#AND THAT SHAME HAS NO PLACE WHEN YOU CARE FOR SOMEONE. ITS ABOUT SACRIFICE ITS ABOUT DEDICATING YOURSELF FULLY TO A TASK. ITS ABOUT

[villruu]

I am being so normal :) <-[writing the most self indulgent jam one shot ever]

[ryin-silverfish]

Heart and Mind: An Analysis of Tripitaka

I've been wanting to write this since…since I came across some good ol' Tripitaka discourse in the LMK fandom ages ago. Couldn't remember the specifics, but as y'all probably know, it falls under the "Is him an abusive master" and people's strongly worded retort to that question.

On one hand, I dislike the "abusive" take because so often, it is an excuse to reduce a character to an 2D caricature for cheap angst purposes, and both JTTW and its historical context deserve more nuances than that.

On the other hand, I don't agree with some of the defenses either——that Tripitaka is Kind and Wise and The Virtuous Monk, Actually, and people who said otherwise just had their views colored by adaptations, or were ignorant westerners misreading the book.

Because trust me, Chinese readers absolutely have gripes with Tripitaka too, and sass him mercilessly.

We may have a better idea of the historical context, namely, the common usage and acceptance of corporal punishments, but quite a few of us don't think he's a good Buddhist either.

Instead, I'd like to focus on his allegorical role, and how it ultimately forms the basis for my interpretation of his character.

It is commonly acknowledged that each pilgrim represent an aspect of the enlightenment seeker: Monkey is the Mind, Dragon Horse the Will, Pigsy the Desire, Sandy the Determination/Ideation.

Tripitaka is either the enlightenment seeker as a human, or the Heart, the Compassion.

But how can someone represent Compassion when his behaviors don't look all that compassionate, when he seems to care more about what a good Buddhist looks like on paper than in spirit?

How can a compassionate man punish his disciple with a migraine spell and disown him twice, be okay with some violence but not others?

Well, to answer that question, I feel like you have to look at Tripitaka in conjunction with SWK, and what the monkey represents. He is literally the Mind Monkey, the boundless potential of human intellect, and that, by itself, is neutral.

In the word of one of the best poems in JTTW:

"He could be good; he could be bad; present good and evil he could do at will. He'd be an immortal, a Buddha, if he's good; wickedness would cloak him with hair and horn."

To put it simply, SWK is one's wits, one's problem-solving skills, the ability to discern good and evil on a cognitive level.

Whenever Tripitaka, the Compassion, is deceived, it falls to the Mind to see the opponents as they are, and take action to protect the human from harm.

But just as blind compassion without judgement can be exploited by evil, the reverse is true for a mind without compassion, driven solely by their own ambition and whims and practical knowledge.

The Mind knows that robbery is a crime, so these robbers deserve death, but has no idea how disturbing it is for a regular guy to witness six people being brutally murdered in front of him.

The Mind knows that abandoning your wife and family to become a bandit is shameful and unfilial, but cannot comprehend why the bandit's father may not want his son killed for these offenses.

The Mind knows right and wrong, but has trouble seeing the human behind those acts, and why one should care in the first place.

And to see what the Mind looks like without any of Compassion's restraint, one needs to look no further than SWK's "Second Mind", the Six-eared Macaque.

Just like how "Heart" sounds like a lame power for a character, Compassion isn't flashy, nor as useful in a strictly ultilitarian sense. In fact, having compassion makes you vulnerable. It hurts. And unscrupulous people will absolutely use it against you.

So why hold onto your weakness and wallow in it? The world doesn't need another sanctimonious wuss, it needs strong, clever people making hard sacrifices, ruthless, logical decisions! Tough up! Stop caring, and you'll never be hurt again!

Much like a certain crowd who think basic human decency is somehow political propaganda, perhaps, when SEM struck Tripitaka, he was trying to do the same thing.

Kill the embodiment of compassion, the sniveling, useless, fragile human that keeps holding SWK back. Replace him as the true Mind, the one strong enough to break all bonds and seize glory with his own two hands.

But without compassion, without humanity, one is no longer a whole person, and cannot reach enlightenment. In fact, just like how Buddha would only give the True Scripture to Tripitaka, if you are not brave enough to make yourself vulnerable, to suffer and feel other's suffering, you will never transcend it.

At best, you can have some pale imitations of the parts you have willingly shut out from yourself.

And that's what SEM does. He thought he could do it on his own, singlehandedly replace SWK and reap the benefits of enlightenment, but he is no Monkey Awakened to Emptiness.

He is just empty; cut off desires because it is base, cut off determined ideation because it is foolish, cut off compassion because it is weak, cut off the altruism and curiosity and creativity from the mind, and you are left with a grand total of NOTHING.

A shadow of a self, desperately clinging onto external validation and stolen stories, reading the pilgrim's travel paperwork out loud as if that would actually make the journey his.

Tripitaka needs to trust SWK and learn from him, because compassion, much like good intention, doesn't solve problems on its own, and mercy is not the same as enabling harm.

SWK needs his master's guidance, because even at his most selfish and impulsive, he cares, and only by extending that care to others and accepting the vulnerability that comes with it can he truly mature and become awakened to the ultimate truth.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

One last bit of ramble: I feel like there is something to be said about Tripitaka's tendency to trust Pigsy, and how the pursuit of enlightenment is often derailed by worldly desires.

Unlike the demons they encountered, however, Pigsy is not the personification of mental obstacles that must be destroyed, because you cannot destroy bodily needs, nor the very human tendencies to slack off and avoid trouble.

You should stop listening to its advice, sure. Poke fun at it, absolutely. But what Pigsy represents is part of the human condition, just like every other pilgrim, and also something one must make peace with.

[thewizardprincessau]

The Lover pauses, leaning on the curtain to stare at the princess in bemusement. “..Pardon?”

“Huh?” The princess seems confused at their own earlier statement and shakes their head as if trying to retract it. “What did I say? Ah, I didn’t mean to.. I mean, I meant it, but not like that–?! Er..” They draw their legs closer to themself and place a hand on their face in shame.

“You just..” they gesticulate awkwardly, gazing at the town so far below them. “...look.. Really happy. Talking about him, your.. Life. Together..” They let out a strained laugh as they gesture outwards with their hands. “Then– Marriage? Me? Hah, that’s… well, you did it, right? Against all odds. And– congratulations, by the way. Have I said that yet? It’s just.. ahh, you’re not me, so.. Well, you are.. um…”

The Lover lets out a small hum listening to the poor princess spiral into their own thoughts. “You’re only 24, darling. It isn’t impossible. A lot can happen in six years, you know.”

The princess brings their hands down to wring them together absentmindedly, not sure how to retort that. “I.. suppose that’s true…”

The two sit together in heavy silence. The Lover watches as the princess fidgets with their scarred hands, and they think about what made them so similar that The Lover couldn’t help but feel their heart ache for the young royal. Here they were, a dancer and a princess both doomed to eternal hunger. They’ve lived their lives under public scrutiny, flowing through society with expertly crafted words and smiles. But while they themself never lost hope for love, the princess seems to already be resigned to their loveless fate. Something about that frustrates The Lover, but they don’t let it show.

But who could blame the princess, really? When you know destiny has fated you with someone across worlds, how could you ever love another? Who could say that the two will even meet in this life? Will they just have to watch this poor royal force themself into a union they don’t want? To appease this world that’s done nothing but hurt them? Perhaps that was what they were trying to communicate earlier. What a damning predicament. As romantic as the premise of having a “soulmate” is, being hyper-aware of the fact is extremely soul-crushing. And not knowing where they are, or if you'll ever even cross paths.. no, it pains them too much to think about.

The princess pipes up again, soft enough that The Lover would have missed it if they weren’t staring at their pitiful solemn face. “It’d just be nice to, to.. To look like you. One day. Maybe.”

The Lover directs their gaze to the kingdom below them. Little lights pour out of little houses, sheltering the little people the princess has devoted their life to. They don’t quite understand their altruism; of course, it is their responsibility to care for their subjects, but to this extent? To permanently scar the only body they have, to sacrifice their happiness for a world that doesn’t care? There’s a twitch in their heart. A strange melancholic understanding that gnaws at their chest, leaving a gaping nothing and everything in its place.

Be selfish, just this once, they want to beg. But they sigh instead.

“You live in the reality you choose to create, princess.”

“The one I choose to create..” 

That seems to have struck a chord with them. Their face lights up a bit as they start to sit with better posture, the way they’re about to open their mouth indicating another flood of excited rambles and ideas to come. The Lover exhales a breath through their nose, endeared by how easily the princess jumps from one thought to another. 

“Do you think I’ll ever meet him?”

“I hope so.”

“Ooh, what if he’s actually a noble, too! That would be perfect, huh?”

“It would be.”

“What do you think he’ll be like? Nice, sweet..”

The Lover fidgets with their locket. “He always is.”

“Always? Really?” The princess smiles brightly, pressing a hand to their chest. “Then I’ll be even sweeter! To sweep him off his feet! Do you think he’ll like that?”

“Being swept off your feet by a princess would be anyone’s dream, dear. Noble or not.”

“Ahh, that’s true, isn’t it…” A bashfulness overcomes the princess’ face as they rest some fingers on their cheek, getting lost in their own daydreams. The Lover can’t help the gentle smile that spreads across their face seeing the princess’ mood improve. They’ve had strange bouts of sadness and doubt before, but The Lover was never the one around to deal with those. It felt strangely comforting to have been the one to catch them tonight. They don’t mean to degrade the other inhabitants of the princess’ mind, but they really are the most well-equipped to be able to handle this topic. They’re dressed like this for a reason, right?

They’re snapped out of their thoughts when they see the princess smiling at them silently. Did they start making some kind of embarrassing face? How humiliating.. They’re about to avoid their gaze when they notice just how the princess is staring at them. They’re still lost in their own head, taking in the appearance of this alternate version of themself in full. Admiring the little details of their gown, watching the way their veil flows in the evening wind, trying to catch a glimpse of the ring on The Lover’s obscured hand. Their earlier smile fades into a more neutral, contemplative expression. There was a lot going on in their head, The Lover could tell. They’re used to dealing with and easing a busy mind; they married one, after all. But what do you do when the mind is so much like your own?

The Lover reaches their left hand out to them, and the princess takes it without thought. They can feel every nick and scar on the royal’s hand, the same roughness in their palms meeting. The princess looks to be deep in thought, watching their joined hands without making a single sound as one of their fingers rests on the gold ring on The Lover’s finger. They slowly trace over its smallest of details with a somber, yearning, yet hopeful look in their eyes. Without uttering a single word, The Lover understands the princess.

Breaking from the contact, The Lover brings another hand up to slide the ring off their finger, placing it in the princess’ still open palm. They gaze up at them, caring eyes meeting confused ones. They gently push the royal’s fingers inward, securing the jewelry in their closed hand. They can feel the princess tightening their grip on it ever so slightly as The Lover encases their hand in both of theirs delicately. The words that fall out of their mouth do so without second thought, but they mean every word of it.

“Please.. Never give up on your own happiness, too.”

And the princess wakes up alone, in bed, and with a curled fist.

[fanby-fckry]

I have decided that Niffty is a Gemini.

I’m not all that interested in astrology irl – at least not star signs – but it’s a fun way to assign birthdays, and I need one for an upcoming fic.

I originally tried taking this test from her perspective, but it didn’t give me results that matched up with my portrayal of her.

Wound up just googling the signs and manually assigning her one.

Used one site (allure) because I’m not doing a deep dive on Zodiacs for what is essentially a throwaway reference. Here are some choice quotes, and how they relate to my version of Niffty:

Content Warning: animal death/cruelty in the form of Niffty-typical pest control

Have you ever been so busy that you wished you could clone yourself just to get everything done? That's the Gemini experience in a nutshell. Spontaneous, playful, and adorably erratic, Gemini is driven by its insatiable curiosity.

I think that one’s pretty self-explanatory. If I had to pick two words to describe Niffty, “adorably erratic,” sums her up pretty well.

Because of Geminis' intrinsic duality, they're often falsely misrepresented as two-faced. In reality, however, Gemini rarely has a hidden agenda.

I write mostly pilot!Niffty, mixed with headcanons and some series canon. So, 50’s housewife who genuinely takes pride in her role, practices manners, considers herself to be ladylike, throws herself into cooking, cleaning, and mending, has an idealized and black and white version of romance and womanhood and very much holds herself – though not necessarily others – to that very high standard.

And also the woman who takes immense pleasure in stabbing pests, writes smutty RPF fanfic for people she personally knows, keeps collections of people’s hair/fluff, and summoned a demon using animal sacrifices on multiple occasions.

She’s not intentionally two-faced, but she does very much have two conflicting sides to her personality, which she holds in equal measure.

These hyperactive air signs have short attention spans and are most satisfied when they can move fluidly from one idea to the next.

I’ve seen Niffty described as “OCD” before, but I’m not sure if there’s anything to that besides the armchair psych, ‘cleaning = OCD’ thing.

However, as someone with ADHD, I can definitely see some aspects of hyperactivity and attention deficit in her. Specifically, the fact that she seems to become hyperfocused on tasks like cleaning, but is easily distracted in other contexts.

She basically narrates her train of thought on the pilot: *polite and enthusiastic introduction* (manners first) -> It’s been a while since I made new friends -> -> *notices everyone but Alastor is fem-presenting and thinks they’re all women* -> Why are you all women? -> (I like men best) Aren’t there any men here? -> *physically lifts Charlie in search of men* -> *remembers manners* -> I’m sorry, that was rude -> *gets distracted by mess* -> Oh man, this place is filthy! It could really use a lady’s touch -> *remembers that she has (mistakenly) identified all of the hotel’s occupants as women* -> Which is weird because you’re all ladies offense (manners) -> *remembers mess* -> *hyperfixates on cleaning*

Honestly, the Niffty ADHD headcanon should probably be its own post. Moving on!

Gemini expresses emotions externally

Communication is paramount for them, and they require fluent streams of transmission.

*gestures to aforementioned inner-turned-outer monologue*

She’s a lot quieter in the series, but she does still butt into conversations she wasn’t previously a part of with usually irrelevant commentary.

In fact, the act of expression is often even more important to loquacious Gemini than what is actually being said

Just… everything she says in the series.

Another incredible Gemini quality, however, is that these natural chameleons can quickly recover from even the most shameful foot-in-mouth moments. Gemini moves too fast to care about embarrassing missteps: They simply move on.

A quick apology or a “no offense” is all it takes Niffty to move past most social faux pas, and most criticism seem to just bounce off of her.

So yeah. Gemini!Niffty.

[theogonies]

Sacrifices

prompt | koala x g/n!reader + christmas caroling

summary | dating a member of the revolutionary army has its challenges--but you're determined to show koala that she's worth it.

word count | 1.3k

content warnings | n/a, just sfw fluff!

winter holiday event masterpost

“I’m not so sure about this,” Koala worries. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“It’s okay,” you promise, wrapping your arm around her shoulders protectively. “We’ll blend right in with the rest of the group. That’s the fun of caroling, nobody is paying attention to you alone.”

“But what if someone recognizes me anyway? The whole thing will be ruined for everyone.”

It was only recently that Koala came clean to you about the full truth of her identity as a member of the Revolutionary Army. She’d seemed so nervous, as if you’d judge her for it, but if anything, it made you love her more.

Still, even though you understand the reason for her long absences now, it’s not often that you get to spend the holidays together, so it feels important to make tonight special. When you saw a poster outside the local tavern advertising a night of caroling, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for a date night–you just hadn’t predicted the extent of her concerns about being recognized as a Revolutionary.

“We can go home if you really want to,” you agree, “but I really do think we’ll be safe tonight. The Marines have other things on their minds this time of year, and besides, we’ll just be part of the crowd.”

“I hope so,” Koala says, but she still seems a little unconvinced.

Her cheeks and nose are flushed pink from the cold–and suddenly, an idea strikes you. You tug off your scarf to wrap it around her neck and loop it over the top of her head, hiding most of her face and shielding her hair from the frost.

“Better?”

She bends over to briefly inspect her appearance in a shop window. When she turns back to face you, you can tell by the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes that she’s happy.

“Mhm,” she says, wrapping her arms around you to nestle against your chest. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble for the things I do.”

“I can take care of myself,” you reassure her. “Besides, it’s not fair for you to have to hide all the time, if it keeps you from doing things that make you happy.”

She sighs, a little puff of warm air against your now exposed skin. “Those are the little sacrifices we have to make.”

You want to tell Koala that’s not true, and that she deserves to let her guard down and relax as much as anyone else does. But the conductor at the head of the small crowd is stirring into motion now, so maybe it would be better to show her instead.

Koala glances up at you nervously as she pulls away, taking her place beside you in the cluster of carolers as you begin to sing. She’s quiet at first, but once your group has made it through the first couple of songs, you can begin to pick out her voice from the crowd as she gains confidence.

It’s not surprising, really; at least for as long as you’ve known her, Koala has been a little bit of a performer. She just worries about drawing attention to herself in public.

But here, with the group all around you, she’s free to let the melody carry her though. It feels like a privilege, standing close enough to make out the rises and falls of her voice as she sings. Eventually her eyes drift closed, a soft smile on her face as she immerses herself in the sound of the music.

After a while, snow begins to fall again, frosting the tips of Koala’s eyelashes in flecks of white. At one point, your group takes a break between songs, and Koala takes your hand in hers and tugs the scarf lower so it isn’t muffling her voice.

“Thank you,” she whispers just before the start of the next song, pulling you a little closer to keep the both of you warm.

The cold is starting to feel more bitter with every passing moment, though, and it’s no small wonder that eventually, your little group starts to dissipate. It feels like a shame to distract Koala, so you just listen as she sings, her voice growing a little clearer with each caroller that leaves until there are just a few of you left.

You’re the first one to notice the marine.

He’s watching from the corner across the street, and it’s hard to make out his expression through the increasingly heavy snowfall, so for a moment, you have hope that he’s just listening to your little group’s carols. But then he lifts a mini-Den Den Mushi to his lips and says something into the receiver, so you surreptitiously elbow Koala, glancing in the marine’s direction.

She catches on instantly; another perk of her training as a spy, or of how well you know each other.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, lacing her fingers between your own. “I’ve done this a million times. Just follow my lead.”

And then she’s tugging you down a back alley, her brows furrowing as she focuses on the path ahead of you. You glance behind you once to see the marine hot on your heels, completely ignoring the rest of the carollers.

“Stop!” he calls out to you as you vanish between the buildings on either side. “You’re under arrest for criminal association with the Revolutionary Army!”

Koala looks back over her shoulder at the marine just long enough to stick her tongue out before she’s leading you down a winding path of side-streets and alleyways. You can tell by her gait that she could move faster on her own, but she’s intentionally slowing herself just enough for you to keep up. She moves so confidently, too, even across the icy ground.

Eventually, she tugs you into a nook beneath the eaves of a shop, just out of sight from the main road.

“I think–” she pants, catching her breath. “I think we lost him. We should be safe here.”

It takes a second to collect your thoughts, but as soon as you do, you can feel your cheeks heat with a wave of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning back against the wall behind you. “That was my fault. I should’ve listened when you–”

“Don’t be.” Koala interrupts you and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Don’t lie, it was a little fun leaving that pig in the dust, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you say glumly. “It’s just… I wanted to prove to you that you could have some fun once in a while without putting yourself in danger, and instead I nearly got you caught.”

Koala scoffs and takes your other hand in her own, tugging you closer until you’re standing practically face to face. “What, you think I can’t take care of myself? It was you I was worried about, silly.”

“But…” you start, voice trailing off when she loops your scarf around your neck, then gives it a gentle tug, pulling you in closer until you’re close enough for her to softly brush her lips across yours.

Just like the first time, like every time she’s kissed you, it takes your breath away. She kisses with a kind of sureness that you’ve never experienced before, like she’s determined to prove how much she wants you.

“What was that you were saying?” she murmurs when she pulls away, her warm breath against your neck.

You give her one more kiss, fleeting but sweet, before you answer.

“I just want to see you safe and happy, Koala.”

She wraps her arms around you, leaning into your chest as the snow falls all around you.

“I feel safest knowing that I have you to come back to, (Y/N). As long as I know that you’re okay, I’ll be happy. Tonight has reminded me of that. So... thank you.”

[zorkaya-moved]

that’s a lot of blood.

@annihilitys

This scene isn’t created out of recklessness but because it must’ve been done. To leave the person thinking she’s done for, to give them an example of [death] (for she is Thirteen and she is Eighteen) within winter’s embrace where blood will be seen so brightly on the white snow. However, the assassin retreats when seeing the lack of movement and upon hearing the Galaxy Ranger appearing. Her words are what lets the Apostle open her eyes at last.

Blood spills, but so does the Aeon of Origin’s every single day for every single living being out there. Can she truly care for the blood spilled when her beginning (her ego) will always return to the state it’s always been? She is the stasis of life, always beginning and stuck in its true essence, the ego will not be killed for it will exist perpetually: you are resilience, you survive every single hit and Mobius’ experiments make you a monster of reincarnation, death fears you and death wants you as its bride. Zarina Sokolova has long lost the humanity within, operating on the pressure of discipline and the single pristine promise she gave to a smiling and all-loving existence. Only because there is hope does she fight, wanting to keep the light of life going and to bring in fresh flowers into the gardens of Origin. 

A rough cough comes out, hard and wet as she spits out blood onto the floor. The sound of metal clanking against the floor is echoing in the room, a metal spear thrown to impale her from another place. It grazed her, cutting through the fabric of her shirt and splitting apart the porcelain (flawless) skin, spilling the droplets of scarlet onto the floor before the next bullet pierced her shoulder. The bullet’s been clean through her body, now residing within the wall behind with a splatter of red. 

A beautiful picture of murder, but the only sacrifice for this moment is the clothes she wore. The fabric is stained with red but there are no longer injuries. If anything, her skin is once again flawless when she lets her hand trace where the deep cut on her side had been as if it’s magically disappeared. As long as Ego persists, it will continue to exist and live on. This is her blessing of Origin, but what would it be for Acheron?

Ah, you. You, who I have met twice already across the world.

Dr. MEI, your expys across the universes all have such a similar look. Such a sharp one and such a melancholic one. 

“It’s excessive for a reason,” the silverette speaks, straightening up as she wipes off the blood off her chin, smudging the red just a bit. Another sigh follows as she looks behind at where the crime has happened: someone should’ve died here, but did not. “They’re new and reckless,” referring to the assassin. “A rookie. It would’ve been much less blood if they were more skilled. This is too messy and too foolish. They don’t have their style yet.”

Hands reach down to pat her pants in search of her cigarettes and her lighter. Upon finding them, Sokolova lights up one as if nothing had happened. As she puts away the lighter, her gloved hand snaps her fingers and the blood on the wall and the floor has turned into frost, no longer brightly scarlet and there is no longer a scent of iron in the air. All blood has turned into that thin layer of ice before melting and turning into nothing. As if nothing happened. 

Do you recognize the energy, [Galaxy Ranger]? Do you remember the Heaven’s Winter Cloak blade - The Fifth, the [Frost]?

“Worry not, it’s not the first time someone wishes death upon me,” there is a hint of a smile, a hunt begins and it depends if the ranger wants in or not. “It’s a shame the concept of [end] can’t meet me yet. What about you, miss? It seems you’re lost, this place is closed to many individuals.”

[sukirichi]

true gift

A god like Naoya is about to see how his little mortal is hiding a true gift.

REQUEST.  deity au + virgin sacrifice for naoya + reader with worship kink

CONTENT/WARNINGS. virginity loss, naoya isn’t nice, mentions of blood,  murder, abduction, praise kink, slight degradation, fingering, overstimulation, slight breeding kink, creampie, orgasm denial, mentions of slavery, face fucking, reader is willingly consenting to pain, reader is a masochist, naoya is a sadist 

NOTES. ah...it feels so natural to write naoya...also can someone send me some good erotic hentai panels, yay <3

Today is the day – the one you’ve been prepared for ever since you’ve forced to make acquaintance with the blinding darkness and smell of rust.

What time is it? Is it morning, night...maybe somewhere in the middle?

There’s no telling, not when you’ve been staring at the pitch black darkness for what seems like forever. It’s been too long, so long, that you’ve forgotten what the world looks like. It’s like one day you’re helping your family tend to the farms when rough hands grabbed at you, and you’re shoved in a cold, dark cellar before you could even say good bye.

Oddly enough, the servants – or at least that’s what you assume they are, since they’ve been nothing but tight lipped and inherently obedient to a faceless figure – have taken extreme care of you.

Twice a day, they’d open the cellar, the sound of keys rustling and nearly muted footsteps like music into your ears. The slight sliver of light passing through from the outside is immediately concealed within a split second, a black smooth material wrapped around your eyes before they strip you off. Normally, you’d complain and fight back, but you’ve lost all the will to even defend yourself at this point.

You’ve given up a long time ago, and life’s been a lot more tolerable ever since.

Today isn’t any different. Maybe it was hours ago, two servants had came in to wash away the grime and dirt from your body before you felt something combing through your hair. Then, you felt it. A smooth, cold blade running up and down every inch of your body, rendering you immobile in fear even breathing could cut you open.

It didn’t. If anything, you felt a lot smoother, lighter, and freer.

“Is she bare?” an old, croaky feminine voice echoed in the small room, equally wrinkled hands removing the strap of your bra off before she lathers a rose-scented cream all over your body. “Naoya-sama prefers his slaves hair-free, you know that. Not even stubble is allowed, do you understand? Keep shaving her until she’s spotless.”

Naoya-sama.

So that’s where you were. It all made sense now.

For as long as you could remember, that name’s been spoken with terror, the slight tremble of voices and darkened eyes pooled with fear never absent in the presence of his name. You’ve never seen him, but you know enough to understand that he’s a prominent figure especially in your little village. He’s not human, but he’s not exactly a god either – at least, not one that people would willingly worship.

You’ve heard telltales on how his beauty alone had women dropping to their feet, the malice in those eyes of his enough to make even the strongest warriors stick to his side in fear of what he’s capable of.

He’s as old as time and as strong as the steady flow of the river you and your people have always bathed in. It doesn’t make sense that someone as fearsome as he was is living at the mountains where nothing but quiet, peaceful people rejoiced, but the more you think about it, of course he’d prefer his people submissive, heads always ducked in fear and shaking in terror.

This whole time, you thought you’d been sold off to a neighbouring clan head because your clan didn’t have enough funds to pay for the latest trade.

In a way, you’d feel a lot luckier if the former had happened instead, because there’s really no proper way of making sound of the fact you’re sacrificed to your own deity, Naoya Zen’in, after not completing your offerings to him for ten whole moons.

It’s bad, horribly so, and you should be shaking, should be crying, should be wishing for death instead, so then why are you deferential? You don’t complain when two rough hands pull you from the ground and keep your arms tight in shackles at your lower back, vision still obscured by this cloth as you’re guided somewhere – someplace that all the sacrificed women for your deity are received.

Your feet are sloppy and smacking against the hardwood floor, heart pulsing in your tongue for all the wrong reasons. Faintly, you can smell a rose-scented candle and water splashing, but it doesn’t register until you’re immersed under it.

You gasp, hair flattening onto your skin while you look around blindly, struggling to clutch onto something as your feet keep slipping into the tub.

You’ve never been into a tub before; much less recognize the soft, paper-like objects floating into the water with you. Head swaying side to side until water is sprayed everywhere, a firm hand keeps your head in place just as a pumice stone is scrubbed into your skin. It’s not painful, but the rough scraping sensation feels sensitive from your skin that hasn’t been exposed to normal, breathing air for who knows how long.

“Stop moving,” that same elderly voice commanded, and her assistants, most likely, move quickly into extending your limbs until you’re sprawled out everywhere. “We are to make you perfect, presentable, lavishing in front of our deity himself.”

“B-but —”

“You have no right to speak!” You’re left stunned as your cheek bruises red, lips wet from the water as you pant. The sting on your skin becomes more pronounced, but you dare not speak, opting to keep your lips shut instead. The elderly woman takes notice of your behaviour, humming before she makes you stand up, that same blade swiping down your exposed regions. “You learn fast and submit well. I think we have a worthy sacrifice for tonight.”

“She is gorgeous too, my Lady.”

“She should be,” comes a retort, your jaw clenched as you keep still. She forces your legs further apart until you’re embarrassingly exposed, the rose petals in the water sticking into some corners of your skin. “If she was not, she’d be dead already. It’s her pretty face that’s keeping her alive at this point.”

Everything is a blur after that.

One moment, they’re shaving you, the next you’re thrown from one body to another. They perform all sorts of things – towel drying your hair, exfoliating your skin, plucking your eyebrows to perfection before applying a shimmer to your cheeks and something sticky and glossy to your lips, then finally you feel the warmth of silk robes you could never afford even if you work yourself to death caressing your body.

After that, you’re locked inside a much bigger room, the blindfold falling off your face slowly.

You blink in surprise.

The room isn’t that dark, but dim enough, and your heart beats louder in your chest when you see the size of the room. It’s ten times bigger than your village meeting point, a large tatami bed sat in the middle. From one side, a window is open, allowing you to see the white illumination of the moonlight that looks hauntingly romantic.

Candles are lit on either sides of the room, and your gaze lands on odd whip-like weapons placed proudly on the walls.

Your legs are wobbly as you stand, life just coming back into your unused muscles. Making your way towards it, you reach out to touch this...weapon that’s still somewhat coated with the stench of blood. It’s immaculately clean and the leather is shiny, though it’s clear this has been used for far more gruesome situations before.

I think we have a worthy sacrifice for tonight.

You recoil your hand that’s a breath away from coming into contact with it, terror plaguing deep into your bones as you take a step back.

You’re a sacrifice, an offering, sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice – you’re brought here to die, and your god would kill you himself. Others may have considered it an honour to have died from the mercy of his hands, your oh-so divine lord who’s brought prosperity and wealth into your land, but you turn away, breathing hard as you make a break for the door.

But you never made it.

Your back lands into someone’s chest, a slight gasp falling from your lips before you’re pummelled into the ground, strong hands pinning your arms above your head. Eyes widening, you come face to face with your deity, his fox-eyes lined with dark kohl sharpening his already predatory features, ears pierced with tiny skulls and black dots.

His knee nudges your leg open and you groan, the sound making his eyes dart at you in warning before he smirks upon seeing you make no move to get away from him.

“As I’ve heard,” his deep voice cuts through the eerie silence of the room, the night so mute not even birds or insects cricketed at the presence of your deity’s need to have you for himself. “You are a compliant little lamb sent to the slaughter,” you shiver as his fingers run to caress the side of your face, his free hand undoing the knots that keeps your modesty. Naoya hums deep in his throat when the cloth falls to the sides, revealing perky nipples that pushed closer and closer to his awaiting lips at each heavy breath you took.

“You are stunning,” he praises, using a thumb to graze over the hardened bud. It’s barely a touch, but you’re sensitive, wholly new to this that you whimper. The sound is humiliating and utterly pathetic, your teeth coming down to capture your lips.

This displeases him entirely and Naoya taps your lips open, glaring at your wide, fearful yet aroused gaze. “You do not ever conceal such shameful sounds when I’m above you, do you understand?” You nod shakily, freeing your lip from its confines. Naoya snickers, chest puffing up with pleasure before he leans back to his calves, pushing the rest of your robe to the side until you’re completely exposed to him.

Your breathing grows more laboured when Naoya spreads your legs open, smirking as you whimper at the stretch of having your knees flattened by your sides. Legs placed on top of his knees, your elevated posture gives him more access to your bare pussy, his gaze zeroing in on the gleaming arousal that’s beginning to form on your lips.

“So fucking wet,” he comments, using both his thumbs to pry your pussy apart. You moan at the sensation of him pressing down on a part of you that you don’t know existed, and Naoya laughs, the sound sinister yet erotic. “You’re a virgin.”

It’s not a question – it’s a statement he takes pride in, especially because he knows he’s the chosen one to take something precious away from you.

“I’ve always loved virgins,” Naoya’s hands roam all across your body, slowly, sensually, passionately, the rough, calloused hands running under your legs to hitch them up behind his broad back, to cup your soft ass before he cups your pussy, groaning into your neck when he feels you leak and he’s barely touching you to begin with. It makes his ego swell when your hands wrap around his neck; he hates being touched by mere, lowly mortals like you, but you are undeniably gorgeous and so wanting of him that he allows you just this once. “Always so sensitive – do you want to be good for your deity? Hm?”

“Y-yes!” you cry out, eyes snapping shut when he suddenly inserts a finger in.

The feeling is foreign yet not totally unwelcomed, but you grimace anyway at the slight sting his digits bring. Naoya pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy to coax your arousal to drip further into the sheets like a waterfall, your nails digging into his robes while he watches you with a smirk. He laughs when your eyes widen at the second finger pushing in, thumb rubbing over your clit until your legs tremble around him.

“Virgins are always so gorgeous once they finally learn of pleasure,” he scoffs to himself.

You look at him straight in the eye, mouth falling open while small gasps fall through at the speed he’s pushing into you at.

Something begins to form in your lower bally until your body grows utterly warm, something...something close about to snap when he pulls his fingers out of you, throwing his head back in laughter when you cry for the first time that night.

Naoya stares at the way your gaze darts from his cum-soaked fingers back to your drenched core, brows raised cockily before he stands up, his figure looming over you. “What? Got something to say?” you only whimper in response, closing your legs as you try to provide answers to the brooding confusion punching at the back of your skull.

The sound of faint rustling brings you back to life, your eyes snapping to witness your god undressing himself, the robes falling from his shoulders too wonderfully that the mere sight of him has you clenching around nothing.

Fat cock standing tall and proud, tip red and glistening with pre-cum and a body carved by fellow gods himself, the rumours were right.

He is beautiful, and it’s no lie that his slaves aren’t really slaves to begin with, not when all of them have been so eager to please him, just to have a taste of this divine being that stands before you. Naoya easily reads your face; from the slightly parted lips, thighs rubbing together and hands looming dangerously to your core – you look so needy it’s actually fucking pathetic.

He’s slow in his movements, languid and taking his time because he’s got time and more in this world that he never cares about wasting something he has a plethora of.

Naoya makes himself at home above you again, basking in the way you’re struggling to breathe even without his hands on you. It doesn’t take long before he pushes two of his fingers inside your mouth, clenching his jaw when you open your mouth submissively, innocent eyes blinking up at him as you take your juices into your mouth.

You’re a natural at this, he observes, tongue expertly swirling around his digits until you’ve licked it clean. Naoya pats your cheek affectionately, his own way of applauding you for your work.

Under him, you grow shy and abashed, arms covering your bare breasts because he’s a god, why should he be pleased with you?

Naoya doesn’t give you enough time to think before he’s hauling you upwards, your shoulders shoved back onto the ground. You kneel below him in prayer and he tugs at your hair, forcing you to look at him, or rather his cock that’s slipping past your lips. You gag when he pushes his length all the way inside, the tip of it hitting the back of your throat.

Naoya sighs at finally being taken in – you should be grateful he even fingered you – his hands guiding your head to bob up and down him.

You do well at pleasing him even through the tears, clutching at his thighs while you suck in his length and swirl your tongue around the prominent veins. Naoya watches with hooded eyes as your cheeks hollow just to take his whole length in – and again, you’re a natural – so eager to please him too when you keep pushing and pushing, his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

His muscles ripple above you while he lets out a long, drawn out groan, nails scratching your scalp. You feel him twitch inside you and that’s when he takes over, snapping his hips ruthlessly until you’re left gagging and sucking his cock helplessly.

Your saliva is dribbling at the edges of your mouth, looking so fucked out and whore-like while he pushes himself to the edge. He doesn’t care that you’re choking and your eyes are zooming out of focus from not being able to breathe. He doesn’t care that you could die from asphyxiation, he doesn’t care because you’re his sacrifice – if you can’t even do this simple thing, then how else could you prove you’re worthy to live?

You know this too because you force yourself to breathe through your nose instead, wanting to show that you are worthy, that you can please and take him however he pleases you to.

Naoya isn’t stupid, he can see what you’re doing and can read your mind even in his lust-driven state. Nothing edges him more than a good, submissive whore. Now that he knows you’re willing to do anything without complaints, Naoya pulls his cock out just seconds away from orgasm, pushing you back into the mat with a grunt.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he hisses and pushes both your legs to the side, your body bent and pussy left open for him.

Naoya groans as he slides himself inside you. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but your virgin cunt is still too tight and new to this that you scream around him, subconsciously clenching around him harder.

“You’d do anything for me, yeah?” he challenges, cupping your face while he rams into you hard, uncaring that your walls are beyond abused and a ring of blood is already coating his cock. This isn’t the first time he’s taken someone’s purity, but this is the first time he’s had someone look gratified that he’s hurting them, fuelling him to fuck harder into you despite the steady stream of tears down your face. “Look at you – so obedient,” he pinches your nipples and rolls them between fingers, growling at the way your pained moan sounds more like an encouragement for him to go harder. “You want to please me so bad you don’t care I’m hurting you? Are you so eager to worship me that you won’t even stop me?”

“N-no, my lord,” you manage through the pain, regulating your breathing as you completely break down in tears. Naoya is hitting a spot deep inside you that makes your insides feel like they’re about to burst, and he takes note of this, pinching your clit just to get you to clamp down on him. “Please – use me however you want – please.”

Naoya smirks, pressing your knees flat on the ground before he hovers above you, forearms planted beside your head. At any other given moment, he prefers to fuck his sacrifices with their face planted on the ground because he can’t bear to see how disgusting they are, but you – you’re so damn beautiful it puts his fellow gods to shame.

Now yours is a face he’d like to keep looking at, so he roughly grabs your cheeks and squeezes them with his fingers, kissing your puckered lips and nipping at them.

You taste heavenly too; his servants did a good job of choosing honey as a gloss. Naoya greedily licks your lips until he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth the same way his dick is ramming inside your walls, tight, puffy lips wrapped happily around his base.

You’re moaning inside his mouth as he squeezes your breast painfully. Never in your whole life have you thought that pain would feel so good, enticing you to moan louder when the sting finally subsides, replaced with the mind-numbing sensation of his thick length rubbing against every ridge of your walls. Naoya pulls his face away from you, his cum and your saliva sticky on your face and he chuckles, the sound stuttered and breathy, brows drawn together.

He looks down to watch the way you accommodate him; this is by far the tightest and wettest cunt he’s ever fucked – ever will fuck – that he doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied with any random whore’s pussy anymore.

Naoya frowns as anger bubbles up inside him, hatred making his cock swell inside you because how dare you make him wish he won’t take anyone again.

He wants more – want to kill more people, want to fuck more virgins, want to have more blood showering his skin until he’s bathed in glory and gore, but even though you’re the one he’s destroying, he’s slipping on the edge, too lost and hypnotized at the way your tight walls suck him in. Your moans don’t help either; they’re breathy and whiny, so defeated yet so eager to have more that Naoya grips your hips tight enough he might’ve cracked a femur from his godly strength.

Your scream this time is that of pain and loss, grappling on the sheets while white bursts through your eyes. Your orgasm comes crashing down on you overwhelmingly and you fall limp to the sheets, your translucent cum soaking his cock along with the previous blood, but Naoya doesn’t stop.

He keeps slamming into you until you’re mute from oversensitivity, hands cold with sweat and eyes empty while he uses you as his own fuck toy.

He gets there eventually, the room painted with his groans followed by a feral snarl, the rhythm of his thrusts turning sloppy and unbalanced. Naoya stills inside you after burying himself to the hilt, his crotch angrily rubbing at your pelvic bone as he cums. You whimper at the feeling of his warm seed spilling inside you in thick spurts. Naoya pulls out with a slight wince, scoffing at the mess you’ve made on his precious dick, but he’s forced to soften a little when he sees both your cum spilling out your hole in a messy puddle, the liquid coating your ass.

Meek as always, you don’t move a muscle when Naoya spreads your legs open, inching his face close enough to watch the way your pussy stutters and legs tremble in front of him.

You’re absolutely ruined – the puffy lips spread out and hole still pushing out the remnants of his cum. He doesn’t bother pushing them back in, uncaring if he’ll get you pregnant or not because it’s not like matters to him. You are nothing but another body to fuck and dispose of under the river once he’s satisfied with you, but he surprises both you and him when Naoya suddenly pushes two fingers inside of you, his eyes dark as he insists on keeping his seed right where they should be nurtured.

Now that he’s sure that will make your belly grow and provide him with a half-mortal heir, Naoya retrieves his robes and walks out the room, the slamming of the door shut similar to an impending doom of an imminent death.

But not yours.

You’ve fulfilled your duty as the death curse bearer of your clan; the greatest and most formidable weapon they’ve been carving to perfection the moment you’re born. The cracks in your bones and bruises on your body immediately heal as you turn to your side, chanting under your breath a hushed whisper of the words of your ancestors who’ve perfectly planned the death of the Zen’in God who’s made his people suffer for thousands of years.

They would be proud of you.

And as a body crashes outside the door followed by the frantic screams of his confused servants, you smile to yourself, falling into a deep sleep upon using your true gift.

[rocorambles]

Duty and Responsibility

Pairing: Osamu x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Lactation Kink

Summary: Love can form in surprising places, even in a marriage centered only around duty and responsibility. 

You patiently wait beside Daichi, back straight, gaze downcast and demure, the picture perfect example of a soon to be bride. Only if someone watched with hawk eyes, purposefully looking for flaws in your facade, would they notice the way you stand just a tad too close to the head of the Karasuno clan, desperately trying to cling onto any comfort or courage you can. 

There’s nothing to be afraid of. At least that’s what Daichi says. And you know he would never put you in harm’s way. You trust him with your life and more. After all, it’s he who’s practically single handedly raised you, saving you from guaranteed death as a street urchin, welcoming you and wholeheartedly accepting you as one of his own. He’s the older brother figure you never had. The one who showed you what family and belonging were. 

So if he says that he trusts Kita, the head of Inarizaki, and vouches for Kita’s choice of a future husband for you. Of course you put your faith in his words. But it doesn’t stop the clawing nausea inside of you as you get ready to meet the stranger your life is now forever entwined with. 

Inarizaki and Karasuno have never had much of a relationship before, good or bad. You know of the infamous fox clan, the tales of their notorious twins spreading far and wide. But they’ve always just been stories, pretty words that you couldn’t tie to a warm body. 

Until now. 

You’d be naive to not understand just how prominent Karasuno has become, no longer the laid back humble clan it once used to be. And as proud as you are of Daichi and how his tireless work and dedication have helped the crows fly high in the sky once again, you can’t help but feel a small regretful pang when you remember that carefree life you once had, when you were just a young woman dreaming about marrying for love and finding “the one”. 

But that was just a silly girl’s dream. You know what your duty and responsibilities are and you don’t dare shirk away from them now. Not when Daichi has so deeply instilled those firm beliefs and foundations inside of you both through teaching and example. And it’s the fact that you know, with just a word, he’d completely cancel it, call everything off and risk ruining ties between the two clans, that has you gritting your teeth and standing firm, awaiting your future. 

This isn’t how you had dreamed your happily ever after would be, but for Daichi, for Karasuno, for your new family? You’d gladly die as a pawn. 

And a pawn you are, even if it is a glorified one. 

You can still vividly remember the night Daichi had called you into his office, remember how nervous he was as his eyes looked anywhere other than at you, remember the pain he tried to hide in his voice as he proposed the idea to you. He used gentle words, meandering and rambling around the point, but the message was as clear as a knife in the gut. 

Sacrifice yourself to solidify the union between Karasuno and Inarizaki. 

An arranged marriage with no one other than Miya Osamu. 

You remember how your heart had dropped at Daichi’s words, a sinking feeling churning inside of you only worsened by how regretfully brown eyes looked at you, a gnawing of his lips before he blurted out that you could say no even though both of you know it’s not really an option, certainly not the wiser option. 

Possibly anger and break ties with one of the most powerful clans in the country over a mere woman? 

You knew that an arranged marriage was always a strong possibility. But you had always imagined that it would be with someone you knew from the clans you’re closer with like Nekoma and Fukurodani. Maybe even Seijoh or Shiratorizawa. But Inarizaki? Miya Osamu? 

A part of you is glad that at least it isn’t his wild blond twin, someone whose presence spreads like wildfire, loudly crackling and announcing itself, wreaking havoc in its wake. But if the stories are true, Osamu isn’t much better. More of a volcano than an out of control fire, but just as able to burst and explode if provoked enough. 

So you’re surprised when you lay eyes on him for the first time as the fox clan enters the room, nothing seemingly fiery or volatile about the handsome man politely bowing in front of you. Instead you’re reminded of the moon and its quiet yet hardened radiance and although you don’t know a thing about your fiance, you think that maybe it’s not the worst scenario, especially as his brother’s voice loudly echoes throughout the chambers, already making a scene not even minutes into your two clans meeting.

Little do you know a silver haired man is thinking the same thing as he carefully scans you over.

Osamu has never thought much about marriage or what his future wife would be like. It’s always just been Atsumu, him, and all the trouble they constantly got themselves into. But as Daichi and Kita pass back and forth polite pleasantries, it’s beginning to feel all too real how planned out his future is. Yet looking at you, he can envision it, the picture perfect couple, a picture perfect house, a picture perfect family. It’s obvious that you’ve been raised well, not that he expects any less of someone Daichi himself has taught and raised from the ground up. And although he doesn’t have hopes that you’ll be the love of his life, for Kita, for Inarizaki, for his family, he can be the respectable husband and father they and you need him to be. 

With duty and honor at the forefront of both your minds, you begin to court each other. It’s pleasant, like a well rehearsed performance, both your perfected mannerisms shining and waltzing around each other in perfect grammar, politically correct opinions, and graceful table manners. To any outside eye, the two of you are the epitome of prim and proper, a vision of what an upstanding couple should look like, nothing scandalous or eye catching as the two of you amble around, getting to know each other. 

But that’s all it is, a superbly done play and both of you can feel the weight of the falseness heavy upon your shoulders as you keep your smile from unbecomingly stretching across your face, as Osamu bites back his usual snarky verbiage. 

You’re grateful for the frequent interruptions from both your rowdy clan members, feeling the pressure lift off of you just a bit when Nishinoya comes racing across the field, not a hint of reservation as he excitedly rambles and shouts about the latest gossip he’s heard, when Tanaka comes storming over and manhandles the shorter man into leaving the two of you alone. And as aggravating as Atsumu can be, Osamu is secretly glad when the annoying blonde takes it upon himself to crash most of your outings together, allowing himself the brief leisure of resting his meticulously crafted mask as his twin yaps on and on unhindered to you. 

But his gratitude for Atsumu only goes so far and despite how hard Osamu has tried to keep up appearances in front of you, it was only a matter of time before he lost his composure the more and more his more obnoxious counterpart loitered around the two of you, hogging all your attention to himself. 

Osamu isn’t a jealous person, or so he had thought, but his moral compass has always skewed heavily whenever his twin is involved and he can feel his frustration and temper rise when Atsumu’s interruptions become more than a slight reprieve, capturing your attention, not even leaving scraps for Osamu to work with. 

And maybe, just maybe, he can admit that he is jealous....jealous of how easy it is for Atsumu to always be himself no matter the situation, no matter who’s around, never a care or worry about what others think of him. 

That feeling festers, slowly boiling, temperature rising, until it comes to a full throttle and Osamu can no longer bite back his typical scathing tone he uses with his brother, icy tone ordering the rambunctious man to leave the two of you the fuck alone. 

“Last time I checked, ‘Sumu, you’re not the one getting married. So either go find someone who’ll be willing to put up with you or find another couple to third-wheel with.” 

Of course that’s not the end of it because God forbid Atsumu grows up and lets Osamu have the last word for once and before he even realizes what’s happening, a body is crashing into his and they immediately begin growling and snarling at each other as they wrestle each other, throwing jabs and kicks, completely forgetting the bystander watching the two men in awe. 

But when your roaring laughter fills the air, Osamu freezes, disbelief and curiosity curling inside of him as he turns to see if that uncouth hyena guffaw is truly coming from you, only to be amazed when he sees you practically bent in half, wheezing, face scrunched in giddy lines as you continue howling in amusement. And despite how “unseemly” your appearance is, he thinks you’re the most beautiful like this, something warm growing inside him when he basks in the essence of your pure joy for the first time. 

Unfortunately it’s short lived and he hides the pout forming on his lips when you notice his eyes on you, murmuring apologies left and right as you abruptly resume your typical ladylike stance and countenance, no proof of the genuine beauty he had seen just seconds ago other than the embarrassed look on your face. And like an infection your shame spreads and he scrambles to his feet (slightly getting one last kick in and hiding a smile at Atsumu’s whine), quickly brushing himself off and deeply bowing and apologizing for his own childish behavior. 

But as he plays the ever perfect gentleman, protectively strolling with you and guiding you back home, the cogs in his mind begin to turn, a determined glint entering his gaze. 

You’re clearly not the prim and proper angel he had thought you were and obviously, you don’t mind his more...explosive side, if your mirth earlier as your fiance rolled around on the ground like a fool is anything to go by. 

Forget prim, proper, and perfect. He wants to know more about who you really are hidden underneath the elegant layers you’ve been shielding yourself with, reveal his own true nature to you, marry your flaws and strengths together as you build a life even better than perfect, something visceral, something real, something more tangible than the whimsical dreams of fairy tale romances. 

He takes the first step, his desire to break down your barriers giving him the confidence he needs to be more vulnerable. But even then, there’s slight trepidation as he bustles around the kitchen, wondering what you would think of his cooking hobby, hoping and wishing for your acceptance and approval despite how uncommon, maybe even looked down upon, it is in your society for a man to be rummaging around a woman’s domain. 

But he’s good at what he does. He knows he is. And with that thought, he resolves himself to skillfully molding the onigiri he’s renowned for among his own clan, taking extra pains to make sure each one is perfectly filled, shaped, and decorated, snooping around and subtly asking your clan mates what your favorite flavors and ingredients are and incorporating them. Pleased with the final results, he sends a message for you to meet him in a secluded section of the park the two of you often frequent. 

Used to Osamu coming to your chambers and walking with you right from the start, you’re surprised by the request to meet him and your heart flutters when you realize the specific location he’s chosen is one you run away to and use to hide from the world when you just need time and space for yourself, a location you’ve never told anyone about before, a safe haven and oasis you call your own. You’re surprised by how little you care about sharing this secret place with him, something bubbly and warm eliciting a smile on your face as you hike up your skirts and rush towards your fiance, laughing in the wind and ignoring the chiding from Suga and Asahi to “stop running” and “act like a lady”. 

But as you near your destination, you do slow down, nervously gnawing at your bottom lip as your fingers comb through your wind tousled hair, smoothing out your skirts and making sure there’s no leftover signs of your delinquent behavior. And putting years of etiquette lessons into practice, you gracefully stroll towards the man you’re here to meet. Only to be startled out of your picturesque poise by the gorgeous spread in front of you. 

Candles and lanterns flicker in the soft breeze, encasing and basking the area in their ethereal glow. Luxurious rugs and pillows are artfully splayed out across the floor, turning the grassy lawn into the most wondrous lounge you’ve ever seen and it takes all your willpower not to squeal and pounce in the ridiculously plush field. But what really takes your breath away is how Osamu’s chiseled face radiates in the warm light of the gentle fires blazing around him, a smile dancing on his lips when he takes in your wide entranced eyes, and you can feel your face warm, heart beating a mile a minute when you realize that he’s done all this just for you, a woman he hardly knows. And you quickly make your way towards him, blabbering on and on about how this is over the top, how he absolutely didn’t have to do any of this, how you can’t believe he went through all this trouble for you. Only to be silenced when he cuts you off with a single sentence topped with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“I did it because I wanted to.” 

Stunned and still overwhelmed that almost a complete stranger has done something so lavish, so special, so selfless, just for you, you obediently let him beckon you and guide you to a seated position, sighing in bliss when you nestle among the myriad of fabrics, pleased that they feel just as nice, if not better, than what you had imagined. You excitedly watch as he rummages through the picnic basket he’s packed, realizing then just how hungry you actually are, and once again your jaw drops and you wonder if any of this is real, unsure how it’s possible for him to keep on pulling more and more items from the container until pristine glasses filled with refreshing liquids and ornate porcelain plates heaping with the most perfect onigiri you’ve ever seen entirely cover the empty space of the fabric spread surrounding you. 

Senses still in overdrive, it’s all you can do to mindlessly grab the onigiri he offers you and bring it to your lips. But when your teeth sink into the delicate layers of seaweed and rice, the taste of your favorite filling slamming into your tastebuds, you’re jolted back to reality and suddenly any decorum you’ve learned is thrown out the window and Osamu bursts out laughing, a pleased flush on his face when you begin raving and practically dancing in your seat about how delicious the rice ball is as you simultaneously shove more bites into your mouth, your cheeks expanding not unlike the little chipmunks he sees prancing around the area. And when you realize just how unrefined you appear as the last bits of the onigiri are swallowed, an embarrassed apology on the tip of your tongue, he boldly reaches out to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you enjoyed them so much.” 

But it’s his turn to be embarrassed when you tentatively sidle up to him, allowing your bodies to touch as you lean into his side, continuing to hold his hand, looking up at him under fluttering lashes as you ask him where he’d gotten the food from. And this time it’s he who quietly murmurs that he had actually made these himself, apprehensive of what your reaction will be to finding out this secret tidbit, only for his own jaw to drop and gape in surprise when there’s not a second of hesitation or judgement as you look at him in awe, begging him to teach you his recipe. 

Needless to say, whispers and rumors run amok as Osamu and you hog and hoard the kitchen at all hours of the day and night, some older and more traditional maids and servants looking on scandalously as Osamu rolls up his sleeves and slaves over pots and pans, the majority of your clan and Inarizaki just rolling their eyes with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the two of you in a flurry or chaos, food everywhere, stains on your clothes when the both of you proudly share your finished products that everyone, even those grumpy old naggers, enjoys.

One day, when the kitchen becomes particularly messy as Osamu accidentally spills flour all over you in his attempt to reach for the highly perched bag, there’s a brief moment of tension when you loudly gasp as white powder swirls all around you and your fiance awkwardly stands in place unsure whether to laugh or be mortified about the mess he’s made of you. But just as he comes to his senses and frantically looks around for a towel or rag to help clean you with, he yelps when something collides with his head, shortly followed by a cold slimy trail slipping down the nape of his neck, whipping his head around to look at you in shock. 

When he sees the bowl of eggs strategically placed next to you, the broken eggshells at his feet, and the smug grin on your face, he stands at attention, meeting the challenging look in your eyes with his own competitive gleam. And then there’s only a whirlwind of commotion as the two of you scream and uproariously giggle, racing around the kitchen, ducking behind cabinets, finding anything and everything to chuck at the other, only stopping when Daichi and Kita finally put an end to the madness, trying to stay stern as they bite back their own laughter and relief at seeing the two of you get along so well. 

The two of you profusely bow in apology, swearing you’ll clean up the mess you’ve made, but the second your two clan heads leave, you simultaneously peek at each other, softly chuckling at how filthy you both look. And as Osamu carefully plucks bits of egg shells from your hair and as you affectionately wipe his face clean of flour, eggs, and everything else that’s managed to get stuck, the two of you feel the stirrings of something more than just duty and responsibility, more than even just friendship or attraction, growing inside of you. 

That feeling expands and blossoms inside the two of you, never ceasing to move and swirl inside both your hearts before clamoring into a resounding crescendo on your wedding day. And as Osamu and you both try to fight back tears of happiness and belonging, tears of everything falling into place, tears of life just making sense when you stand beside each other at the altar, the two of you thank whoever’s listening that you’re bound to each other for all of eternity. 

The wedding is a joyous and rowdy affair and your stomach aches from laughing nonstop, feet sore from never ending rounds of dancing, eyes and hands unable to to be torn from your husband who is likewise as enamored as you. Both of you just stick out your tongues and ignore the teasing gags and hollering from both your clan mates as the two of you remain glued to each other all night. And as the evening draws to an end and Atsumu drunkenly shouts at both of you to get a room, your face heats and your stomach swoons when Osamu just cheekily smiles back and says that the both of you will do just that before swooping you up in his arms and carrying you out bridal style, wishing everyone farewell as he whisks you away to the amusement of your friends and family, raucous encouragements being shouted in your wake while you hide your embarrassed face in the crook of his shoulder, meekly waving goodbye to the cheering crowds. 

But that atmosphere changes when you enter the room set aside for the two of you to spend your wedding night, the first evening of your lifelong union, and it feels like all those moons ago when the two of you first met as slightly trembling hands wrap around each other in a tentative embrace, lips hesitatingly pressing against each other in an inquisitive manner. Fingers brush against buttons, zippers, and ribbons. Fabric rustles as they’re shakily removed and placed aside. And then it’s just the two of you as you are, nothing hiding you from the other as eyes and fingertips gently roam and explore new territory. 

It starts off slow as the two of you take your time mapping every line and curve now laid bare for your greedy eyes and hands, tasting each other, revelling in the little moans and grunts that fill the room as pert nipples are teased, teeth nip at the junction where neck meets shoulder, hips languidly grind and rub against each other. 

Osamu’s head falls back as your fingers curiously wrap around his throbbing shaft, testing different strokes, and he returns your actions by slipping one long finger inside of you, hungrily staring at the way your mouth unconsciously opens, a tiny mewl escaping you from the delicious intrusion. You try your best to keep up your ministrations, gliding your hand up and down the velvety warmth heavy in your hands, but your movements become sloppy as the silver haired minx on top of you teasingly takes his time, painstakingly prepping you and stretching you out, only adding a new finger when your hips desperately shake and squirm in a silent plea for more. 

But even three fingers in, it’s not enough, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your mouth, the wanton begging for your husband to hurry up, eyes practically rolling in your head when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your fluttering and wanting entrance, eagerly awaiting the feeling of his shaft filling your desperate hole. Yet Osamu has different plans and you let out a choked sob when instead he slides the tip of his erection up and down your sensitive folds, patiently watching your building slick coat his mushroomed head, making sure you’re completely ready to take him. 

You snap at him, tears beginning to form in your eyes from the denial and frustration, words coming out more demanding and bratty than you had intended as you order him to get on with it already. But you immediately regret your actions, whimpering when dark eyes sternly stare you down, pinning you in place and forcing you to clamp your mouth shut. 

“Who knew a virgin like you could be such a demanding whore.” 

The demeaning words have no right to affect you the way they do and you only become more agitated, a lance of arousal piercing through you and making you squirm from his tone and choice of phrase. You want him. You need him. And you thrash underneath him, futilely trying to force his cock inside of you, only to sob and submissively freeze at his next words. 

“Stop moving or I’m going to tie you up and tease you all night.”

You feel like helpless prey, no fight left in you to resist, your energy spent obeying him, trying your best to stay put, fingers clawing into the rumpled bed sheets underneath you. And Osamu feels pride swell in his chest at how good you are, how perfect you’re behaving for him as he takes his time, fingers curling and gliding against your gummy walls, scissoring as they go in and out of tight hole, not stopping until you’re literally gushing, leaking juices everywhere, salty watery trails leaking from your eyes as your body shivers from pent up arousal and desire. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you as his cock begins to breach your drenched entrance, enraptured by every flutter of your lashes, every change in your expression as he sinks deeper and deeper, branding every moment in his memory as you allow yourself to touch him, digging your nails into his upper arms as you come to terms with the sensation of being stuffed full. You moan, sinking into the tender kiss he offers as he finally bottoms out, tongues swirling around each other as you soak in the feeling of being so intimately connected.

But Osamu smirks when you make it known that enough is enough and he lightly bites your lower lip in playful punishment when you insistently rock your hips, hissing when you clamp down on his cock and let out whining sounds, too far gone to even verbally tell him what you want. Maybe next time he’ll be stricter about your bratty tendencies, but he supposes you’ve done well considering it’s your first time together and he relents. 

A high pitched keen echoes through the room as Osamu picks up a steady rhythm, neck arching and mouth falling open as his cock drags against your walls with every snap of his hips, drowning in how deep and purposeful every stroke is, panting loudly as his heavy balls slap against your ass. He groans when your legs instinctively wrap around him as he brings a hand to fondle your aroused clit, forcing him closer, deeper, unwilling to leave any space between the two of you. And he’s on the same page as you, his torso leaning down, the new position having him hit new places inside of you that have you gasping, as he takes one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and watching in dark amusement as your eyes roll back in your head from all the stimulation. 

He swears he could die happy like this, his cock enveloped in your tight wet warmth, your delectable tits in his mouth, your face contorted lewdly as pleasure wracks through the both of you. But you have a lifetime together now, endless time for him to play and ruin you any and every way he wants. So he focuses his attention solely back on you, releasing your nipple with a wet plop before leering down at you, a predatory razor sharp grin slicing across his handsome features, internally cooing at how you tighten around him as you nervously gulp. 

“Your breasts are delicious, love. Can’t wait until I knock you up and your tits swell with milk. Bet it’ll taste so good. Wonder if there’ll be enough for the kids and me. Maybe we can save some for any more baking experiments we try. Would you like that? Want me to turn you into a pretty cow housewife? Maybe I’ll just keep you in the kitchen with a breast pump attached to you when I’m busy with work. Turn you into just another piece of useful kitchen equipment.” 

This time he doesn’t hide his amusement at your expense when you respond by breathily chanting his name over and over again, telling him how close you are between little gasps and mewls as he continues pistoning in and out of your slick pussy, his pace increasing, rhythm beginning to rocket out of control as his own end becomes imminent. 

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t wreck you first and he continues his verbal onslaught, low drawl teasing as he tells you what a slut you are for getting off on his humiliating words, praising you for how amazing you feel and look, like you were made for him, like you were made to be used and fucked by him, only him, for the rest of your life- 

Your wail cuts him off as you tumble over the edge, half screaming and sobbing as you’re forced to delirious heights and depths of pleasure you’ve never felt before, nails leaving wicked red marks in their wake as you claw at him out of pure instinct as he continues fucking in and out of you, losing any control and restraint he had as he chases his own end. Your pulsating walls milk his cock for all its worth and he groans, slamming fully into you one last time as he spills thick white spurts deep inside of you, 

And then there’s only quiet intermingled with the sounds of both your panting breaths as you bask in the afterglow, humming in content as Osamu slowly lowers himself, making your husband chuckle in surprise when you tighten your legs that are still wrapped around him when he threatens to pull out and lay down by your side. 

How can he deny that tired pout on your face as you silently nudge him back on top of you?

So he remains buried inside of you, letting himself be manhandled into laying on top of you and merely rolling his eyes fondly as you treat him like an oversized body pillow, your legs and now your arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly against you, uncaring of how the both of you are still covered in your combined messes. And as he watches you fall into a deep slumber, body exhausted, a blissed out smile on your face, he allows his own eyes to close shut, telling himself that he’d just clean the both of you up whenever he woke up, thankful that of all the people in the world that he could have been married off to, fate chose you.   

[sepia-mahogany]

Prompt: hearing about xuanwus defeat, madam jin and jin zixuan come to lotus pier and overhear madam yu saying wei wuxian should have let the 'sect heirs die', lwj who's recovering also overhears, the 3 get first hand experience of jiang household situation and decide fk this and take wwx out of there, its a prompt from vrishchikawrites blog (a wonderful write!) So maybe ask permission?

From the prompt on @vrishchikawrites

Jin Zixuan could not forget the young man, the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, who, despite his previous (petty) grievances with, had stepped up when everyone else had been frozen on the spot, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get his blood stained image out of his mind. Which had led to this discussion.

“What? No! I forbid it.” his father responded when he asked for sending reinforcements to Jiang Sect, while he understood with Cloud Recesses burnt down, and Nie under attack, either Yunmeng Jiang or Lanling Jin were next on the table, and despite having well equipped men, with the best of weapons, his father refused to extend help. 

Refused to stand against those who sought to harm his son, ‘in situations like these, know when to step back’ he had said, and Jin Zixuan could feel shame creeping up under his skin, outnumbered and clearly at losing stakes, he hadn’t hesitated to save him, and what would that make him if he forgot the debt so clearly owed? To live the lavish life of a coward..! He could see his mother fuming from where she stood, and closed his eyes to suppress his bitter thoughts, he wanted to do something, anything to help.

And suddenly, anger melted from her face and that smile crept up her face and he felt a chill down his spine, a sense of foreboding overcame him, he could see his father tense as well. “Of course, the Jin Sect sides with them.” she spoke, venom dripping off her every word. “Nothing wrong if the Sect Leader’s wife wants the marriage renewed?” a pit formed in his stomach, he did not want to marry a woman he barely knew, but using this opportunity, they could, in a sense create a bond, stronger than of just two sworn sisters.

However, “Madam Jin meets up with her sworn sister, Madam of Jiang Sect, just as Qishan Wen begins its attacks?” the war has been declared, how would it seem if the two sect Madams, and the Sect heirs are meeting, with or without the Sect Leader? “The risks are completely unneeded, what do we gain from this?” his mother glared at his father, who pointedly ignored her, Jin Zixuan exhaled, thinking things over.

As much as he disliked the engagement, he knew she would not bring it up, unless the situation, as dire as it was, needed it, this bond could provide future aid to one another should the need arise, so Jin Zixuan kept his disagreements to himself, because he knew she wouldn’t force him, not with the concerns of a  cold loveless marriage like his parents, he knew she was using it as a cover to aid her sworn sister.

An opportunity, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then remembered how the Second Jade, Lan Wangji had stood shoulder to shoulder with him,  and Wei Wuxian, Head Disciple, had stepped up to save them. 

Jin Zixuan exhaled, and made a decision, muttering out a half-hearted excuse, he left them on their own, and later into the night, he approached his mother.

--------

The boat landed steadily, unnoticed in the middle of the night, his mother had won the final say in the matter, of course with the reluctant agreement of remaining disguised as just another trade ship, the serene view would have been calming, had his nerves not have been high strung from adrenaline, small sacrifices, he could of course find a way to break off the engagement in a future of more peaceful times.

Jin Zixuan climbed out the boat first, followed calmly by his mother, the disguises were near perfect, for the disciples around the brightly lit place to look curious, but not alarmed. One, he recognised seeing a few times at Cloud Recesses, came near them with a nervous smile. “We offer you our sincerest apologies but...we’d appreciate it if travellers could avoid an audience with the Sect Leader?” 

The disguises were perfect then, for they had been mistaken as travellers that would go to and fro from Yunmeng Jiang Sect, his mother sniffed and looked at the disciple sternly “We are not here for the Sect Leader, but the Violet Spider, we have an important message for them.” Jin Zixuan had noticed before but now it had become more apparent as the disciples shifted around, something was off, it dampened his enthusiasm and the rush he had felt earlier, instead concern filled him, had something happened to Wei Wuxian?

His mother held out a token, the disciple’s eyes widened and he bowed in respect, “I assume this would be enough?” Madam Jin said curtly, and the disciple nodded, though tensely. “This one will escort you to the guest chambers” 

The curious gazes had not been moved, as they moved inside, step by step, down the corridor they went, as the muffled voices became more distinguishable, all 3 of them froze when they heard, unmistakably the Jiang Sect Heir’s voice. “-You shouldn’t have played the hero and you shouldn’t have cared for such a hell of a thing. If in the beginning you hadn’t….” 

Jin Zixuan felt a cold pit forming in his stomach, surely he must be mistaken, but seeing the expression twisting  on his mothers face, he could assume he was not, in fact, misunderstanding what Jiang Wanyin was implying. 

The disciple bowed quickly, slightly panicked “If you’d follow me-” Madam Jin pointed at him and he immediately shut up, head bowed, just as the Jiang Sect Leader reprimanded “Jiang Cheng.” Silence followed. “Do you know in which ways what you just have said is not appropriate?” was followed by a glum “Yes.”

Even if slightly, Jin Zixuan relaxed, his mother’s expression lightening into a frown, ‘at least someone is self-aware’ Madam Jin thought. “He’s just angry and speaking without care” another voice added, Jin Zixuan perked up, Wei Wuxian! So he was alright, he felt relieved. Madam Jin continued to frown, Wei Wuxian was clearly trying to lessen the pressure off of the Jiang heir. 

Another harsh voice cut through them all “Yes, he doesn’t understand but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands!?” rang out her voice, Madam Jin’s lips pursed into a line, of what her son had just said, that was what she was focusing on?

 “‘To attempt at the impossible’ is exactly how he is, isn’t it? Fooling around even though he knew it’d bring trouble to his sect!?” Jin Zixuan sneaked a look at his mother to see her eyes cold, her fist clenched tightly, he was aware they shouldn’t be hearing this, but this? It wasn’t what they expected at all, he was frozen in place, what in the world was he hearing?

Madam Jin’s thoughts matched her appearance, for once she felt less than charitable towards Yu Ziyuan, and more and more like a fool, here she was, risking her and her son’s safety, her sects safety, for a woman who couldn't care less about her son’s life, but was also wilfully blinding herself to the war right on the horizon, ‘No’ she thought to herself, ‘it was I who was truly blind’

And it was the boy she heard being called ‘Fengmian’s bastard’ or ‘son of a servant’ who had saved her son's life instead, she bit back the bitter chuckle that threatened to escape her, truly, what a fool she was, to be caught in the violet spiders web.

She looked at her son, whose face clouded over the more he heard, she grabbed his arm tightly, if nothing else then to prevent him from barging inside, with Jiang Fengmian’s favor, she was sure that they didn’t need to interfere, until, “My lady, what are you doing here?” she held back her disbelief, her son on the other hand, inhaled sharply.

This was what he was focusing on? Not the insults to his bas- to his ward? To his sect’s entire foundation? It would seem she was truly mistaken, in her and Yu Ziyuan sharing their miseries, entirely wrong about her character, and who was still throwing around callous words for the sake of it, for what else? If not her own cruelty?

"What am I doing here? What a joke that I am asked of such a thing! Sect Leader Jiang, do you still remember that I'm also the leader of Lotus Pier? Do you still remember that every inch of the earth here is my territory? Do you still remember, between the one lying there and the one standing there, which one is your son?" Disbelief and disgust couldn’t even begin to describe what Madam Jin was feeling, the Sect Leader’s response,  however, “I do remember.” Enhanced those to the heights she didn't even know she was capable of feeling.

And so stood the enraged Madam of Jin Sect, the horrified Jin heir and one ashamed disciple whose head could bow no lower, but that was nothing compared to what was said next “You do remember, but there's no use if you simply remember. Wei Ying, he really can't take it unless he stirs up some trouble, can he? If I had known, I would've made him stay in Lotus Pier properly and not go outside. Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and Lanling Jin Sect? Even if he did, it'd mean that they ran out of luck. Since when was it your turn to play the hero?"

Blood roared in Madam Jin’s ears, her nails digging into her palm, she wanted to bite Yu Ziyuan’s head off there and then. ‘Of all the idiotic, foolish, horrid, things she could utter-’ in her cursing, she only realised she had put too much force in her rage filled haze when her son hissed in pain, she immediately let go of his arm, and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking calming breaths.

She was afraid she would do something terrible and irrevocable if she stayed there any longer, listening to a pathetic mockery of- she exhaled and pushed Jin Zixuan towards the open doors. “B-but mother-” he looked back but she gave him that look and he quietened “Later a-Xuan.” while moving outwards, the disciple trailing behind them, they could easily catch some of the words the woman threw at Wei Wuxian.

Madam Jin gritted her teeth in anger, and left without looking back, once she and her son were seated in the boat. “A-Xuan” she began, lightly ruffling his hair “Your marriage is up to you to decide, I will have no say in the matter from here onwards” Her son was not going to be married into that cursed Sect no matter what if she could help it, she moved forward to pull him into a hug, “Mother was wrong.”

 “But mother what about..?” She heard him say, she pulled back and rest one hand on his shoulder, the other caressing his cheek, her son, who by the Jiang’s standards, should’ve been killed, and her blood boiled in her veins. “We came here to make a bond and talk if it were possible, since that wasn’t possible, it can be done some other day.” She lightly patted him, and seeing his thoughts drift off, thought to herself darkly ‘and if the Jiangs are attacked, well, they ran out of luck then.’

Her son hesitantly nodded, “Wei Wuxian...I owe him, for saving me then, if not for him.....” She sniffed, as if indicating what was obvious “Of course,” When the news spread later that Lotus Pier was attacked, with Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian on the run, she hoped for Wei Wuxian’s survival, more so than the Jiang Sect Heir.

And if, perhaps, after a few years her son proposed sworn brotherhood with that Wei Wuxian, well, it wasn’t without her approval.

----------------------------

authors notes i guess?

Okay so writing Madam Yu’s lines legit left me disgusted like wtf was she even saying?? Also like I tried to write Madam Jin similar but a bit less than Madam Yu (ya know madam jin never whipped kids with her spiritual weapons, if she had any, not to our knowledge at least...right?) but ended up venturing straight into slightly dark madam jin heh, also like no engagement, no jin-wei tense relationship, (there’ll be 1-2 parts more probably) also wwx woke up earlier in this one, this’ll serve as catalyst for later years. 

[likealittleheartbeat]

I deeply appreciate how ATLA depicts all the main characters responses to trauma. Aang’s, for me, however, stands out for its rareness in media. And we are not hammered over the head with the idea that Aang (or any other characters) repeatedly act certain ways because of a single traumatic event. Sure, there are key moments in our lives when a certain event comes to the forefront, but no one experiences the world as constant flashbacks. Rather, we see only in retrospect the way our sarcastic sense of humor or our heightened friendliness were protective responses to a deep emotional injury. Being able to understand Aang’s approach to loss is essential for the show. The structure of the series is founded on his arc (despite an incredible foil provided by Zuko). Our little air nomad initially confronts the loss of his people with a full-on meltdown in the episode “The Southern Air Temple,” where Katara’s offering of familial belonging soothes him. But this kind of outburst is not Aang’s primary response (and actually the literally out-of-character apocalyptic tantrums align with Aang’s overall process of grieving). Instead of constantly brooding (hey Zuko!), Aang leans heavily toward the monk’s pacifist teachings and toward his assumed destiny “to save the world.” He becomes overtly accommodating and joyful, constantly trying to see “the good” in everything with a perfectionist’s zeal. This is not to ascribe his bubbliness only to his trauma. Rather, he comes to emphasize this part of his personality for reasons related to the negative emotions he struggles to face.  Book 1: Water

In the first season, Aang is simply rediscovering his place in the world. “Water is the element of change. The people of the water tribe are capable of adapting to many things. They have a sense of community and love that holds them together.” This is vital to Aang as he initially faces his experience. He won’t get through this if he is not prepared for his life to change. Even if he hadn’t been frozen for 100 years, his world would never be the same. This fact involves eventually finding new people that he feels safe with. After such a massive loss, he’s learning who to trust, and also often making mistakes; not only does he find Sokka and Katara (and I’d argue he’s actually slow to truly open up to them), this is the season where he helps save a fire nation citizen who betrays him to soldiers, befriends the rebel extremist Jet, and attempts to befriend an actively belligerent Zuko (his moral complexity had only JUST! been revealed to the kid!). He’s constantly offering trust to others and seeking their approval in opposition to the deep well of shame and guilt he carries as a survivor of violence. This is also the season where Aang swears off firebending after burning Katara in an overeager attempt to master the element (one will note how fire throughout the series is aligned with, above all else, assertiveness and yang). Aang is so eager to be seen as morally good to others that he refuses to risk any possible harm to them.  And asserting himself carries a danger, in one sense, that he might make a mistake and lose someone’s positive regard, and, in another sense, that he is replicating the anger and violence he’s witnessed. He has no relationship to his anger at this stage of his grief, so it comes out uncontrollably, both in firebending and the Avatar State. It’s through the patience of his new family that he can begin to feel unashamed about his past and about the ways his shame is finding (sometimes violent) expression in the present. Book 2: Earth In the second season he begins to trust himself and stand his ground. Earth, after all, is the element of substance, persistence, and endurance. The “Bitter Work” episode encapsulates how Aang must come to a more sturdy sense of his values. First, there is the transition of pedagogical style. While Katara emphasized support and kindness, Toph insists on blunt and threatening instruction, not for a lack of care towards Aang. Instead, it’s so Aang learns how to stop placing the desires of others above his own--to stop accommodating everyone else above his own needs. Toph taunts Aang by stealing one of the few keepsakes from the monastery that he holds onto. This attachment to the lost airbending culture is echoed in the larger arc with Appa. And, by the end of this episode, it is Aang’s attachment to Sokka that allows him to stand firm. This foreshadows the capital T Tragic downfall in the “Crossroads of Destiny.” Aang gives up his attachment to the other member of his new found family, Katara, despite his moral qualms. Although he has access to all the power of the Avatar state, his sacrifice is not rewarded. Season 2 illustrates Aang coming to terms with his values. He is learning about what he stands for, what holds meaning to him. Understanding himself also includes integrating his grief, and there’s a lonely and dangerous aspect to that exploration. We see Aang’s anger and hopelessness over longer stretches rather than outbursts in this season. It’s hard to watch and hard to root for him. That depressive state leads to actions that counter his previous sense of morality, as he decisively kills an animal, treats his friends unkindly, and blames others for his loss. Letting these harsher feelings emerge is an experiment, and most people discover their boundaries by crossing them. Finding ways to hold compassion for himself, even the harm he causes others, is the other side of this process. Our past and our challenging emotions are a part of us, but they are only a part. Since Aang now has a strong sense of community and is learning to be himself rather than simply seeking validation, we also see him having more healthy boundaries with new people. He’s no longer befriending villains in the second season! He’s respectful and trusting enough, but he’s not putting himself in vulnerable situations nor blindly trusting everyone. Instead, he’s more likely to listen to his friends’ opinions or think about how the monks might’ve been critical towards something (they’re complaints about Ba Sing Se, for example). By knowing what he cares for, he can know himself, the powerful, loving, grief-struck monk. And he can trust that, though he might not be everyone’s favorite person, he does not need to feel ashamed or guilty for who he is or what he’s been through. Book 3: Fire However, despite a sense of self and a sense of belonging, Aang and the group still find themselves constantly asking for permission throughout their time in Ba Sing Se. It’s in the third season, Fire, that initiative and assertiveness become the focus. And who better to provide guidance in this than the official prince of “you never think these things through,” Zuko. It’s no longer a time for avoidance or sturdy defensiveness. It is the season of action. Fire is the element of power, desire, and will, all of which require us to impact others.  We see the motif of initiative throughout the season: the rebels attempt to storm the Firelord on the Day of the Black Sun; Aang attempts to share his feelings and kiss Katara; Katara bends Hama and a couple of fire nation soldiers to her will. In each of these examples, the initiators face disgrace. Positive intent does not bring forth success, by any means, only more consequences to be dealt with. This is perhaps Aang’s biggest challenge. He is afraid that his actions will fail, or worse, they will succeed but he will be wrong in what he has chosen. The sequencing in the series, here, is important. We have already seen how Aang has worked to care for (and appreciate) the well-being of others and how he has learned to care for his own needs. With this in mind, he should be able to trust that his actions will derive from these wells of compassion. But easier said than done. Compassion can also trap him into indecision, hearkening back to his avoidant mistake in the storm, in which the whole mess began. Aang’s internal conflict, here, becomes more pronounced as the finale draws nearer. I think it’s especially significant that we witness Aang disagreeing with his mentors and friends. He must act in a way that will contradict and even threaten his sources of support if he is to trust his own desires. Even the fandom disagrees about the choice Aang makes, which further highlights the fact that making a decisive choice is contentious. There is no point in believing it will grant you love or admiration or success. For someone who began (and spent much of) the series regularly sacrificing himself just to bring others peace, Aang’s decision to prioritize his own interests despite the very explicit possibility of failure is the ultimate growth his character can have and the ultimate representation of him processing his trauma. (This arc was echoed and made even more explicit in many ways with Adora in the She-ra finale.) The last significant time Aang followed his desire, in his mind, was when he escaped the Air Temple in the storm. To want something, to trust his desire and act on it, is an act of incredible courage for him, and whether it succeeded or failed, whether anyone agrees or disagrees with it, it offered Aang a sense of peace and resolution. Now I appreciate and love Zuko’s iconic redemption arc, but Aang’s subtler arc, which subverts the “chosen one” narrative and broke ground to represent a prevalent emotional experience, stands out to me as the foundation for the show I love so much.

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[mrspillow]

Sorry (Jellal Fernandes x Reader)

"Hmm... strawberry cake..."

Suppressing a small laugh you turned your head to Erza, your best friend of childhood days that never seemed to miss the opportunity of shoving cake into her mouth.

You had seen the amounts of baked goods the redhead could swallow within minutes, not even speaking of hours, but when it came to strawberry cakes, it turned ridiculous.

"I do not know how you aren't fat already, Erza", you mused and put your chin onto your palm, still watching that food orgy of hers "But I guess that's okay, Ichiya likes your body just the way you are."

Even though she was wearing armor, you could see the shivers running down her spine and her face growing blue as she choked on that cake.

"Stop that", she didn't like being teased with a matter as serious as Ichiya, not even by you "You know exactly he gives me the chills every time."

You shrugged and turned back to the field inside of the Domus Flau arena in Krokus, watching the pair of wizards fight it out. Although you were no part of a guild, you were busy cheering on for Fairy Tail whenever they entered the field.

Yeah, sure, there were shouts of boos and the mocking of the other guilds but with Erza alone, they couldn't be any worse than the best.

You just knew it.

Even when the both of you were just kids and surely no force to reckon with, she wasn't just a surprisingly powerful mage but also kind and caring for those in her family. She was everything that made you change minds back then and you couldn't have been more grateful. It was only then that you realized just what exactly it was that you were doing and you felt so dirty the moment it became clear as day.

You snapped out of your stupor before it became obvious you were lightyears away and focused on the matches ahead of you.

Snatching the list from Gray's hands (who was too absorbed into fighting off Juvia - as always) to take a glimpse at the letters, you let out a sigh of defeat.

"Can I have a piece too?"

Just as you felt your eyes sliding shut, Natsu bumped into you, nearly making you fall over the handrails but at least, you were awake now.

"Is it finally over?" you leaned back and let out a yawn "Thank God!"

After all, you weren't that much into stuff like tournaments, Fairy Tail was basically the only reason for you to come into this cave of pent-up masses.

Nobody answered you, either tired as well or already on their way through the door and out of the arena, back to their sweet sweet home. You got up quickly and grabbed Erza (still next to you but with a very empty plate - you could only guess Mira had sacrificed her even more cakes) to get out.

It was just then that you noticed how far the sun has gone westwards making you suppress another yawn that made its way up. You got to go to bed soon enough anyway so no need to rush.

The way back out was surprisingly swift and without running into any hostile guilds (lucky you). So you were out before Natsu broke something or bumped into somebody.

"Let's go grab something to eat, (Y/N)? You coming?", you heard Gray's voice from behind you, making you turn around and give him a bright smile - only to decline.

"I'd love to, really, but there is that thing I need to get done yet. Don't worry, I'll be back soon, just start without me.", your voice was sweet enough that you nearly even betrayed yourself, if it hadn't been for that tiny tiny voice in your head.

Why don't you just tell them?

But you brushed it off without a second thought, no need to worry your friends about your self-made worries and troubles.

"Okay...", Erza didn't seem as convinced as you would've liked "You sure?"

A simple nod was enough to soothe her and so, you made your way back into town, taking a stroll through the streets devoid of people or friends. You were alone with your thoughts and the memories that came with them.

You sighed making eye contact with the horizon to take in the way the sun was drowning beneath these parts of bustling streets and places.

You hadn't missed the silence that came with the night for you had heard it over and over again in those sleepless nights.

It shamed you to this day that you hadn't noticed the way he was using you, cocooning you in soft and sweet words to make your finger bleed from hard work and your skin shining from the sweat and tears spilled for him. The worst part of it all was that damned silent voice within you, asking again and again if what you were doing was right.

How could you build weapons of mass destruction meant for thousands with a straight face?

How dared you think sacrificing people to a black wizard could be a way to achieve paradise?

How did you fail to notice that you would never be able to sleep after you were so willing to make these sacrifices more for him than for Zeref after all?

Who knew.

Did I know?

You wondered for years if maybe, just maybe, you had known what you were doing. You probably weren't even able to throw the cloak of ignorance over your shoulders to save yourself from the cold feeling of guilt.

Shame, shame on you.

You hated the way he made you feel so far away from everything like he had built a place away from the wars and the screams of the world, simply made for the two of you.

And again, you failed to notice how it was only the mist caught in between your fingers.

"(Y/N)?"

At first, you thought it was only the back of your mind, playing tricks on you by reviving past days and voices. But after some seconds, you had noticed the silhouette nearby and wondered if you had heard his voice.

Maybe you were going crazy.

At first, you noticed the dark blue hair, sticking out to spite the cloak it was put under, then that tattoo you would notice everywhere.

Jellal Fernandes.

Surprisingly enough, your panicking mind took it upon itself to react, stumping you with the bright - borderline hysterical - laugh that came out of your mouth.

You just couldn't help it. The way he appeared after decades with nothing to say but your name just about the moment you had wallowed in self-hate and guilt was just ridiculous.

Jellal stood quiet, not even his face gave away whatever irritated look he might have had, giving your laugh an untimely end. And that was just about what you needed to come back to your right set of mind.

"What are you doing here?" You didn't bother the biting hate in your voice or the way his shoulders slumped from your tone.

"I came because Erza told me you would be here.", he started when he had straightened again "She said it wouldn't be a good idea but I came because I wanted to speak to you."

You didn't trust the way this man looked so sad. You couldn't.

Not even enough to sit next to him when he scuffled over to the next bench and gestured for you to take a seat.

Not ever, not in a thousand years would you take that seat.

So you stood like a tree, unmoving and unwavering in your place, staring at him and ready to defend yourself by any means.

Would he try anything funny?

From the way, you knew him back then? Definitely.

Surprisingly though, he didn't try to press you into sitting down, instead starting to talk about whatever it was that lead him back to you.

"It took me a very long time to properly realize what had happened in the Tower of Heaven" he started "I did things in there that I never remembered to have said or done, horrible things. And when I remembered, it was like watching through the glass as someone else moved my body."

For the blink of an eye, his hand hovered over his head before he opted to pull down his hood and revealed the dark blue hair. Jellal sighed before he put his face in his hands for a few moments as if he was trying to get ahold of his last pieces of sanity.

"And when I understood what I had done, I felt so, so guilty. I tried to sacrifice hundreds - no, thousands of people, I manipulated you, Milliana, and the others to work for my cause. The worst of it all was the way I led you to believe in the lies I told you over and over again. I remember that look of adoration in your eyes and I misused it for these terrifying things."

The way he spoke of these sins the two of you committed so easily made you relive the shame of it over and over again. It was like your mind couldn't stop.

"I need to atone for these sins, for the things I did to you, and I wanted to start by telling you how sorry I am for the way I treated you and led you into believing these tales.

I do not ask for you to forgive me or to see beyond that, I came here to apologize because that is what you deserve."

For the first time since he started talking, he looked into your eyes as if waiting for your response and your mind came to an abrupt halt.

What exactly was it what you were feeling?

Hate?

Sadness?

Anger?

...No.

For the first time in forever, you could sympathize with him - that person who you had thought of as a monster for much longer than you wanted to admit. He had been taken advantage of and used to do whatever malicious things asked of him. He did not have a choice.

What did he feel like when he discovered how many people had been suffering under him? Was it sorrow? Betrayal? Shock? Or even anger?

And only when you were ready to answer was it that you too were looking into these dark eyes.

"I remember every damn word you spoke whenever you looked at me so fondly and I remember how you laughed at me for even believing in your farce. " you didn't try to cover up the bitterness sneaking in when you recalled your heart break into pieces just like that.

"And now that you are sitting in front of me, asking for forgiveness, I don't even feel the hate anymore." it had stilled to numbness in your heart, always there, but only with that hollow feeling, never leaving.

"I cannot forget", you further explained feeling unshed tears prick in your eyes "My memories have become a part of me and they will never leave again. A Sorry won't fix everything."

By then, two or three tears escaped over your face before you could wipe them away, not escaping Jellals gaze.

He turned to look at the ground for a few seconds, then he moved off the bench and cast a sad smile at you, only to walk away from you as if that was his clue to disappear back into the night.

Only when you understood where he going, you set into motion, reaching out for his hand.

"But..."

The blue-haired male revolved when he felt your hand in his, soft as in those memories he still held close. His eyes became wide at the side of your tearing and red eyes, paired with that tiny, hopeful smile directed at him.

"But... I won't give up on you."

His mouth carved up to mirror your smile as he squeezed your hand just like sunlight kissing your skin.

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby. 

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants. 

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones. 

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that. 

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that. 

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations. 

[tommysparker]

Never Forget You [Chapter 3]

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

A/N: hey y’all! thank you for your patience with this chapter. enjoy!! :) [also totally didn’t have this in my drafts then forget to post earlier pfftttt whaaaatt?]

Warnings: angst with a tiny amount of fluff. anakin finally makes his debut in this series. it gets better just stay with me. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks

Anakin Skywalker had witnessed many things over the years. 

Giant beasts? At least once a week. Sith Lords? Becoming too common. Droid armies? All year long. Looking death in the eye? Simply another day in the life of a Jedi. 

Nothing could ever have prepared him for the sight he was currently witnessing. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, his Master, The Negotiator, the Jedi Council’s most prized Jedi…sulking.

It has been a full week since You returned to the Jedi Temple and Anakin couldn’t help to think his former Master’s mood and your arrival were connected. He was vaguely aware of your past friendship, only hearing bits and pieces of the adventures you had together as Padawans. 

During his days under Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship he would often hear about how “a wise Jedi I once knew” would do certain things. He wanted to know more about this oh-so-great Jedi, however, any time the young boy asked his Master would always brush him off with a mournful look in his eyes.  

He didn’t understand at the time but now he’s beginning to piece together that perhaps there was something more between the two of you. 

“You think Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi were courting?” 

“Keep your voice down, Snips,” Anakin hushed.

“Sorry, sorry. But Master,” Ahsoka lowers her voice, “what led you to that conclusion? I’ve hardly seen them together since Master Y/l/n came back. What makes you think they could be lovers?” 

“That’s just it, Ahoska. They’ve been avoiding each other like the Rakghoul plague. Obi-Wan told me they were such good friends, and now that they’re back they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other? I don’t buy it.” Anakin looked back to where Obi-Wan sat with Commander Cody, no doubt brainstorming new battle tactics and liberation plans. 

“So what do you suppose we do? Set them up or something?” The look her Master gave her made her regret her words the moment they left her mouth. 

“Come on, Snips. It’s a good idea. We get them to stay in the same room so they have no choice but to confront each other and talk things out! It’s genius.” Anakin smiled, his eyes still on his former Master. He had a feeling if Obi-Wan were to find out about this plan he would be in for a major lecture but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He couldn’t stand to see the old man look so miserable, not if he can do anything about it. 

Ahsoka crossed her arms and followed her Master’s gaze. Something was clearly different about her Grand-Master. He had put his full attention into ending the war, which wasn’t new. However, she could tell something was off. He no longer came out to the landing zone to greet returning fighters, stayed away from the meditation and training centers as well as the Jedi Archives which was the most off-putting observation considering that was where he spent most of his time.

Anytime someone needed to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, the first place they would check was the ancient history section of the Jedi Archives. 

“I don’t know why you find so much interest in these old books Y/n/n,” Obi-Wan complained from across the table. “Can’t we go practice our lightsaber skills instead?” 

You smiled. “Nuh uh, mister. If I won the wager you promised to sit with me during my reading time. Now shush, and read.” You pushed the unopened textbook toward the pouting Padawan. “Maybe you’ll actually learn something.” 

Obi-Wan stuck his tongue out in a childish manner, sighing dramatically when you gave him a certain look and reluctantly opened the cover and began to read Tales of The Old Republic. 

Safe to say from that point onward, Obi-Wan would join your daily Archive visits with zero complaints. 

You close the book, careful to make sure no pages fell out and gently push it back into its place on the shelf. Using the force, you carefully push the ladder you were currently standing on over to the next column and begin nitpicking through the array of old texts. 

It took a few days for you to settle in and readjust to the Jedi Temple life. Once you had, however, things quickly took a turn. 

Master Yoda requested that you help train some of the younglings who were having trouble advancing into the next stages of becoming a Jedi. In all honesty, you much rather have had the freedom to roam for at least one more week, but the new role presented an excuse to not be around a certain blue-eyed Jedi. 

“Looking for something?” 

The voice startled you, causing you to jump and lose your balance on the ladder. You yelp as you begin to fall towards the ground, bracing yourself for the hash impact and the bruises that would add to the collection on your side still currently healing.  

Instead, you feel a pair of arms catch you, one under your back and the other behind your knees in a classic bridal style. The hold felt secure instantly, and you instinctively clung to the tunic of your savior. You look up to thank the person for preventing any injuries, but the blue eyes staring back at you made your mind go blank. 

Obi-Wan stared back, unsure of what to say. This was the closest he has been to you since you left a decade ago. He longed to have you in his arms, to hug you, to regain that safety net you provided he knew he could always fall back on.

“Um...thank you, General.” It came out as more of a question, your mind still reeling from almost falling and also the fact that the man who you had been actively avoiding just happened to be in the same place you spent hours of your youth together. 

“Obi-Wan, please. No need for formalities, darling.” The old nickname slipped out, and he was about to apologize when he noticed the light blush that spread across your face. Perhaps not everything about you has changed. 

“Right...Obi-Wan. Well, I’ll be on my way then,” You rushed, trying to pass by him but he stopped you once again by the call of your name. 

“Y/n/n’s wait. Whatever game you’re playing, frankly I am not a fan of it.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What are you talking about?” You turned around and looked at him confused. 

“You were the one who summoned me here,” he stretched his arms out, “here I am and now you’re trying to run away again. I hardly think that’s fair.” He was beginning to get frustrated. He came in with his heart on his sleeve, ready to finally talk to you after so long and find out why you’ve been keeping your distance. Now, all he felt was betrayal and irritation at the ongoing dance you insist on doing around each other. 

He preferred to dance like you did in your youth, but alas this was nothing but another sign he needs to get mind out of the past.  

You scoffed lightly. “Again? What is that supposed to mean exactly?” You knew exactly what he meant, but you didn’t want to admit it. You’ve been denying it for ten years and Force be damned if you’d admit it now. 

“You’ve been avoiding me since your return--” You open your mouth to protest but he ignores you and continues “--and then you send the youngling to bring me here, only to try to flee upon my arrival,” He frowns, lifting his elbow and resting it on his remaining crossed arm. “I know our history can make things...difficult in the present time,” He glanced around cautiously as he spoke,”but I would appreciate it if we make an agreement simply to not speak from now on. No more games.” 

You blinked, head tilting slightly as you waited for him to finish. “Obi-Wan, I didn’t ask for you to come here. Nor would I ever involve younglings in personal matters.” He should know that, you thought. But should he really? 

His face fell from annoyance to embarrassment, his arms falling to his sides. “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to do now. It was his own fault for getting his hopes up. I should have known better. 

You purse your lips and nodded slowly. “Well, I’m glad we at least came to an agreement. Goodbye, General Kenobi.” You took your leave, forcing yourself not to look back as you felt his eyes watching your figure. 

Obi-Wan let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he just ruined any and all changes of reconnecting with you. In his defense, however, you were the one avoiding his attempts at friendly conversation and refusing to meet and make up for lost time.  

Still, something didn’t feel right about this. 

“What the kriff was that?” 

Ah, there’s that something. “Anakin, please tell me this was not your doing.” 

Anakin smiled guilty, Ahsoka coming out from behind the bookshelf to stand next to her Master. 

“It was Snips' idea.” Anakin shrugged, flinching when he felt her punch his arm. “Ow!”

“You were the one who came up with the plan, and now look! Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi will never get together--” Ahoska stops herself, realizing she said too much. “Oh no.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan looks at them both incredulously. “First of all, Master Y/l/n and I are simply…” he wanted to say friends, but even that was a reach at this point, “acquaintances. We knew each other in the past, and in the past our friendship shall stay. As for ‘getting together’, you both know very well any implication of that goes directly against the Jedi Code.” He crossed his arms tightly as he scolded. 

“I can tell you harbour feelings for them, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to lie to us.” 

“Whatever feelings I may or may not have for Y/n are unrelated. You must understand your responsibilities as a Jedi. No matter what emotional sacrifice we must make.” He made a point to look at Anakin at the end, knowing he won’t follow the implication but at least hoping he’ll get the message.     

“We’re sorry, Master.” Ahsoka looked down in shame not at what they had tried to achieve, but at the cost and clear damage they caused. 

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand over his beard before resting it on her shoulder. “It’s alright young one. You meant no harm. Perhaps some things are better left forgotten.” 

Oh, if only it were that simple. 

A Padawan approached the three of them quickly. “Excuse me, Master Yoda sent me to tell you he and Master Y/l/n are waiting for you all in the council room.” 

Of course, these things never are. 

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heres a box to put your heart pieces in  -> []  :) 

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[zazzander]

Jason Grace and Octavian, pt 5 / final

Healing the Gods

Of course, there is another parallel between Jason and Octavian – the rank of Pontifex Maximus. While Reyna is criticising Octavian for taking on the role, Jason is being proclaimed it. Interestingly, once again Octavian looks to gain power and is shamed by the characters around him; once again, Jason is handed this power and it is celebrated as something noble.

First, Octavian

Ignoring the murder part of this plan, one of Octavian's goals in Blood of Olympus (and perhaps long before) was to heal the gods. To fix the break that causes them to be divided, to fight themselves. He wants to restore them to full power. But I've spoken about Octavian's intent at length before. So this post is mostly being to talk about Jason.

And then, Jason

Going all the way back to the Lost Hero, we have Jason’s comment:

“So you believe those gods still exist?”

“Yes,” Jason said immediately. “I mean, I don’t think we should worship them or sacrifice chickens to them or anything, but they’re still around because they’re a powerful part of civilisation. They move from country to country as the centre of power shifted – like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome.” [Lost Hero 90]

Not example the words of someone who would later become a priest. But Jason changes during Blood of Olympus.

“I can change that,” he promised. “I will personally arrange a shrine for you on Temple Hill in New Rome. Your first ever Roman shrine! I’ll raise one at Camp Half-Blood as well, right on the shore of Long Island Sound. Imagine, being honoured–”

“And feared.”

“– and feared by both Greeks and Romans. You’ll be famous!”

He offers this in the heat of battle, as a means of turning Kymopoleia, the minor goddess, back to their side against the giants.

After the fight, Jason says,

“I will,” Jason said. “When we win this war, I’m going to make sure all the gods get recognised.” […] “Which is why I’m going to finish the job.” Jason didn’t know where these words were coming from, but the idea fight absolutely right. “I’ll make sure none of the gods are forgotten at either camp. Maybe they’ll get temple, or cabins, or at least shrines.”

As they part, Kym says,

“But, if you win, remember your promise, Pontifex.”

Jason took a moment to process her words. “I’m not a priest.”

“No?” Kym’s white eyes gleamed.

And Jason offers his own explanation to Percy,

“Roman used to have a Pontifex Maximus, who oversaw all the proper sacrifices and whatnot, to make sure none of the gods got made. Which I offered to do… I guess it does sound like a pontifex’s job.”

Jason is setting himself up as Octavian’s successor, even if he doesn't fully realise taht.

Octavian was the sole priest of the, seemingly for a long time. And Jason certainly hadn’t considered helping him in the past.

But as Octavian’s death approaches, Jason is prepping to take over.

Again, it’s interesting how their goals align; and so too does their path.

“I heard. The Senate plans to elect you Pontifex Maximus.”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t care about the title so much. I do care about making sure the gods are remembered.”

One thing this entire narrative has been insistent upon is that trying to gain power is wrong. But being handed it on a golden platter? Morally correct. Ambition is wrong, apparently.

But its such a luxury for Jason to be like "yeah I don't care" because anyone else would struggle to fulfil his promises without that title. Hell, even with that title, they might struggle. Octavian certainly did. The moment Reyna returned all bets were off. Everyone switched allegiance.

Jason Drops the Façade

The whole of Long Island Sound spread out to the horizon. They were so far up, and at such an angle that nobody below could possibly see them. The patrol harpies never flew this high. […] “But aren’t you going to get in trouble?”

“Who cares?” Jason asked.

Piper laughed quietly. “Who are you?”

He turned, his glasses place bronze in starlight. “Jason Grace. Please to meet you.”

As we see Jason recreate the memory of their first kiss. In a poetic way, Jason has become the person Hera knew he could be. For all the flack she gets, Hera really did know him best.

Ironically, Jason is now the person that could have been good friends with Octavian. Someone ready to break some rules. Someone who realises the nature of the gods and wants to fix things. Someone who wishes to make Rome a little more Greek.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5