know for certain. We know he was a human once, but we do not know enough of his past to assume if there was more to him (how and why he as a human might have come to be called the King of Curses will be explained in the later part), but the tale still has the potential to give us insight into Sukuna and his mother’s relationship. The tale has various versions with different endings, but it generally could be summarised as follows:

[A long time ago, a man encountered a man-eating ogre (from here on referred to as oni) while working in the field. He told the oni how much he loved mochi (rice cake), jokingly adding that he could even trade his wife for it. Taking his casual banter seriously, the oni treated him to mochi. The man ate his favourite food to his fill and happily went home only to find that the oni had taken his wife in exchange for the treat. The man searched everywhere and finally found his wife on the island where the oni lived. The man and his wife managed to come back home with Katako (meaning ‘Half-Child’), a child born of his wife and the oni on the island. However, Katako was always ostracised by his human peers (in another version, it is said that he had an insatiable appetite for eating humans). At ten years old, tired of being ridiculed, he asked his mother ‘to cut the oni part of him into pieces’ when he died, and then committed suicide.]

In the tale, Katako’s relationship with his mother seems to be of trust. He is cast out of society by humans and despite his mother being one as well, he does not harbour hate for her, he trusts her enough to leave his final wish upon her. We do not know much about Sukuna’s relationship with his mother, but the manner he referred to her in the last chapter makes it seem that he also harbours no hostility toward her. This tale also shows how children deemed ‘different’ were treated.

In past ages, children, being considered closer to the gods and the Other World, also played the part of intermediary between humans and the gods in Japanese society. This task of mediation between two separate worlds fell to them because they were regarded as incomplete persons (until the age of seven it was considered uncertain whether they would live or return to the Other World: a belief related to the challenges indicated at the beginning). While considered sacred beings different in nature from adults, they were at the same time looked down upon and referred to as kodomo (where ~domo has a negative/belittling connotation), gaki (hungry ghost or demon; brat), or jari (lit. gravel).

Back in the day, people referred to the killing off of ‘unwanted children’ (mabiki or ‘culling’, a common old slang for infanticide) as ‘sending a child back’, and a dead child was given a special non-Buddhist funeral. The various rituals surrounding birth and the child’s upbringing were intended, through communication with the Other World, to transform the child into an earthly being. This aspect of the ritual made me think of Sukuna’s mask and how that part of his face resembles a burn scar (note: i am aware the nature of his ‘mask’ is still not clear and whether it is really one) in some of the official illustrations. It is known that rituals of purification included fire and water magic. Exorcism of demons, aversion of disasters, and other rituals for the removal of pollution were frequent. A katashiro (paper cut in the shape of a man) symbolising the disaster would be burned or floated down the river as well. Personally, I see the possibility of Sukuna’s scar (if it really happens to be one) being from one of such rituals.

Continuing, there is a term - Goryō used to refer to the spirits of those who had died violently (e.g. by murder or execution) and have become gods. It also included those who had died untimely deaths and therefore had been unable to fulfil their purpose in this world. Some notable gods such as Hachiman, Tenjin, and Tenno were once considered powerful Goryō. Great natural disasters and social unrest were attributed to them; rituals designed to appease them were performed, and a cult of such worship evolved. It was (usually) as a result of belief in Goryō that particular individuals came to be worshipped as gods. At times when public unrest threatened the social order, elements estranged or excluded from the ‘normal system/order’ were assigned the status of Goryō and worshipped as such. The cult was intended to purify and renew society. Manga has given us a similar glimpse of Sukuna’s past, where despite being feared (and despised), people were ready to serve him (and pray in his name) for their own well-being. I think Akutami intended to echo this very aspect of society through the scene.

I mentioned that children were considered closer to the gods and the Other World, but not all children were treated equally. One version of the origin of Kamadogami in the Tōhoku region is that he was an ‘ugly child’ from the Dragon Palace who had been killed and was thereafter worshipped at household hearths. Zashikiwarashi, who often inhabits old houses and is said to bring good fortune while he remains, is another household god in the shape of a child or, in another version, the spirit of an unwanted child who, having been killed off, became the guardian god of houses. I mentioned Hiruko at the beginning as well, who was set afloat on the boat in the sea. Despite that, he is in some Shintō shrines identified with Ebisu, the patron of fishermen and tradesmen. Their worship was for the purposes indicated in the previous abstract, to avoid their wrath. Sukuna has not been ‘killed off’ like these children were, but such worship shows us the general psyche of the public.

I indicated that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated similarly in the previous part. The character Dō of Dōji (童子, meaning child) once meant ‘slave’, tattooed on the forehead, and was closely linked to notions of personal status. It signified one who was not a complete person and also one who had not yet been initiated, in other words, one who did not belong to the order of this world, one who was in this world but not of it. They were despised, feared, and avoided by ordinary people for their strange appearance and magical powers. In some cases they even formed separate ‘child’ villages (dōji mura), calling themselves ‘descendants of oni (demons)’. Since they played the role of demons during the rituals, they were shunned by the nobility as if they were real demons. Could this somehow connect to Sukuna’s title? I do believe there is a possibility this could have inspired his being as the King of Curses.

The ‘ugly child’ who appears in the story of the origin of Kamadogami has parallels in Yokenai, Untoku, Hyotoku, and Hanatarekozo, children who brought good fortune and prosperity to the house in return for offerings to the Watery World of kadomatsu (pine-branch gate decorations for the New Year) and firewood. But despite that, their ‘ugliness’ and names were used as an indication that these children did not belong to this world. It is important to note that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated in the same manner (here is where the point connects to Sukuna, continued from the next part in depth). Such children were often associated with the colour red. For example, Zashikiwarashi is described as red-haired and red-faced. Kintaro, Shutendoji, and other children born in unusual circumstances (but may not have been considered an ‘ugly child’) and brought up in the mountain wilderness are also said to have had red bodies and were endowed with superhuman strength. I also mentioned that Kappa from Tōno were depicted as red. We see Sukuna often associated with the colour red, particularly, his eyes are red. I believe the above-mentioned could be the reason for that.

Personally, what we know of Sukuna and his past seems to echo these folktales and practices as the foundation of his character. He was a ‘Demon’ for being an ‘abominable’ child, but he was worshipped for this same reason as well. Whether he was born that way after eating his twin in the womb or something happened to him later in life cannot be known yet, but it is clear his ‘abominable’ appearance could have warranted the same treatment from society. It could also explain Kenjaku’s ‘fascination’ with him as a being. We do not know what relationship they had or how exactly they came to know each other, but there is clearly a reason why a being such as Sukuna would ‘work’ with them. We do not know much about Kenjaku either, but it could be possible that they (Kenjaku) once were either (1) one of those ‘priests’ who performed exorcism to purify ‘demon’ children or (2) someone who offered such children refuge (perhaps and more likely, for their own personal gain). It would also relate to the variations of Ryomen Sukuna’s story that inspired Akutami Gege.

[Disclaimer: This post does not intend to demonise Shintoism or Buddhism, but to tell folklore and practices for analytical purposes. Additionally, English is not my native language and this is only a personal interpretation as just another reader that I am sharing in case someone finds it interesting or can use the information for better analysis.]

#oh. ha. guess who zoned out and ended up with this huge info dump.#if anyone actually reads this i will be shocked.#this is probably the last one on sukuna. (watch me change my mind when something new is revealed next chapterㅋㅎ)#jjk #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #jjk spoilers #jjk analysis #jjk meta #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #(which one is the actually used tagㅋㅎ)

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