#begin does not equal youth

[seoul-bros]

Begins ≠ Youth

The timing of this is obvious, keeping us busy while the BTS members are in the military. However the concept is so strange, marrying ideas from so many parts of the BTS universe, that I don't know if I really want to see it (even if it does become available on a channel I can access).

If anything is going to persuade me it might be the fact that Seo Yeongju is playing the RM character Kim Dogeon. Given his commitment to this project I am beginning to understand and forgive the finale of The Killing Vote a bit more.

RM's character, played by Seo Yeongju from The Killing Vote

Jin's character, played by Seo Jihun from Solomon's Perjury

Suga's character, played by Roh Jonghyun from Duty after School and He is Psychometric

JHope's character, played by Ahn Jiho from All of Us Are Dead

Jimin's character, played by Kim Yoonwoo from My Dearest pt 1 & 2

V's character, played by Jeong Woojin from Three Bold Siblings

Jungkook's character, played by Jeon Jinseo from The World of the Married

Post Date: 26/11/2023

[kathaynesart]

The eye of the hurricane. I like to think Cassandra sometimes called the brothers by the nicknames their dad used, given they were probably pretty close before his passing.

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Man oh man, this one was way messier and off model than my last few updates but whatever, we got to keep this ball rolling! Life's been crazy so I've had to take some unwanted breaks in between updates. Thanks everyone for your patience as always!

One thing I wanted in this flashback was to really get a sense of how the brothers worked as an experienced team with Leo at the helm as a proper leader. It's something we never got to see much of in Rise and I felt it was important to include since half the team is already gone by the time of Replica. Team Dynamics Ted Talk under the cut!

We know from Casey Jr that Leo stressed the importance of listening to your team. A big part of that also means knowing how to communicate with them in general.

With Michelangelo, he keeps it short and succinct, trusting his brother to know what he's doing when in his element. This trust goes a long way with Mikey, having spent years of his youth as the baby striving for the respect he felt he deserved. Leo knows it's best to not bog Mikey down with details, allowing him to improvise as needed. This unspoken freedom has only grown over time as Mikey has dipped deeper into spiritual arts that, frankly, go completely over Leo's head.

The greatest sacrifice Leo has ever made was read Donnie's Big Book of Bad Guy Codes. While he doesn't remember ALL the numbers, he has memorized the ones that matter and it has helped tremendously in avoiding miscommunication with his genius brother. More importantly it silenced any of Donnie's usual belly-aching. As Leo's "twin"/"equal" the two still butt heads from time to time. Donnie respects his brother's authority (mostly) but will still push the boundaries of what he's allowed on a semi-regular basis. Give Donnie an inch and he will take the mile and then find a loop hole that allows him to go twenty miles more. This is partially due to him often being the one left behind at HQ, making the turtle just a TAD stir crazy. Leo does his best to keep him in line regardless.

Big brother Raph will forever and always be big brother to Leo. As such he holds a place of authority in Leo's heart and is someone he still regularly seeks counsel from in both the ways of leadership and more. Raph is always happy to support his younger brother and does a surprisingly good job (albeit after years of practice) of walking the line so as not to step on his brother's toes in the process. At least not since the secret of "the Key" blew up in their faces several years ago. They don't talk about that anymore. Leo is the leader now and he's done a great job in recent years as far as Raph is concerned. He trusts him to make the right call. The two have a close bond and regularly use mind meld to quickly communicate rather than speak ...this will be important to remember for the future.

Hope that overall feeling came through for this group!

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 . . . 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ! — untold tales

first of all, thank you so so much for those who have read the deposed empress series! i can't thank you all enough—i'm blown away with all your kind words!! <3

and so, what is this? there are actually many little details i've had in mind for this au, but i can't write them all down bc there are just too many and writing up to 9-10k isn't usually my cup of tea :') this is more or less my little notes i held onto while writing the empress series, and i don't want to discard it so with this, i'll be clearing several plot holes you might've found throughout all hail the empress, the crown of diamonds and long live the empire :D

who is the infertile one, naoya or the empress?

truth is... none of them! :D both of them are perfectly healthy, and as of why the empress couldn't conceive while she was still with naoya... well, that has a lot to do with fate and god's blessing HAHA

official explanation *cough* — the empress feels oppressed in eastern empire, naoya isn't being kind to her as of late, and actually, she has a delicate body more than most... so despite being healthy and all, that kind of environment won't support any conception 💁🏻‍♀️

hanabi's children paternity

continuing from point above... naoya is the true biological father of hanabi's daughter and son :) this is my aim since the beginning -> how ironic and pitiful is it that he casts his own flesh and blood away? the main point of zen'in naoya's arc is to obtain his own heir, and yet once he does, he stupidly has them locked and about to be punished

has naoya ever loved the empress?

no. but why was he so kind with her in the beginning, you ask? that's bc he regarded her as an equal. she was the best pick out of highborn ladies in her time, famous for her talents, pretty too, and he deemed her worthy to become his wife. but later, naoya fell out of respect with her since she couldn't produce an heir

but on the contrary, the empress was in love with him, at least during her youth

what is the argument between gojo and empress in part 2 about?

gojo has long wanted to decimate naoya and his empire (no particular justification for this, that's just what emperors do :') let's leave it at that), but it's true that seeing how the empress is wronged while she was married to naoya fuels the fire. gojo may be biased bc he is so in love with the empress, but in his eyes, it's so unacceptable

the empress is suspicious that gojo is only using her after the ending scene of part 1. and she overhears geto's words (“No, Satoru. You are just using her. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”), and so she is even more convinced that he's just planning to use her so... yeah, an argument ensues :')

in gojo's pov, empress saving megumi and hanabi means she is doing it out of (lingering?) love for naoya, as he knows that she used to be in love with him. in empress' pov, gojo is finding excuse to wage a war, and with the cursed necklace incident, he has found a right justification to do so

why did naoya send the necklace as a gift to the empress after everything? what happens to it afterwards? does he know what hanabi did?

you know, actually... if it isn't obvious by now, everything naoya does in this series is unreliable :') to put it simply, he's a bit mad ever since empress ditches him for gojo—his pride is so wounded and he's becoming erratic day by day

while looking at the his coronation portrait, he might feel some kind of twisted sense of regret-like emotions (i said "-like" bc he is not right in the head), and then he remembers that he still has that necklace with him, so he might as well get rid of it. it's totally not out of love at all! :D

after hanabi tampered with the necklace and imbued it with a curse from god knows where... gojo of course has it destroyed 💁🏻‍♀️ and naoya doesn't know any of this bc this matter is not made public by the western empire (after the empress' involvement in concealing the evidence), and neither megumi or hanabi want to risk naoya's wrath so they don't bring it to his attention. more like, they don't know how he'll react, and if he throws a fit then it'll be a headache so yeah he must be kept in the dark

still, megumi resents hanabi for what she did, that's why later, he has a hand in banishing hanabi to duke kamo's household :)))

hanabi's doomed fate explained

hanabi was a former maid to the kamo household and they're famous for their cruelty. as of what they've done to her... well, you can imagine all sorts of cruel scenarios and that will be it :) things get better when choso takes over, but still... hanabi still has nightmares from it

so what happened to her? basically, gojo's line in part 3 here: "Anyone who dares to lay their hands on my empress... they have to pay the price."

working together with geto, megumi and choso, gojo orchestrated the whole dumpster fire to make naoya and hanabi fall from grace. first, he digs hanabi's background, and after knowing it, he makes a deal with choso—zen'ins have usurped the throne from the kamos and a new plaything is always welcome so he easily agrees, and then megumi... he complies bc he knows everything is in shambles in eastern empire anyway and he hates hanabi too for cursing the empress, so he helps in spreading the false information about hanabi's children not being of naoya's blood and slips choso's blood in the paternity testing naoya conducts... and yeah, they all have him fooled and hanabi is kicked out that instant

and comes the main event: naoya's stroke is also choso pulling the strings :D so in other words, this is also their plan to dethrone him altogether and install megumi to the throne. the "kindness" megumi shows hanabi is also a part of their plan, as he sends her right back to choso

in conclusion, emperor gojo is actually a cruel, cruel person :) he designs this elaborate plan to take down those who dared to touch his empress...

final note

there are many inspirations for this series if you look closer -> the manhwa remarried empress (part 1-2), queen of tears & queen charlotte: bridgerton story (part 3). i tried my best to add my own twist in all three parts, but again, writing is a form of art and we're leaning towards things that are familiar to us to write :D after all, it's just fanfics... we're free to put them in any situation ;)

it has been such a fun ride to write this series :') again, thank you so much for giving my stories a chance🩵 i never expected for so many to interact, and you all truly make my day!! if i'm going to be honest, writing here isn't always fun... but seeing your asks, comments and tags really is the reason why i'm not giving up writing here :'D and i'm saying this not for me but also on behalf of all writers out there—whenever you drop by with a long analysis/tags/comments for our fics, we're so so beyond happy to read it!!! :) so thank you, and please continue to do so if you can <3

[hatsukeii]

if you're too shy (let me know) / bsf!osamu miya x reader

genre(s): fluff! + bsf to lovers!! they're both kinda stupid but i respect it! this is an apology from me to you for all the shit i've put you through in the past few angsty fics

warning(s): suggestive at the end, but no explicit nsfw, and you can interpret it as literally never happening as well! mc had one meh/bad experience w a hookup and it's mentioned in passing but nothing graphic

wc: 1.7k

tldr; the five kisses that osamu thinks he'd like to give, and the time that he does

#5: Miya Osamu would like to kiss into the palm of a hand

Osamu's hands have been calloused, bruised, and battered from youth. His fingers have caught flying volleyballs by the bloodied tips, knuckles have beaten up Atsumu countless times, palms have scraped and squeaked against the floor of the school gymnasium every day and night. Osamu doesn't remember what it feels to run his fingers across the smooth lines of his palms, or how it feels to touch his bare skin without some scratching sensation from the hardened rounds that decorate his hands.

Tonight, Osamu lies on the rooftop of some bar, the twenty-something people here for Atsumu's MSBY victory party shaking the walls and collapsing the ceiling with bouts of dancing and screaming. The fake grass beneath him cushions his body, bending and curving under his weight, and the weight of another beside him. His head tilts to glance over at you, limbs splayed out across the ground.

"What... whatdya lookin' at... 'samu?"

His head fogs, eyes spinning as he turns back to the starry sky, and the white dots in a backdrop of black begin to draw spirals around his head as he subconsciously rubs at the calluses on his fingertips and picks at the dried skin peeling off his palms. You. He's looking at you. Tonight, he thinks he'll use the sky as an excuse.

"Stars... they're pretty."

#4: Miya Osamu would like to kiss the top of a forehead

The earliest kiss Osamu can recall is from none other than his own mother, who held his face so gently in her equally calloused palms as her thumbs rubbed at the bruise on his forehead, earned from running into a glass panel wall. It must've hurt, Osamu! Be careful! She had said, inevitable tenderness seeping from her angry brows and worried eyes as she pressed a soft kiss into the bruise. The purple stain must've disappeared then and there, healed by a kiss, Osamu thought.

You roll over to lie on your side, and shuffle towards Osamu, who's still picking at nothing on his hands. A whiff of hot breath fans the skin of his ear, and Osamu freezes up at the proximity, shifting in the grass.

"...'samu! areyouuu drunk?"

His ears are red at the tips when you giggle stupidly into them, almost scalding to the touch, like they will melt skin and boil blood at direct contact. You haven't changed one bit since graduating from Inarizaki, still a lightweight, still whiny when alcohol begins flowing through your veins. If he could, he would pick you up, and tuck you into the nearest bed with the blankets up to your chin, just the way you like it, as he usually does when you show up at his house like this on random midnights. This time, he swears the alcohol is getting to his head too.

"Nooo...?"

The ground beneath him collapses when your fingers come up to flick his forehead. He twitches, before shooting up and rubbing at the sore spot. He curses himself for forgetting about the shots from before settling in when his mind blanks and his body sends itself straight back into the grass, the impact forcing a grunt from his chest. You cackle at him, and Osamu thinks he could definitely use a kiss on the forehead right now.

#3: Miya Osamu would like to kiss someone on the cheeks

Whenever Atsumu brings his team along to the store, brooding, foreign men soften into mounds of affection, teddy bears who engulf Osamu in all-encompassing embraces, and push sloppy pecks into both of his cheeks. In these situations, Osamu isn't sure what else to do but stand and let every teammate have their turn. He made an offhanded comment once to Atsumu, something along the lines of not understanding why a kiss on the cheek was the default greeting for foreigners. Atsumu, with grains of rice decorating the corners of his mouth, laughed at his question, and told him, it's the cheeks that smile back.

"Hey...'samu?"

You've propped your head up in your hand, elbow digging into the grass beside Osamu's motionless figure as you lie sideways on your hips, face angled above his own. Your eyes travel to his that stare at the sky, and you swim in intoxicating pools of mercury, bedazzled by the reflections of rhinestones sewn into the night sky. Osamu tries to look at the stars, he really does, yet his noticeable glances at your flushed cheeks are enough to catch your attention. Somewhere downstairs, a bet has been won as fists slam into tables and cheers erupt from the bar. Somewhere on this roof, your hair hangs loose in the elastic that's unwinding from your head, a silk cover draping over a Roman statue.

"Can weee... try something?"

#2: Miya Osamu would like to kiss along the side of a neck

Osamu likes to make fun of you the mornings after you stay over at his place, from the second you shoot up from his bed and storm into his kitchen, where he prepares onigiris to shake away the hangover from the night before. Once, a few years ago, he had to run to the nearest convenience store for bruise cream, all to help ease away purple marks the size of someone else's mouth on your neck. He deliberately fucked around when helping you, poking at different spots until you slapped him and snatched the canister of cream from his hands. Whose fault was it that you now look like you can't 'curl your hair?' He had spat out. Osamu knows that he only made fun of the purple splotches because they weren't his own.

"Are you...sure?"

"Yeaah!"

Osamu is cautious, hands hovering above your waist as the two of you lie on your sides. What he's doing, he isn't sure. After all, in his twenty-four years of living amongst the likes of you, and in eight of those years spent watching you from the corners of his eyes, he has never touched anyone like this. Not their hands, not their face, not their waist. He moves away from your waist, opting to graze his pinky with yours instead. You tangle your fingers with his, holding his hand tight against your own. His calluses are hard beneath your soft palms, toughened through trials of time and effort. You lead his hand up to the side of your neck, and release it there. Osamu lets it mold into the shape of you, palm fitting on your body as if it was carved for only his touch.

"Feels right?"

"...Feels good, 'samu."

You return his touch with a hand cupping his cheek, and something unfamilar, more dizzying than the shots he took, surges through Osamu's entire being. He turns his face to your touch, and his mouth just makes contact with the lines on your palm. They're soft, so warm against his lips, and he presses them a little deeper, a satisfied hum voicing itself from your throat.

"Do you...like that too?"

"I...do. Is it okay if you keep going?"

He nods, pulling your face towards him as he turns away from your palm, and planting a kiss on your forehead instead. Your breathy sigh is music to his ears, and he lets his lips linger on your skin. But Osamu is only doing this for a friend, a friend who is confused about what feels good, and what feels wrong. A friend who hasn't felt genuine touch since the night they showed up at his house, hickeys decorating their neck. He remembers your grumbles beneath your breath as you slathered the cream across every single purple stain, fuck, it hurts. He didn't get it then, and he doesn't get it now. How could this touch ever hurt, when everything about it seems tailor-made for the mouth that gives?

"Was that okay?"

"...Yeah, that was nice."

Osamu's eyes migrate to your cheeks now, flushed and red even in the guise of darkness that encompasses the air around you. He wants to see them smile. He moves from your forehead, and his vision darts between each of your eyes. Your breath hitches at his staring, and it gets stuck in your throat when fluttering warmth lands on your left cheekbone, then your right. His hair tickles your forehead, body now impossibly close to yours as his hands massage and stroke at your neck. You think about slipping your hands beneath his shirt, so you can touch him the way he's doing to you, bare skin and all, and you smile.

"Do you want a few more?"

You don't want just a few more, you want it all.

"Yeah, do what feels right, 'samu."

He grins, dipping into your neck as he peppers kisses across its length. You squirm and giggle at the sensation, his breaths and hair tickling your sensitive skin.

"'S-samu! That tickles! Something else! Please!"

He laughs into your neck, before coming back up to meet your eyes. Your figure is getting blurry beneath his vision, either from the alcohol still running through his system, or something else- something better, more addicting too.

Then Osamu's got his lips on your own, and you're slipping your hands beneath his shirt the way that you thought you wanted to. His torso is smooth beneath your fingertips, and he shivers, sending trembles from his body to yours. He can't see a thing beneath his eyelids, but his hands find the skin of your waist instinctively. His hands were made for this, he thinks. Not to pick at his calluses or to trace lines into his palms. No, they were made for you, made to hold your waist against his own. Your hands travel from his torso to his back, feeling for the dip in his spine as you push him close, even closer than he already is.

"Do you like me, 'samu?" You mumble against his lips at the chance, and he gives you a shit eating, albeit smitten smirk in response.

"I think you know that already. But maybe…”

His head inches towards the side of your own, sending a hot breath into your ear. His hand slides towards the centre of your stomach from your waist, irritatingly slow.

“…I would like you better if you took off your clothes."

#1: Miya Osamu would like to kiss you

author's note:

i'll kiss u fr if u know what song this is made from because i can't get it out of my head like it's SO GOOD also i need osamu like this too he's a YEARNING MAN HERE!!! this is the apology for all the angst i've been pumping out lately i know i've hurt a few souls but it's nothing a yearning osamu fic can't fix bbs

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @akaakeis @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @iiwaijime

ok bye bye see u next fic pookies love u guys

[lanafofana]

The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle. 

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.  

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home. 

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations. 

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all. 

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all. 

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead. 

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all. 

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice.     The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance. 

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in. 

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.” 

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue. 

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination. 

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid. 

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble. 

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser. 

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission.  A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen. 

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home. 

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing. 

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind. 

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure. 

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly. 

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone. 

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way. 

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still. 

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away. 

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor. 

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen. 

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one. 

“Tav.” 

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention. 

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways. 

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements. 

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze. 

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat. 

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching. 

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses. 

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears. 

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently. 

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril. 

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs. 

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose. 

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face. 

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness. 

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly. 

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”  

“But–” 

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.” 

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?” 

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?” 

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.” 

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.” 

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.” 

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!” 

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?” 

“Always, my heart.”  

The End

[getoed5725]

about Gojo, Geto, Shoko, loneliness and love

spoilers for 220

written by my local monkey friend that i got permission to translate! don't take it as actual fact though, this is from our overall perspective from reading the latest chapter.

===========

In Shoko's memory, there's an image of Gojo with the loosed white bandages, who said "I won't let anyone be alone (独り/hitori) anymore" so you can see, the memory is around a year before the main events of jjk (~2017), and the time when vol 0 occured.

Speaking of vol 0, there was a scene at the beginning when Gojo was talking to Yuuta when he received death sentence by the higher ups, he said something similar: "But being alone (一人/hitori) is very lonely?"

They (独り/一人) have they same pronounciation (hitori), but 一人 is to count the number, and 独り is the state of being lonely. For example, you are in a room with 10 people => you're not alone (一人), but you can still feel lonely (独り). Basically, you can be surrounded by many and can still feel lonely. And in chap 220, what Gojo doesn't want his students to go through anymore, is being lonely (独り). on top of that, he used もう誰も (no other (person) anymore) which means Gojo himself had to go through that state, or he witnessed someone else going through it.

What Gojo wanted is "I won't let any other person be lonely anymore", not "I won't let anyone be lonely", meaning he doesn't want the PAST to reoccurred, so it's not him just being kind out of goodwill or anything. The reason for it is to make up for the past he went through.

Back to the subject individual of "being alone" state, Shoko, as one of the 2 people in Gojo's beautiful 3 years of youth, has given the right answer: "Truthfully, being in love (愛/ai) with either of you guys (オマエら/omaera) is something that will never happen even if the world falls down. But I was there (with you) too, what do you mean alone, you idiot. There's this bunch of monsters waiting for you to come back".

Gojo himself never mentions who is the individual behind that "loneliness", himself or someone else, but Shoko can immediately realize what he means. And that is because she links "being alone" with "you guys" (オマエら) (Gojo and Geto), and at the same time thinking about them during school. A Geto Suguru who felt alone with his spiral, with the insane ideals that he thinks no one could understand; and a Gojo who felt alone even though he stood among many peers and comrades because he lost the feeling of standing side by side with someone equal during his "first and last blue spring".

Next, we need to pay attention to the word "love" (愛) that Shoko uses.

Shoko uses 愛 (ai) when talking about her relationship (or lack thereof) between her and her two friends. In most cases, this word means romantic love, and it is heavier than the use of like (好き/suki). She is denying to hell and back that never ever in this life that she has feelings for them ("even if the world falls down"), but she "was there" too. It means she admits that she cannot provide (romantic) love for either of them, but she is still there for them as a friend. So, it would be stupid that you can't escape the feeling of loneliness, cannot escape the past.

The above sentence is suspicious, I must say. If you wanna show that Gojo's not going to be lonely with friends and students by his side, then this whole panel and confession of NOT being in love with either of Gojo or Geto are completely unneccessary if you really think about it. And if you want to show that you understand no one can replace a "bestfriend" for Gojo like Geto, then the word "love" is also not neccessary. Not to mention she uses 愛. Yuta uses that word for Rika in the battle. Yorozu said she will give Sukuna this bc she truly loves him.

So why does Shoko use such a term in the negative tone? Why does she want Gojo to know that friendship can also erase loneliness, not just "love"? Isn't it because in Shoko's eyes, Gojo feels that he has lost his "love"? During that 3 years of youth, Gojo never felt lonely because Geto was by his side. So when Geto left, no other person could help Gojo escape that feeling of loneliness anymore. In other words, there's no reason to bring up the idea of love if it's not to underline that it is what Shoko sees in them. Hence the panel is from her POV: it is only Gojo and Geto in that panel, after all.

Shoko confirmed herself. That even though she was "still there", even though "a bunch of monsters" were there surrounding Gojo, he still can't let go of the past, he still thinks that he's "lonely" all this time. "What do you mean alone, you idiot. I was there too". Yes she was there too. Even though she was there. Gojo cannot escape loneliness because Geto has gone. That is the reason why Geto is, and still is Gojo's "bestfriend, the only one he has".

In conclusion (tl/dr):

1. Gojo has not moved on

2. Gojo's current dream/ideal (not letting anyone alone, not letting anyone take away the youth of the young children) is because he wants to make up for the past

3. Shoko knows she can't provide them what they yearn for to truly feel happy when they were together (愛/love), but her and the students can give him care and support and companionship, so he shouldn't said that he's lonely

4. Gojo with Geto by his side is a Gojo who is not lonely

==========

I didn't expect to get more insight into Shoko's POV of the whole ordeal, but I'm glad we did. Shoko's denial of being in love with them isn't just there for no reason. There is no reason for her, of all people, to bring such a topic up under such circumstances: the children are going to fight to the death to save him and others. Shoko is also calling him out for thinking he's been alone, even though her and others are there for him. Which is... very sad to me. Geto is such a huge loss to Gojo, such an irreplacable existence, that when he's gone from this world, he made a huge void, and Gojo keeps gazing into that void, thinking he's lonely. He doesn't want anyone to be lonely like that, when Shoko calls his bullshit out because he has friends!!! He losed his love, and Shoko can't bring his love back, but she and the kids are there to support him in other ways too!!

I'm not saying this perspective is correct and canon, but it just makes so much sense that way for me. Gege has been playing the vague game about Gojo and Geto's relationship since v0, what with the mysterious last words, and now this mysterious love from Shoko's POV. I just love Satosugu and how Gege builds their relationship.

[linkspooky]

SUKUNA, YOU ARE ME

Now that we're in the last few chapters of Jujutsu Kaisen it's time to do a deep dive into Yuji and Sukuna's relationship. Is what Yuji showing Sukuna here truly empathy? Does Sukuna's death and Yuji's attempt to reach out mean Sukuna was human all along? We'll discuss that, the parallels between this and Mahito, and what Sukuna's exit means for both himself and Yuji as characters underneath the cut.

I AM YOU

While this post is about the connection between Yuji and Sukuna, I'm going to say the majority of this post will be about Yuji. I stated this in a previous post, I don't believe Yuji's showing Sukuna empathy here. While his offer to let Sukuna live inside of him may be genuine, it doesn't come from a place of genuine understanding. Sukuna himself isn't written as a character to be understood or empathized with.

Look at the words Yuji said. "You are me." He's not saying he's like Sukuna, he's saying Sukuna is like him. He is projecting himself onto Sukuna. Everyone in the story does, even Kashimo and Gojo who both considers themselves the strongest of their time and who naturally should have been able to understand the isolation of being someone as incomprehensibly strong as Sukuna were just projecting their own personal experiences on them in the end.

Of course we could dig a little deeper on the topic.

How much can one person truly understand another? It doesn't have to be a curser, or a borderline incomprehensible deity like Sukuna. How much do you understand your own best friend?

Gojo mentions that he felt loved by everyone, but also that he was so beyond their understanding that they may as well have been plants in comparison to him.

Of course, Shoko herself says that Shoko was always right there next to Gojo trying to offer him support and Gojo just chose to keep her at an arm's length. Gojo also believed that only someone as equally as powerful as him like Sukuna could understand him. Only to find that Sukuna didn't care about Gojo's feelings of isolation at all, nor was he troubled by love in the least.

Gojo makes himself out to be someone so superior to other human beings that he's beyond their comprehension, but that's Sukuna. Gojo did feel understood once, by Geto in his youth. The thing was that Gojo assumed that Geto could understand him because they were both euqal in power level. However, years after the fact when Gojo has long surpassed Geto, their friendship remains exactly the same.

The one that Gojo pictures patting him on the back is adult Geto, not teenage Geto. The one who Gojo truly would have been satisfied by in the end was Geto, not Sukuna.

So maybe what makes Sukuna so impossible to understand by others is that same reason why Shoko can't be close to Geto. Sukuna can't be understood by others because he doesn't care to be understood by them.

Perhaps, understanding isn't the end all be all of human connection. Gojo accepted Geto, and he didn't accept Shoko. Maybe Shoko would have been able to understand Gojo if Gojo ever tried to be emotionally open with her the ever way he was with Geto then he might have felt understood.

Then there's Ryomen Sukuna who rejects love and every notion of humanity along with it.

Therefore empathy means nothing to Sukuna. Yuji's empathy in particular. No, Yuji's attempt to save Sukuna is more about himself than Sukuna. It's a reflection of a change of Yuji's state of mind that he's willing to accept living with a curse like Sukuna. That he'd even try to understand Sukuna. Curses that Yuji previously dismissed as not even being worth understanding.

The first time Yuji said these words was when Yuji tried to make an offer to Sukuna to let him take control of his body in order to heal Junpei, in order to be laughed at by Sukuna. It was the last time Yuji ever asked anything of Sukuna.

Remember, in the very beginning of the manga Sukuna seemed like a standard inner demon character like the nine tails, or hollow ichigo. Yuji even thinks he can use Sukuna to switch out to help fight for him like against the special grade cursed spirit. However, we and the audience quickly learns that not only is Sukuna not just some evil half of Yuji, or a convenient power up, he's an actively malevolent entity with a will that will do anything to escape.

When Yuji realizes that Mahito and Sukuna are both curses, he starts to see Sukuna as an enemy trapped within him. Something he's reminded of again and again, especially after the Shibuya Massacre. From that moment Sukuna and Mahito become like villainous foils to Yuji, the dark to his light, the enemy for him to kill.

Yuji defines Mahito and Sukuna as his opposites and his enemies By killing them, he also gives himself a role. It's Sukuna and Mahito's actions in taunting is the first time Yuji uses the language "kill" when dealing with curses.

Mahito compared himself to Yuji and by saying as a curse he mindlessly kills humans. The same way that Yuji as a sorcerer, mindlessly kills curses. They are on the opposite side of the same cycle with no end in sight.

Yuji decides to embrace this violent cycle because it at least gives him a role to play. If curses are the shadow of humanity, if they're a reflection of humanity then what exactly is you saying here?

Yuji says he is Mahito, and then immediately that he's going to kill Mahito. It's not a statement of self acceptance, or accepting your shadow, but rather a statement of self destruction. Even though Mahito is a chaotic evil curse who enjoys killing humans, Yuji's decision to throw away his humanity just for the sake of killing him isn't a healthy way.

When Mahito said "You are me" he was attempting to drag Yuji down to his level. Yuji then willfully descends to Mahito's level as long as it gives him the strength to kill Mahito. It's character regression on his part. Yuji once said he didn't want to kill because then the value of life might become vague to him.

In a way it did, because Yuji began to devalue his own life. Yuji wasn't able to see any meaning in his life besides a "role' that someone else assigned him. Not only was he willing to throw it away at the drop of a hat, but he also didn't feel like he had permission to live.

Unlike Yuta who actively sought affirmation from others, Yuji rejected that affirmation and tried to push everyone including people like Megumi and Choso away. They were right next to him, but Yuji became unable to accept their love and support.

Yuji is a strange paradox because he presents himself as an all-loving hero who just wants to save as many people as possible, but then you read his dialogue and he's like "I'm just a cog in the machine, I will continue to kill curses until one day I die. Then I'll just be replaced by another cog. There's no meaning at all to this sequence. Life is an endless nightmare."

I'm exaggerating, but underneath Yuji's sweet nature and goofing around, there's this very bleak attitude that his life means nothing except for the labor that he produces, and one day he'll be tossed aside and that's fine because it's what he deserves.

If Yuta seeks self-affirmation, then Yuji is seeking self-destruction. His self-loathing leads him to practically lay his head down on the chopping block and offer his neck up for execution by Higuruma's domain during the fight with Higuruma, even when Higuruma himself points out that Yuji isn't the one at fault because he wans't in control of his own body. Yuji will still take the blame, anything to punish himself further.

So, the words Yuji uses in his triumph against Mahito also signify the destruction of his own ego. That is what Yuji does when he adapts his cog mentality, he denies his own sense of self.

What Yuji experiences is basically a prolonged ego-death.

Ego death is a "complete loss of subjective self-identity".[1] The term is used in various intertwined contexts, with related meanings. The 19th-century philosopher and psychologist William James uses the synonymous term "self-surrender" and Jungian psychology uses the synonymous term psychic death, referring to a fundamental transformation of the psyche.

I brung up Ego-Death in the Jungian context, but in Yuji's case, resigning himself to being a cog is also an act of self-surrender. Yuji basically moves away from all of his previous ideals. He only sees himself as a tool to kill curses. Saving others, or helping guide others to a natural death, those things get put on the back burner as a tool doesn't need ideals.

He's abandoned all kinds of idealism and higher reasoning. In fact that is what Mahito wanted him to do, to abandon the higher reasoning that belongs to human beings and act on instinct like a curse. Mahito successfully pushed Yuji to abandon human reason and become an unthinking cog.

Jung defines the Ego-Death as the stripping away of everything else to revert to your natural self. According to Ventegodt and Merrick, the Jungian term "psychic death" is a synonym for "ego death":

In order to radically improve global quality of life, it seems necessary to have a fundamental transformation of the psyche. Such a shift in personality has been labeled an "ego death" in Buddhism or a psychic death by Jung, because it implies a shift back to the existential position of the natural self, i.e., living the true purpose of life. 

Megumi also experiences an ego-death over the course of the manga that mirrors Yuji's own when Sukuna takes over his body, soaks his soul to bring Megumi near evil, and then kills Tsumiki. At this point both Yuji and Megumi both lose what were their reasons for fighting. The so-called "dignity obtained by human reason" is lost. After having those reasons stripped away from them and experiencing their ego-deaths both of them surrender control. Megumi becomes helpless and stops trying to fight Sukuna. While Yuji may not seem like he's given up on anything since he keeps trucking along, he too has given up on thinking for himself. Yuji has essentially given up as much as Megumi has, there's just less plot consequences for it.

Either way they are both brought to their lowest point by ego-death, in order to bring them to their lowest point, and make them experience a rebirth of sorts.

The persona in Jung is the face you show the outside world. it's one part of personality, with the other being the shadow. The shadow is the repressed part of peresonality. Just like curses are made up of repressed human emotions that leak out from our collective subconscious. Curses serve as the shadow of humanity collectively, especially Mahito who is made up of everything humans hate and fear about other humans. The physical embodiment of human cruelty.

However, a person can't live without their shadow. There's no such thing as a human without flaws after all, and you don't become a better person just by ignoring your own flaws. The kinds of people who are unaware of their own flaws tend to unconsciously repeat the same mistakes again and again and again.

Yuji despises curses as inhuman monsters that he can slaughter like they're enemies in a video game, but they're like... made of human vices. They are the product of humanity's emotions. Yuji's habit of only looking at the good makes him unaware of both his own shadow, his own shortcomings, and also the darker shades of grey in the world around him.

Megumi and Yuji both are characters who, need to be dragged down to the darkest point of the shadow and forced to confront their own flaws in order to learn about themselves. It's not a coincidence thaT Yuji who puts humanity on such a pedestal is a human and curse hybrid. That his older brother who's shown to be a source of overflowing unconditional love is also a human / curse hybrid, and who Yuji nearly killed because he blindly, obediently decided to kill curses. That Yuji killed two of his other curse / human hybrid brothers in spite of noticing they were different from other curses and had a family bond with each other.

It's not a coincidence that Yuji who puts humanity on such a pedestal devoured the corpses of all of his other brothers the same way that Sukuna ate his own twin in the womb to gain the power to defeat Sukuna.

Yuiji lacks a lot of self-awareness. That's why I've always said he doesn't quite live up to the "all-loving hero" he sees himself as. Savior is just a role that Yuji has adopted in order to give himself a purpose in life, but he falls short of that. The reason that he falls short is ironically that Yuji tries so hard to be superhuman, that he can't forgive himself for having basic human flaws.

It's why "Being a child is not a sin" is such a meaningful line coming from Nanami. In Yuji's eyes being a child is a sin. He constantly blames himself for not being able to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, for not being able to save everyone by himself even though he's only been a jujutsu sorcerer for a few months.

It's why Yuji gets excited for a moment when Kusakabe mentions that Yuji is developing very fast by sorcerer standards, because he wants to be someone monstrously talented like Higuruma or Gojo - and why he immediately looks so disappointed when Kusakabe says it's not because Yuji is talented it's just because of Sukuna.

Yuji feels an overwhelming amount of responsibility and wants to be a special person who is strong enough to actually carry all that responsibility on his shoulders. That's why I say Yuji isn't a true all-loving hero, because it's more about Yuji's own feelings than the act of saving others. His guilt complex over Sukuna.

His desires to be someone special and meaningful. Yuji wants to be a good person who saves others because it gives YUJI and purpose and it gives YUJI a sense of fulfillment. If you've read Tokyo Ghoul it's like Kaneki's reason for participating in the Anteiku Raid. Not because he genuinely wanted to save others, but because he "was tired of not being able to do a thing."

(I'm keeping the meme panel because it's funny)-

Yuji wants to be strong and wants to be a savior because Yuji feels insecure in himself and loathes himself for his own weakness. However, this pushes Yuji farther away from his goal of saving others and making connections with other people so he can die surrounded by people BECAUSE people empathize with each other over their weaknesses.

Yuji wants to become someone strong and unbreakable who will never falter, never feel pain, and most of all never lose. He basically wants to become Satoru Gojo, but if Yuji were to ever rise to Gojo's level like that just by getting rid of all of his weaknesses he'd fundamentally lose his ability to connect with people the way Gojo and Sukuna have.

Yuji defines himself in strength, and suffering, and always overcoming, but then what is his heart for? He strives to become someone stronger than Gojo or Sukuna to protect his friends, but if he loses his heart that loves and cherishes those friends in the process then what even is the point?

Yuji walks a dangerous road from the culling games up until the Shinjuku incident, into nearly becoming like Mahito or Sukuna in his attempts to be stronger than them. I don't think he was ever in danger of going on a murder spree, but I do think he was risking becoming someone like Gojo.

Gojo made himself a tool for Jujutsu Society for the greater good and look what happened to him in the end. Not only did he die in the line of duty, his corpse was turned into a puppet to use as a weapon against the enemy. He made himself into a monster even when people like Yuta were begging Gojo not to. Yuji was on a similiar path of cutting off all the people who loved him and just becoming a person exploited in both life and death for the greater good.

So what stopped him?

Megumi.

YOU ARE ME.

A few people said that Yuji's abandoning the cog mentality suddenly happened too fast, or felt unearned but I think if you look at the culling games arc from higiruma's fight onwards as a whole it's actually a natural progression.

It all starts with Higuruma and Yuji's conversation:

Higuruma: "You're innocent. You didn't commit that crime." Yuji: "Even so, it's my fault." Higuruma: "Why?" Yuji: "...I see. Itaodri, there still may be a lot of people who are weak like you."

Yuji is someone who loevs humans, but puts humanity as a whole on a pedestal. He loves humanity but hates human weakness, especially his own weakness. Ironic because Higuruma is also someone who became jaded by having to work in the corrupt justice system and was forced to look at human ugliness day after day after day even though he wanted to be someone who valued people for their weaknesses.

Yuji doesn't learn to empathize with human weakness until Megumi's weaknesses are the one he's forced to confront. He doesn't abandon his notion of roles until he's robbed of his roles by Sukuna when Megumi becomes the possessed one instead of him.

Yuji is fine with being a sacrifice for the greater good, but he is not fine with sacrificing Megumi. By knowing exactly what Megumi is going through and wanting to save Megumi from Sukuna's possession, Yuji is in an odd way forced to empathize with himself. Like, it's a double standard on his part that's being challenged. Yuji blames himself for all the people he hurt as Sukuna, but he'd never blame Megumi for letting Sukuna kill tsumuki while possessing his body.

In his refusal to sacrifice Megumi for the greater good, even when Megumi is begging him to do so he rejects the common Ethos that sorcerer's are expendable cogs who are expected to sacrifice themselves and their comrades in the eternal fight against curses for the sake of public safety.

Yuji carries with him this grandiose notion of saving as many people as possible. However, when the option comes to make a sacrifice that would save hundreds of thousands of people from the merger by fighting to kill Megumi instead of save him from Sukuna's clutches Yuji can't do it. Even though Megumi at that point would be a completely willing sacrifice.

Yuji has to abandon his cog mentality to save Megumi, because an unthinking cog wouldn't put Megumi's life over the lives of everyone in Shibuya. A cog, especially a sorcerer would kill that one kid in order to save thousands of lives. Heck, Kusakabe more conservative sorcerer even brings up that argument that everything would have been avoided if Yuji was executed to begin with.

In order to save Megumi, Yuji must also reclaim his own humanity. There's a reason that Nanami, and Nobara, die right before Yuji adopts his cog mentality. Nanami, the most ethical of the first grade sorcerers who tried to teach Yuji to value his own life because he was a child, and Nobara the only kid in the main trio who was a normal person are both representatives of Yuji's humanity.

After losing both Yuji becomes reckless, he stops valuing his own life. As I said far, far bove, Yuji never listened to the advice Nanami gave him that it wasn't a sin to be a child. Yuji has this entire time thought it was a sin just to be weak, just to need the help of other people, just to not be able to accomplish everything on his own.

After Yuji starts reconciling with his own humanity though, he regains his connections to both Nanami and Nobara. Nanami comes back symbolically in the form of Higuruma, someone Yuji tries to encourage to live instead of taking the same suicidal path that Yuji was bent on. Whereas, Nobara herself actually comes back from the dead in time to land the final blow, the same way she reminded Yuji of her presence and that she wasn't alone in the Mahito fight.

Yuji also regains these connections when he's processed the grief for both people. He remembers Nanami and what Nanami left him in a more positive light. In my interpretation the line "I am a sorcerer" refers to Yuji developing a more healthy version of being a sorcerer. That instead of Yuji seeing sorcerers as slaves who have to sacrifice themselves for the greater good like Geto did, Yuji can see the camraderie between sorcerers who fight and put their lives on the line together.

Either way, I think the moment Yuji truly reconciled with the grief of death is sadly enough with Choso's death. If you want proof that Yuji's revelation wasn't rushed, that he didn't skip from point a to point b, then it's right here.

Choso apologizes to Yuji for leaving him ahead of time, and Yuji tells him not to, because Choso was always by his side when he was at his lowest point and that brief time they had together was enough for him.

Yuji's relationships so far have been defined by his fear of losing people. He wants to have a natural death, he wants the other people around him to have good deaths, he doesn't want people to die too early. By focusing on the fear of losing people, he hasn't yet been able to enjoy the time that they were around. However, in this moment he realizes how much Choso meant to him, even if their relationship was brief, and even if it came to an end. Yuji learned you can still love someone even if you inevitably lose them.

This is when Yuji finally accepts mortality and fragility as a part of life.

This is also what Sukuna can't accept. That life is fragile. That life is weak. That life comes to an end. Sukuna's entire goal is to maximize pleasure and live as long as possible, and therefore he's rejected all of the unpleasant parts of reality. Sukuna doesn't want to live in the real world like a human being, he wants to exist only in the world of Jujutsu where he's a god.

This is what Yuji represents to Sukuna, The human vulnerability, and mundanity that he threw away, by literally cannabilizing his own twin and throwing away part of his soul. The part of his soul that Sukuna threw away was taken by Kenjaku, and used as a science experiment to create Yuji. Technically, Sukuna is Yuji's uncle but symbolically Yuji is the twin that Sukuna cast aside. Especially since in this world cursed energy treats identical twins like they are the same person.

Yuji for the longest time tried to do what Sukuna did. Tried to throw his own humanity away so he could be as strong as Sukuna. He literally even ate the corpses of his own brothers.

Yuji and Sukuna are symbolically twins, but Yuji learns to embrace the things that Sukuna threw away. Sukuna threw away his own soul's twin in order to grow strong. He became all powerful in the jujutsu world because he ate his twin and gained an extra pair of arms and a mouth. He's like if Maki chose to kill Mai instead of Mai sacrificing herself for Maki's sake.

Yuji chose companionship with others over power. Sukuna doesn't need others people to satisfy him, and Yuji begs Megumi to come back from the dead because his life would be lonely without him. Yuji doesn't have some noble reason for going this far for Megumi's sake. He's not saving Megumi for the greater good, but because his connection to Megumi is important to him. Because he doesn't want to go through life without Megumi.

Yuji loathes weakness like Sukuna. Yuji desires to be someone special like Sukuna. Yuji has a grandiose sense of self importance like Sukuna. Yuji desires power like Sukuna. Yuji looks down on weak people like Sukuna does, he just condescendingly wants to save them instead of Sukuna who just wants to stomp on them like ants.

Yuji is also literally Sukuna. He was created by an offshoot of his soul. The same way that Sukuna was born with a body perfect for Jujutsu, Yuji was born stronger than anyone his age, and develops at an extreme rate as a sorcerer BECAUSE he was Kenjaku's science project to make the perfect vessel for Sukuna.

They are totally twinsies in so many ways, the only difference in the end is that Yuji learns to value human connection. In Sukuna's book there is no meaning to life, except for the pleasures he pursues as an individual. Therefore Sukuna is the only real person that matters or even exists. The narrator says as much he alone is the honored one, all that exists is his pleasures and displeasures.

In Buberian terms Sukuna only experiences existence and I and It relationships.

Buber's main proposition is that we may address existence in two ways:

The attitude of the "I" towards an "It", towards an object that is separate in itself, which we either use or experience.

The attitude of the "I" towards "Thou", in a relationship in which the other is not separated by discrete bounds.

Sukuna is the "i" and everyone else is an "it." Sukuna is the only real person who exists, and everyone else is just an object for their amusement.

Whereas, Yuji experiences "I" and "Thou" relationships. Yuji learns to see other people as different from himself. Yuji appreciates people as separate entities. While Sukuna gets amusement from his life by treating other people like toys, for Yuji the value in his life comes from the people who have entered into his life in some form. He appreciates the relationships he's formed with people and the memories they've left behind, no matter how brief the time they spent together was.

This is why Yuji's words reach Megumi, because he respects that Megumi feels differently than he does. He doesn't tell Megumi to just suck it up and keep fighting because that's what Yuji would do. He understands that he's a different person than Megumi, and he can't say he understands the grief and pain Megumi is going through right now.

That's Yuji's big revelation, in just a few short months as a sorcerer he's met so many people who left an impact on him. Some of those relationships came to an end early, but that painful ending doesn't negate what they meant to him.

The few months he spent with Choso have value even if it's not the same as the one hudnred and fifty years Choso spent with the rest of his brothers, because Choso supported Yuji when he was at his lowest point. Yuji finally sees that what gave his life meaning was the memories he made with other people while they were alive together. Not the way that they died.

So Yuji is finally willing to let himself exist outside of a role.

That's what he's offering to Sukuna as well. Maybe not empathy or understanding, because if Yuji had truly learned empathy maybe Sukuna might have accepted his offer. No, Yuji is simply willing to offer Sukuna the chance to live alongside him.

Sukuna rejects bonds of all kinds and Yuji is now embracing them. Yuji no longer seeks to annihilate curses because they're a fundamental part of life. Yuji wants to live on with his curses and burdens. He's also willing to give Sukuna a chance to keep living too.

Even Yuji points out that both of them are totally twinsies. Sukuna was born as a curse because he devoured his twin brother in the womb. Yuji was born as a curse because he was created to be Sukuna's vessel. The only way that Yuji is the way that he is is because he was raised as a normal child by his grandfather. If Yuji hadn't then he would have turned out entirely different. It's the same way that Choso became human because of his love for his brothers, even though he was born as a curse human hybrid and tossed aside by Kenjaku as a failed experience.

Yuji acknowledges both his capacity to have turned out like Sukuna if not for his grandfather's sake. This time when he says You are me, he's not saying it to threaten and destroy the person he sees as his shadow. This time Yuji is trying to reconcile with his shadow. He's looking at the person who represents the absolute worst of humanity, and the things he hates about himself and is still willing to give them the chance to keep on living together with him.

When Yuji says "I am you, so I'll kill you" to Mahito, that signals his first step on the road to self destruction.

When Yuji says, "I am you, so I'll save you" to Sukuna, that signals his first step on the road to self-acceptance.

It's Yuji allowing himself for the first time to just exist as a normal person not as the hero of some epic story. He even gave Sukuna that chance too, to just continue living alongisde him, but sukuna rejected it to keep on living as a curse until the end.

So, while Yuji saying "You are me" to Sukuna isn't true empathy, it is Yuji learning to accept himself and his flaws. . Because if Yuji is willing to forgive someone like Sukuna, then perhaps he might just learn to forgive himself.

[devildomwriter]

Solomon’s True Goals

*MAJOR SPOILERS*

Solomon is often called shady, conniving, evil, arrogant, and many more things. But what is he really? Depending on the day he can be any of those things, but what it all boils down to is somewhat of a grand plan.

Solomon wants humans to be recognized as equals to demons and angels. He won’t choose either side, he chooses himself and humanity and he’s seen in the original game and in Nightbringer forcing that decision on MC, continuously asking to fight by his side on behalf of humanity.

But what does that mean? While Solomon says he does not want to make enemies out of angels and demons, he would be willing to go so far as a war.

In nightbringer he clearly believes that in the unstable past, a war between the worlds will indeed happen and considering he’s already fought a war with the entire Devildom—entirely on his own and in his youth—he’s not afraid to do so again, if need be. He continues pushing the idea onto MC that the demons are the enemies right now.

Here’s some evidence below

It’s interesting that he specifies NOT NOW as in, it’s possible later, or he has some plans for that

The something he referring to is a grimoire. Something that essentially controls demons and forces submission. Despite Solomon saying this is how they negotiate with demons, it’s clear he sees that it isn’t possible and they’ll need to be subjugated instead.

Again he clearly mentions fighting for equality. The human world is not being threatened by angels or demons but Solomon seems willing to start a fight to be recognized as equals.

Despite always asking for a pact, Solomon sees no problem purposefully emotionally blackmailing and provoking Lucifer, still mentally recovering from the Great War.

Once Solomon sees you as an enemy, then he will not hold back, no matter who you are. This many include MC which is why he keeps asking for a clear answer as to whether or not they’ll side with humanity.

We see Solomon mention, hating being seen as weak. Not just himself, but all of humanity. Not only that we see that the reason he prefers not to make enemies and to live freely is because of a deal with “Him” we don’t know who that is but possibilities include Present Barbatos, Michael, or even God (considering he has dealings with the latter two in texts and scripture)

We’ll see how this progresses but we are beginning to see more of why he is seen the way he is by the brothers. He is always planning something, processing everything, and plotting his next move to get what he wants—Humans at the same level of demons and angels, no matter the cost

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Kinktober Prompt ~ Deepthroating

Phillip Graves x Shadow!Reader

You decide to pay your commander a little visit during one of his later nights in the office...

NSFW 18+, Shameless Smut, Porn w/out Plot, Teasing, Flirting, Slight Build-Up, Commander/Subordinate play (but with no non-con dynamics), Blowjobs, Mentions of drooling, Gagging, Face-fucking, Facial (?), Graphic Description, Drabble, Scarcely Proofread

I have too much freetime at work (.-. )

Masterlist

"You have a minute, Commander?"

Graves looks up from the mountain of paperwork littered over his desk, letting his tired blue eyes lift from his monitor screen and towards your frame in the doorway.

The white glow from his screen illuminates the blond streaks to his hair and stubble, as well as the growing wear and tear on his face from the past few week's assignments with the company. The amount of things he had to do within a given day would no doubt age anyone in this line of work by a few years. Though the sight of you always seemed to bring some sort of that lost youth of his back. It often showed in his smile, with those pearly whites he so proudly liked to show off.

"For you darlin'," Graves pushes himself from his desk, letting his chair roll back towards the wall behind him. "I've got two minutes. Hell, maybe even three, if you ask me nicely."

"Lucky me." You laugh beneath your breath, the blush rising to your cheeks at his dumb little humor. You knew he only joked around twice as much with you because he found you adorable when you laughed.

The door clicks shut behind you, and not even two seconds after you're already sauntering your way over, a flirtatious smile slowly forming on your lips.

Graves watches you as you do, his body further sinking back into his chair as though it were the only way to properly take a good look at you. The man could watch you all day if time allowed it, always getting a kick out of watching you scurry about base trying to fix everyone's problems for them, his included.

"You're up late," Graves comments, his eyes quickly catching that 11:43 P.M. timestamp at the corner of his screen.

You push the man's many office supplies to the side before making the corner of his desk a seat. "So are you."

"Duty calls," the commander shrugs. "The sooner I get all of this shit wrapped up though, the sooner I can move on with things."

"Is that right?" you begin to tease. "Now where have I heard that one before?"

"Oh don't you start." Graves lets out a heavy sigh as he sinks back into his chair, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the cushion.

You giggle mischievously to yourself, before an equally dubious idea piques your fancy. You sit up from his desk, tip-toeing your way over silently, stalking your commander as he continued to sit with his eyes closed.

You bring yourself in front of your him, towering over Graves, smiling. "Feels like you're always working late nights these days."

"Yeah it does," he groans. "But, it'll payoff."

"Well..." you say, purposefully being coy. "Do you have time for a little break?"

Graves opens one eye, finding you standing over him with that little look of yours. The look of trouble. It riles him up a bit, safe to say.

"I have three minutes," he coos teasingly.

You slowly bring yourself to your knees, letting your hands rest on his thighs on your way down. The subtle squeezes you make as you adjust yourself send shivers up his legs, making the growing bulge in his uniform start to throb with anticipation.

"That's all the time I need," you say.

Graves chuckles. "That's a bold claim."

Your hands slide up his thighs, making their way to his belt and teasing him with your fingers the entire way.

"Don't doubt me love," you purr.

"Oh I'm not doubtin' ya," he says. "I'd just love to see you try, sweetheart."

"You'll owe me a favor if I prove you wrong."

"I can live with that."

You just loved to tease your commander; it wasn't often he gave you the opportunity to. Graves was always so sure of himself, and it got you off seeing such a man licking his lips and humming to your touch like you're the most powerful women in the world. It only excited you for what you planned on doing next.

The bulge in his pants is already hard as a rock once your hand finally glides over, your fingers feeling the large shape of him through his uniform. You grope and paw at him as your other hand unbuckles his belt, the man already moaning lightly beneath his breath and letting you know how ready he was for you.

"Clock's ticking," he playfully warns.

The belt falls to the floor, your hands making quick work of his buttons before you've finally pulled his pants halfway down his thighs, the bulge in his underwear sitting there uncomfortably like a tent. It makes you giggle as you pull him out, your delicate hand wrapping over his cock, feeling the soft skin and veiny limb of his that had been dying for some more attention from you.

You bring his head to the edge of your bottom lip, letting your breath tickle the tip of him, chills shivering down him with anticipation. You let your tongue touch him first, soft wetness playfully lining the head of his cock as you let your tongue swirl around him, already tasting light remnants of pre-cum webbing from him to your lips.

Your tongue travels down his shaft next, leaving a long trail of saliva on its way down to the base of his cock, as your lips gently grazed him, your hand tugging lightly as you licked and tasted your commander like a popsicle. And as if your teasing hadn't been enough, your other hand had already been dancing over him, finding his balls and cupping them your palms as you licked him. It makes Graves groan delightfully, the man's head cocking back again and his abdomen flexing at your touch.

"Mm, there you go baby," he hums. "You've got it."

Graves can't help but have his hands rest against you, having one feathering your arm and the other against your neck. You already knew the man couldn't wait to bring that hand up to your hair and grab a handful of it, forcing your mouth down on his cock.

Your tongue travels back up to the tip, giving it another good swirl, until you've finally had enough and let your lips clasp around him, his cock slowly entering your mouth.

Graves' hands tangled into your hair, his rough grip taking a more firm hold against you. He guides your mouth down on him, helping you bob your head and using you to his own ends. At each thrust down he makes you go deeper, greedily taking more and more of him.

Sharp groans leaves his lips when he feels his cock squeeze its way down your throat, feeling that tight, wet space tighten around him and your gagging voice vibrate against his skin.

He can't help but hold your head there a little longer, feeling you gag and choke over him as your spit made a mess of his uniform. He waits until the bitter end, feeling your nails dig at his thighs before he finally lets you come up for air; he damn near finishes right then and there when you've immediately brought him back into your mouth not even a second after you got your breath again. He couldn't be more proud of his girl.

He wanted to feel every inch of your mouth, have his cock hit the back of your throat so many times that when he finally pulled away you were gasping for air. Graves wouldn't complain if you'd just wanted to fuck him instead, though he'll never say no to this. Nothing beats that doe-eyed expression you had, looking up at him as you took him all in your mouth, as though to taunt him. It makes him smile, his body damn near at the edge of his seat.

Your speed quickens, your lips locking around Graves cock as you continued to suck and lick at him, only coming up for short breaths of air before taking him back into your mouth again. With this kind of performance, Graves almost felt he should give you a promotion.

The faster you went the less the man found himself in control of things. His hips buck and jirate at your touch with less reservations, his toes practically curling in his boots. When you go even faster, the man's body unconsciously humps into your mouth, thrusting and making you gag over him as he's hit the back of your throat.

When he wanted you even deeper, he brought his hands back to your head, helping guide you over him. Though you did so good on your own, he could barely concentrate enough to actually be of any use.

He fucks your mouth more aggressively, feeling every bit of raw emotion bubble in him, until his cock has finally reached it's limit.

He pulls his cock back from your mouth, furiously pumping at himself as you sat there with you mouth open, tongue out and ready for him. His voice shakes as he cums, his warm fluids gushing over your tongue and lips. You lick everything up without question, giving his cock a good cleaning with your tongue as well before parting ways.

"How many minutes was that?" you ask.

Graves looks at the clock and smirks. "Three."

Now you laugh. "Looks like you owe me a favor then, Commander."

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

[talonabraxas]

Buddha Eyes or Wisdom Eyes

Now we come to the buddha eye.

But I also know very well that I cannot just stop here, say nothing, and raise a golden flower like Buddha did. Not only do I not have the kind of radiation to convey understanding through silence, but also you will not be satisfied. It is understandable that just as we all have the physical eye, we all have the physical ear and the physical mind. I therefore have to say at least something.

You will notice that in our discussions about the first four kinds of eyes, there was always a subject and an object. For example, with the physical eye we have a human being as subject and worldly phenomena as object. With the heavenly eye we have divine beings as subject and the vast realms of space as object. With the wisdom eye we have arhat as subject and emptiness as object. Bodhisattva is the subject and the various realms of the universe are the objects when we refer to the Dharma eye. When we talk about the buddha eye, however, it would be quite incorrect to say that buddha is the subject and the universe is the object, because the distinction no longer exists between buddha and the universe. Buddha is universe and universe is buddha. It would be equally wrong to say that buddha possesses the buddha eye because there is again no distinction between the buddha eye and buddha. Buddha eye is buddha and buddha is buddha eye. In short, any duality you can construct is not relevant to the buddha eye.

The second point I wish to make about the buddha eye concerns the nature of infinite infinity. What do I mean by infinite infinity? Although we say that the human concept of the cosmos is an infinity, such a concept is just like a bubble in the vast sea when compared with Buddha’s experience of the cosmos. Is it incredible? Yes, it is incredible. But let’s think of what we have in mathematics. You know that the first degree of power is a line. The second degree of power is a plane. The third degree of power represents a three-dimensional space. All of these shapes could already be infinite in size. Now how about the fourth degree of power, the fifth degree of power, up to the nth degree of power? If you are able to explain what the nth degree of power represents, you might have some understanding of Buddha’s cosmology: the infinite infinity.

Thirdly, I wish to say something about the nature of instantaneity and spontaneity. This is again a concept that is very difficult for human beings to understand. To us, the duration of time is a solid fact. Moving through this time factor, man grows up from an infant, to a youth, to maturity, to old age, etc. It is beyond our comprehension to say that time does not exist for the buddha eye, but that is what the buddha eye entails. Billions of years are no different from one second. A world which is measured as billions of light years away from the earth according to our cosmology can be reached in just one instant. What a wonder this is!

The final point I wish to make about the buddha eye is its nature of totality and all-inclusiveness. Some of you might have seen a movie called “Yellow Submarine.” A monster which is like a vacuum machine sucks in everything it encounters. After it has sucked in everything in the universe, it begins to suck in the earth on which it stands. The vacuum machine is so powerful that it sucks the whole earth into itself and finally it sucks itself in. This image illustrates the all-inclusiveness of the buddha eye.

Now, let me summarize. I have mentioned four points about the buddha eye:

1. no subject and no object; that is, no duality 2. infinite infinity; that is, no space 3. instantaneity and spontaneity; that is no time 4. all-inclusiveness and totality; that is, no nothingness.

These are the four essential concepts of the buddha eye, if we must express it in words.. --The Five Eyes

[la-pheacienne]

Ok I've rambled about this before but I want to do it once more.

You may need to sit down for this one but the Wicked Stepmother Trope is a reflection of very real life situations. There were and still are, "wicked" stepmothers. This is not just a stereotype. Irregardless of the societal reasons behind this (patriarchal structure of society), we cannot deny the fact that women, deprived of any real political power in the outside world, often abuse the little power they had inside their own household, at the detriment of other, weaker family members. Women are people, not holograms. Women historically had power however limited, and they too abused that power when they could, and they could do that against children because children are weaker. This is a centuries old societal problem that still exists today, especially in more traditional cultures. It is not mere construction. If you are not familiar with this issue, you have lived a very privileged life and I am happy for you.

However, let's suppose for a moment that the Wicked Stepmother Trope is indeed problematic and has a misogynistic nuance. I believe this is often the case and I will explain why.

If you want to deconstruct the Wicked Stepmother Trope, you have to be sure that there is a proper Wicked Stepmother Trope to begin with in the source material. You also have to make sure that the Wicked Stepmother Trope isn't already deconstructed in the source material. Which is EXACTLY the case in Fire and Blood.

So let's take a typical example of the Wicked Stepmother Trope : Cinderella. Let's compare Cinderella with Fire and Blood for a second.

There is no Wicked Stepmother resembling Cinderella's stepmother in Fire and Blood, for the simple reason that there is no Cinderella héroïne. What is a Cinderella héroïne : a passive, innocent, purely reactive girl, that patiently suffers and awaits for her Prince (a man) that will save her from her evil Stepmother (a woman). All these elements need to exist in order to talk about a proper Wicked Stepmother Trope. This trope gets this misogynistic nuance only when it is paralleled with the poor innocent fairytale heroine. It's the antithesis of the willful and driven woman that is punished in the end (stepmother) Vs the passive perfect feminine figure that is rewarded in the end (stepdaughter), that gives the Wicked Stepmother Trope the misogynistic nuance it has. And this is very important.

Now back to Fire and Blood.

Well, Rhaenyra isn't a Cinderella character at all. She is willful, she's radical, she claims her birthright, she makes mistakes, she dares, she goes against the status quo. She fits the stepdaughter role, and she too has a dashing Prince that tries to save her. Except that he doesn't. He dies, and so does she, horribly. She is not rewarded by patriarchy for her youth, beauty and submissiveness (very important factor if we wanna talk about misogyny in fairytales). Quite the contrary, SHE is punished by patriarchy.

Alicent fits the stepmother role, except that she doesn't fit the misogynistic Wicked Stepmother Trope because her punishment does not constitute an exemplary punishment for NOT being a Cinderella type of female. It's this juxtaposition to Cinderella that makes the trope misogynistic to begin with.

If anything, the Wicked Stepmother Trope is ALREADY deconstructed in the source material. By not respecting that, the writers achieved of course the contrary result : a deeply misogynistic narrative. Rhaenyra is basically a whore. The entire Dance stems from the fact that Rhaenyra had extramarital sex and that's it. That's literally it. The main antagonist was reduced to a rape victim, and had no ambition whatsoever. Since Rhaenyra wasn't a rape victim and had sexual freedom, morally she comes across as more ambiguous than the pure one dimensional victim that show!Alicent is. Rhaenyra had a choice, Alicent doesn't. So the whole BS that both women are equally victims of patriarchy comes at the expense of the actual female protagonist, the willful, daring, non-conforming female character trying to preserve her agency : Rhaenyra. It also comes at the expense of creating characters that feel real and consistent and are not just the product of a power-point on misogyny in uni.

Book!Alicent does not fit a stereotypical misogynistic Wicked Stepmother Trope, a trope whose main goal is to reward submissiveness and punish willfulness. It's already deconstructed in the source material. The author did all the work, all they had to do is copy it. They didn't, which is why we have takes like "oh if Rhaenyra didn't want to be burned alive she shouldn't have had a paramour in Court".

[mister-eames]

Borrowing the word generator fic prompt challenge from my friend @roosterbox!

Todays word: sausage

----

"Well, look who it is," is what Ariadne begins with when Eames arrives at the office that morning. She turns her head to exhale a plume of cigarette smoke downwind. "Trouble in paradise, I take it?"

Eames pauses at the door, loosely grasping the handle.

"Pardon?"

She points her thumb somewhere over her left shoulder. "You know, with the whole ---" she balls her hands into fists and mimics a series of tiny explosions, "---thing."

He casts a wary look at the door, suddenly unsure of the contents within, then back at Ariadne, perplexed.

"Maybe give him a wide berth," she suggests.

He's far too hungover for this.

"I'm... not following," he blinks. "Give who a wide berth?"

The tiny woman makes a circle out of her pointer finger and thumb and winks exaggeratedly at him. "O-kay. That's how we're playing it then."

Righteo.

With a yank to the metal door Eames enters, shaking off the weird interaction, leaving Ariadne outside in the fierce, chilly Berlin winds. The youth these days, honestly.

"Hallo," Eames loudly greets his colleagues, unwinding his scarf from his neck as the sauna-level heating immediately hits him. "Guten morgen!"

"Eames! Hello," their chemist greets, appearing out of nowhere.

Sandeep is nervous young man on the best of days, looking particularly rattled on this perfectly ordinary one. He wrings his hands together as Eames makes a beeline for his desk, eyes darting about.

"Sandeep," he nods, then again, over to the desk furthest from the entrance. "Arthur."

"Yes, hello," Sandeep says again, trading increasingly worried looks between Eames and Arthur. There is sweat on his upper lip.

It sure is hot in here. Eames removes his coat too, hanging it on the back of his chair.

It takes several minutes for Eames to extract all of the field data he'd managed to retrieve the day prior from his bag. Receipts, pin locations, recorded messages, even discarded newspapers; all minutiae, and all utterly vital in composing the pigment that paints the broad strokes in forgery, as it were. He's shadowed the marks twin for all of five hours and knows his lunch order, his favourite cafe, political leanings, preferred brand of cigarettes, and the exact, saliva-soaked, smacking noise he makes when he chews his peppermint gum, open-mouthed, which he did all damn day.

A quirk Eames is going to have to momentarily adopt. Ugh.

Nothing to be done for it, he supposes, even if he is already cringing so hard he's developed a minor tic. He slides his glasses on and starts to make sense of his notes.

It takes him a solid hour to realise Arthur hasn't acknowledged him. Not even once.

---

Ariadne keeps shooting him worried glances. Sandeep has dropped three beakers and left the office an hour ago after a... verbal incident... and hasn't yet come back.

And Arthur -- well.

He seems very, very preoccupied in sharpening the same three 2B pencils, is the thing. Not that Eames is one to judge. Especially not after the time he saw Arthur utilise a sharp pencil as a weapon in a dream one time. Very resourceful, that man. Utilitarian.

Lovely.

Arthur slaps down one of his newly sharpened pencils on his desk with a frightening amount of force and an equally frightening grimace on his face.

Ariadne looks at Eames again. Perhaps because Arthur does not seem to be doing any actual work.

Well, Eames can help him with that. Collecting his notes, Eames rises and ambles over to Arthur's desk, stopping short as he takes in the peculiar state of it. Paperclips, bent out of shape to the point of irrevocable deformity, litter the surface, alongside several scrunched up balls of paper.

The aforementioned pencils sit primly in the centre amidst the chaos.

"Can I help you?" Arthur demands, wielding one.

"Notes," Eames tentatively holds his folder out, somewhat taken aback by his tone and the force in which Arthur snatches it from his hands. "On the forge."

Eames catches Ariadnes eye, finally. She mimics another explosion.

"Err...alright, Arthur?"

With a wave of his free hand, Arthur dismisses Eames in lieu of an actual response, flicking through Eames' paperwork with jerky, agitated motions.

"Right," he says, Arthur's silence becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "...Good. Is there anything else you --"

The pencil in Arthur's grip snaps clean in half.

"Never mind," Eames, alarmed, gestures to his desk, inching away. "I've got to...."

He retreats.

---

Arthur, exuding a downright hostile, malefic aura, ignores both Eames and Ariadne for the most part; except to snap at them like an agitated crocodile whenever one ventures too close to his desk or 'talks too loud' or 'breathes like a congested bovine', which is a shame, because the kitchenette is right behind Arthur's set up and Eames loves a good tea-break chat.

Speaking of. Eames isn't sure what crawled up Arthur's rectum and perished, but it is now mid-morning and Tetley's waits for no man.

"Can I get you a cuppa?" Eames offers, magnanimously.

Directing a glare at Eames that could wither a sequoia, Arthur slides on a pair of midnight black headphones.

"Err..."

It's as clear a statement as any. The death metal he plays is so loud that Eames can hear it through the headphones and over the screech of the boiling kettle.

"I'll have a coffee," Ariadne yells to be heard over the din. "White, two sugars, please!"

---

After some internal deliberation, something clearly seems to be the matter.

---

Once, in their early days of working together, back when Eames was young and impulsive and quick to take things to heart, Arthur's professional ire rubbed him the wrong way at the wrong time. Took his poor mood personally. A blow to his ego.

So, Eames did whatever any young lad who had never held a real job would do - he nicked a tampon out of their extractors bag and presented it to Arthur. Eames had told him, "here, you're clearly on the rag," thinking himself so damn clever, puffed up with his own satisfaction and the sound of his team-mates laughter.

Sure, it led to a barny of almighty proportions that led to Arthur freezing him out for a year, but they were young and dumb then.

Eames would like to think they've grown since.

With that in mind, after an entire morning of weathering Arthur's potent animosity, Eames thinks he's finally narrowed down the problem.

The audible stomach gurgling is what tips him off.

Perhaps Ariadnes' never seen this side of Arthur before, but Eames has, enough to put two and two together. The snark, the twitchiness, the bitchiness; this is Arthur at hangriest. A situation easily remedied.

Ariadne would know, if she knew Arthur like Eames did. Perhaps placated him with a danish or a bagel. A succulent hot chocolate, maybe, like that one time, in Ohio, where Arthur got whipped cream on the corner of his lips, licking them over and over, his countenance softening in a haze of glucose and a chocolate-y scent had permeated the office. He'd smiled at Eames, then. There had been dimples.

"I'm getting lunch," Eames announces suddenly, standing.

He knows just the place.

---

The only thing that fills the office now upon Eames' return is the sound of Arthur's plastic knife scraping against the polystyrene tray as he cuts, no, hacks into the potatoes and variety of wurst that Eames brought back for him.

It's worse than the pencil-sharpening.

Even Ariadne winces as Arthur forcefully stabs a sawed-off portion of sausage and eats it.

Eames watches, transfixed, mouth dry, as Arthur seems to take great satisfaction in mutilating the food in a manner that can only be described as savage.

"Alright, Arthur?" he dares to ask again.

Instead of answering, Arthur locks eyes with him and, very slowly, chews a chunk of wurst.

---

At four-o'clock on-the-dot Ariadne packs up her bag and departs without so much as a goodbye, discomfort writ visibly all over her face.

Eames can commiserate. He too has seen the shredded remains of Arthur's lunch in the kitchenette bin.

"Penis jokes," Arthur says as soon as Ariadne's out, voice as hard as his steel-eyed glare. "Nice one, Eames. How old are you?"

Eames pauses.

"What?" he asks dumbly.

"The lunch," Arthur gestures. "Really? I thought we'd moved past that."

"I'm not... following."

"The sausage."

"The wurst?"

"The sausage. You really are an asshole."

"Because of... lunch...?"

Arthur tuts darkly, standing too, placing his laptop and papers into his messenger bag with gentleness despite the rigid line of his spine and shoulders.

"Because I'm sick and tired of your stupid jokes, alright?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The--the lunch," Arthur repeats, voice rising with fervour as he secures his bag across his torso, "the text last night!"

"Are you fucking on something?"

"Are you? You sent me a photo of your dick!"

Affronted, Eames says, "I did not."

"You did so." Arthur affects a poor imitation of his accent, "Come over, Arthur. I need your help, if you catch my drift. Wink-ey face." Arthur shakes his head. "Fucking worst pick-up line ever."

"I swear to you, I didn't send you a --" he fishes his phone out of his pocket, thumbing through his recent texts for evidence, opening up his log with Arthur, "-- look, hang on a tick..." where is the damn---

---oh.

There it is. Erect and proud like a flag pole.

Hazy memories of getting drunk in his hotel room come swimming back to the fore. He'd gotten back to his hotel room tired, cranky, aching to loosen up. So he took a shot of vodka every time he remembered the sound of his marks disgusting chewing. At some point he blacked out, but he does recall thinking it was a good idea to send something flirty and subtle to Arthur. But he always thinks that.

Although, to be fair, he did think it was rather odd that he woke up in the bathtub with his pants around his ankles this morning.

"Looks like I did."

Arthur huffs. "That's what I just said..."

Eames stops listening as a rare feeling of shame washes over him. His stomach turns. Jesus Christ, good one Eames, now you've gone and done it. Of course Arthur would be livid over such a thing. Eames can hardly blame him.

Of course Arthur would raise hell at the very thought of such a lewd come-on, especially from Eames of all people. Of course he'd be repulsed; it's Eames after all and Arthur has never seen him that way. Arthur has never -- Arthur would never want that with --

"...and then I went to your hotel room and you didn't even answer the door! What the fuck, Eames?"

Eames stills.

"Back up. You did what?"

Drumming his fingers on the bag-strap, Arthur averts his eyes somewhere just past Eames, mouth twisting to the side. The stern lines of Arthur's body sag with heaviness.

"Just another joke at my expense, right?"

Eames feet are set on a path towards Arthur before he can command them otherwise. "It wasn't a joke. I must have fallen asleep."

"Great," Arthur rolls his eyes, still refusing to meet Eames eyes. "Passing out before the punchline. Excellent."

"So...you came to the hotel room?"

"Yes."

He steps closer again, ducking his head to catch Arthur's gaze. "You wanted to... 'help' me."

"And now I want to shoot you."

"Arthur, I've been trying to be very subtle," Eames says softly, trying to not get his hopes up, feeling as if his heart, beating with the bass of a djembe, is teetering on a tightrope, on the verge of flight or failure. "About my feelings."

Arthur's mouth twists even more, pursing unpleasantly. "Yeah. I got the message loud and clear."

"I'm not sure you do." Tentatively, Eames places his hand on Arthurs upper arms, grateful when Arthur doesn't immediately punch him in the face. "I bought you lunch because you were hungry."

"And?"

"And I took a job in Germany in the middle of winter."

"You wanted a job."

"Yes; with you."

"...Oh."

"Yeah."

"You..."

"I don't need the money. And let's face it; this is the worst job. Possibly ever."

"You do hate the winter," Arthur says, voice small.

Eames nods. "And Germany."

"That's why it's so hot in here," Arthur says, gesturing to the wider office. "The heater. I know you hate the cold."

Eames has been sweating in here for two weeks.

But there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be.

He admits, helpless, "I would never leave you locked out on purpose. I've wished to woo you properly."

"Oh," Arthur blinks, a sudden smile unwinding his lips. He steps forward and looks Eames right in the eye with none of the flint from before, but all of the fire. "I mean, I appreciate it, but..."

Arthur forcefully tugs him in and kisses him.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

When you touch me, I am where love is born

Young!Mihawk x reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

*****

The man is attractive, if you like the burly type, with rough features and a full beard - which you occasionally do, even though you are slightly put off by the fact that your would-be victim, a former pirate who is now working solo as a robber, has killed twelve people, all of them but one defenseless civilians and including four children, to steal their valuables. Your grandfather, who put your first gun in your hand when you were only nine and taught you to use it, and a number of other firearms, to perfection, told you emotions are often a shooter's worst enemy, a cause of confusion and inaccuracy and worst of all hesitation, especially when the target you are shooting at has a weapon of their own; still, in your heart you feel satisfaction, even joy, and not guilt, at the thought that you will rid the world of this lowlife and protect his future potential victims.

Your target has no permanent residence and is notoriously proficient at putting pursuers off his tracks, but you were able to track down an accomplice of his who, for a small price, told you he would be in a certain island, on a particular day.

He is, and you are as well, having reached the island yesterday by ferry under the guise of a normal, innocuous tourist eager to enjoy the island's luxurious beaches and night-life. The truth couldn't be more different, and as you check for the twelfth time your gun is loaded and ready to shoot, you order yourself to keep your cool and stop your heart from beating twice as fast as normal. Yes, this is your first assignment as a mercenary; yes, you are still very young, and a woman, which would lead many of your fellow killers for hire to look down on you and doubt your ability; yes, you have never killed anyone before, which could make you hesitate once you will have to actually pull the trigger, not at a clay pigeon or another target prepared by your grandfather for your training, but at a living, real person.

But you can do it. You want to do it, because you have trained so much and so long for this, and that man does deserve to pay for what he has done, and you want to prove, to the world and more importantly to yourself, what you are worth, how strong and clever and resilient you are, beyond the family you were born in and the role you will take on one day. Your grandfather, an excellent gunslinger who had been a mercenary himself in his youth, expects you to put to good use everything he taught you and succeed, and your mother, while naturally worried for your safety, raised no objections and allowed you to begin a career as a killer for hire, knowing you felt the need to put yourself to the test beyond the comfortable, tranquil borders of your island. They both count on you, and you'd rather eat glass than disappoint them… and yourself, the harshest, least forgiving judge of all.

Also, if I don't kill that guy, he will probably kill me. That's also something I should keep in mind.

Having kept watch on the old barn, in the middle of the countryside, your target had spent the night in, you have seen him leave soon after dawn, the long sword he used to kill most of his victims as usual by his side, and set out towards an uninhabited corner of the island. You followed closely, careful not to lose him and, at the same time, not to be spotted, and three miles later you saw him reach an old abandoned mine; there is no sign of life for miles all around, which makes you suspect that, more than preparing an heist in a bank or a shop, or to attack an unsuspecting traveller to rob and then kill them, the man is meeting with an accomplice to organize an hit, or perhaps he has chosen the mine as his new hideout, to lay low for a while.

But all things being equal, the reason that has brought him here doesn't really matter; he might be looking for a safe place to store his stamp collection, or planning to transform the place in an ice cream shop for all you care. The only thing that counts is that you will kill him today, provide justice for all the people he has murdered, and begin making a name for yourself as a mercenary. You don't care about the bounty money, that you plan to donate to the less affluent families of your island (after, perhaps, you have treated yourself to a good dinner) and even becoming famous as a killer for hire is a side issue; you only want to do what is right, and prove yourself you are more than a privileged young woman, born with a silver spoon in her mouth and destined to a life of tranquility and power.

Even if it means risking your life.

Your target has reached the entrance of the mine, securely boarded up and surmounted by a large KEEP OUT sign; he walks back and forth, clearly nervous as he smokes a cigarette, fingering the hilt of his sword. Hidden in a small ramshackle building, perhaps the old foreman's office, no more than ten paces away, you look at him through a crack in the door, kneeling on the dirty floor; your heart is pounding, a feeling of tightness constricting your stomach, the hand grasping your gun (a good, reliable and lethal model; not the derringer you will one day receive as a gift from your father and that you will treasure for the rest of your days, but still perfectly up to the task) sweating. Despite all the time and effort you dedicated to prepare for this moment, you are a nervous wreck, which is not completely a bad thing, since the last thing you should do is underestimate the danger you are in. Your target is still alone, busy smoking and apparently unaware of your presence, but any moment you waste could be the one he decides to leave, or he is joined by someone else; after all he does look as if he is waiting for someone. You can't hesitate any longer.

You stand slowly, grimacing at the pain in your knees, retrieve a second gun from the bag you have left on the floor, to use should the first one jam, and slide it in the holster hanging from your waist; you have chosen comfortable clothing, for obvious reason, and soft-soled boots, that allow you to walk as noiselessly as possible… and, in turn, to make it harder for your target to hear you approach.

The man has turned his back to the shack, busy lighting another cigarette after the one he has just put out under his foot; it's your moment, you decide, and you waste no time in slipping out of the splintered door and take one step, and then another, towards him.

Years and even decades later, as the list of your victims grows longer and you get used to the tension and the danger your job entails, you will still remember this moment as clear and vivid as if it had taken place yesterday, down to the smallest detail. The glowing yellow-red of the sun barely raised above the horizon; the natural vegetation rustling in the gentle wind; the russet colour of the unsown earth under your feet; the expectant, charged silence broken only by the distant call of a carrion crow. You are only partially aware of your actions, your instinct and training taking over, as you take a third step, which brings you at maybe six from your target - more than close enough for a clean shot. Your gun is aimed, your finger already brushing against the trigger. You are about to talk, but the man, still turned the other way, anticipates you.

"I was waiting for you." he says, tense but calm, and the shock is almost enough to make the gun slip from your hand; you have been very careful to remain hidden, making sure he had no idea you were keeping a close eye on him, and you were absolutely sure you had succeeded, and would easily sneak up on your target. Apparently the truth is different… or at least so it seems for a moment, before the man finally turns, sees you, and goggles.

"What the… who the hell are you?!"

"I…"

"Where is Mihawk?" he insists, which is a question you have no answer for, but that at the same time is enough to dispel your doubts: he had no idea you were coming, and was actually waiting for someone else - perhaps an ally or an accomplice.

It takes your target half a second to notice the gun you are aiming at him. "What the…?!" he exclaims, letting his second cigarette fall to the floor and grabbing his sword.

It is already a full second to late.

"Jack 'The Tiger' Vespertine." you begin, mimicking the formal tone you heard your mother use so many times; you will decide to do away with the declaration of intents by your third assignment, like virtually all World Government-sanctioned mercenaries and killers for hire do, especially when the target is already aware of the danger they are in and armed, but since this is your first time you deem appropriate to follow the rules to the letter "You have been found guilty of twelve counts of murder…"

Vespertine's sword is drawn with a movement too fast for your eyes to follow, but thank all the Gods you are fast as well, and ready; a battle-cry fills the air, and half a second later, when the man has barely had the time to raise his blade above his head, your finger pulls the trigger, and the bullet explodes out of the gun's barrel, opening a hole in the middle of his forehead.

Vespertine is not an heavy man, but the thud of his body hitting the ground is deafening, the ground shaking under your feet. He doesn't move, and for a full minute you don't either; you stare at the body in front of you, your gun still pointed at him even though you know he is most likely already dead, as you push his sword away with your boot. You can't see his face, since he has fallen on his belly, so, for safety's sake, you shoot him again, in the back; the man doesn't move, which is proof enough for you.

Somewhere in the distance, the carrion crow cries again, a sound vaguely similar to an acid laugh; you glance all around you, making sure you are still alone and no one witnessed your actions, and then cautiously crouch down, using your free hand to turn the body on his back and look at it -at him- in the face.

This moment is the reason why you decided to do it like this. Up close, looking at him in the face and making sure he saw you and, within reason, knew you were going to kill him, instead of finding a safer way, hidden among the shrubs or from a moving vehicle or even at the third floor of a building, so that your target would have no way to know what was going to happen, and to defend himself. You had to let him know; not because you owed him (he was a killer, scum like that was entitled to nothing) but because you needed it.

"There is nothing wrong with aiming from a distance, and shooting at someone who doesn't expect it, at least if you're a mercenary and chasing a certain sort of people; in a fair duel, or when the person you are shooting at deserves to know what is going to happen to them, different rules apply." your grandfather told you one day, as you walked together in the fortress' gardens, at the end of yet another training session; he was an honourable man, your grandfather, but he was also smart and pragmatic, and he knew honour was something a person could not always afford to care for, and that when you didn't leave someone else to pay for your actions there was nothing wrong with running away to fight another day "We are not swordfighters; we don't duel for supremacy, for a grandiose title or so that everyone in the world knows our name. The gun is a weapon; if you want to kill someone, use it and it will do its work. It's not your friend, or a talisman that endows you with some arcane power; it is a tool that you need to learn to use, otherwise you will be the one getting hurt. It is a bloody business, a raw and practical one, devoid of heroics and ethics, but it can protect you and help you make your way in the world. It all depends on you. Just..."

"Just?"

Your grandfather had stopped, contemplating the rose bushes your mother tended to personally, and that ran all around a tiny plot of grass, where your family had enjoyed so many outdoor breakfasts.

"What I'm trying to say is that using firearms, especially for a deadly purpose like you mean to, is something you mustn't take lightly." he continued as he looked at you; he loved you dearly, but in that moment there was sternness in him, as if he were warning you against a terrible danger, or a grave crime you were about to commit. You liked it; he was the first person to treat you like an adult, years before you could even vaguely call yourself that "It... goes to your head; the power to kill with a simple press of your finger can make even the most rational and moderate person feel all-powerful. And the risk of forgetting it is people you are shooting at and killing, not clay pigeons or game to serve at dinner, is high."

You looked at him; he was probably the person you loved the most in the world behind your mother, and he was wiser than even her. You trusted him completely, and you knew he only wanted what was best for you; had he said bathing every day in olive oil would make you immortal, you would have believed him.

"And you think this could happen to me?" you asked, afraid of hearing his answer; evening was approaching, flames of red and purple painting the darkening sky above your heads "I... I don't want it to, grandfather; I only want to kill bad people, like you did. I don't want to become bad myself."

Suddenly he smiled, as he took your hand in his like he did when you were still so young you needed to be guided as you walked. "I have faith in you, (name); I know there is no kinder girl in all the four seas, and I am sure you will one day rule over our island with justice and mercy." he told you "But if you really want to become a gunslinger... you have to promise me something: when you kill a man, you have to look at him in the eyes; not necessarily before, as I told you, but at least after. Take responsibility for what you have done, and face the consequence of your actions. Especially the first time."

A sudden gust of wind passed over you; the evening was warm, but you suddenly felt chilled.

"Promise me, (name)."

"I promise, grandfather. I will do as you said."

And you do, contemplating the body of the man in front of you, now truly alone in that isolated corner of the world. You feel no guilt; rather, you are proud of yourself, and you know your grandfather will be as well, when you'll call home to reassure him and your mother you are all right. You have proved yourself, punished a vicious murderer, and given justice to his victims. All in all, a good day... even though you do feel a bit upset, even if you couldn't exactly say why.

You can't tear your eyes away from Vespertine -or rather, from his mortal remains- even longer than what your grandfather would deem necessary. The bullet you have killed him with went right through his cranium, but the hole it created is no bigger than a bean at the centre of his forehead, and his face is still perfectly recognizable... which is good, since you wouldn't be able to collect the bounty if you can't prove you killed the right man. You saw another body once, an inexperienced guard on your island, who had shot himself in the face with his service pistol as he cleaned it, and the bullet had completely erased his features, so much that even his parents couldn't formally recognize him...

Vespertine's old bounty poster, from the time he was still part of his old pirate crew, is folded in the inside pocket of your jacket; you take it out, open it, observe it carefully comparing the man in the picture with the one lying on the ground in front of you, and finally sigh, relieved. You had already checked it for the third time twenty minutes ago, as you waited for the right moment in the foreman's office, to make sure you had actually found the right man and were not about to kill an innocent who simply resembled him, but this is obviously the first time you can examine him up close and yes, this is undoubtedly Vespertine himself. You killed him... but your work is not over yet.

Still, you can't stop looking at him. His eyes, of the same colour of your mother's, are still open, a single drop of blood that slid down from the wound leaving a tiny blood trail along the side of his nose. He had had time to realize you were attempting to kill him, but his expression betrays neither fear, nor rage, nor the pain he must have felt as he died; rather, he seems... surprised, as if he really hadn't expected to see you, to be attacked, and that that quiet, still morning would be the last of his life.

I'm doing it, grandfather, you think; you will make sure to tell him in person once you're back home, to let him know you haven't forgotten what he had taught you, but for now, mentally addressing him is the best you can do. Just like you told me to. And now I know what you meant; I feel exactly as you thought I would. I killed him; and all it took was pulling a trigger. He wasn't a good man, and he deserved this and even more. But still... But still...

It is sudden and violent, like a punch (or a bullet) to the stomach; the bounty poster falls from your fingers, and you fall to your knees, your legs unable to support you. Your head swims; your heart beats fast enough to hurt; cold sweat covers your back, your arms, your whole body...

A disgusting sound (bleeeaarrggghh) escapes your lips, followed by everything you had eaten in the last twelve hours.

*****

You start feeling a little better fifteen minutes later, and thank all the Gods you have water and paper towels in your bag, which allows you to clean yourself at least a little bit.

After a brief rest, you get to work, retrieving other tools from your bag: a knife, a sturdy sack, the sort you use to store grain or flour, and a tinderbox. You bit your lip, ordering yourself not to feel sick again, as you cut Vespertine's head, sawing through skin and tendons and bone and separating it from his body; consequently, you put it in the sack. Collecting wood takes you only a few minutes, since the countryside abounds with fallen branches and twigs; lighting a fire is equally easy, since you have been taught to use flint and steel since you were a little girl. Dragging your victim's body over the (still unlit) pyre is the hardest part, since he must be twice as heavy as you, but in the end you succeed, and soon Vespertine's remains are burning and then reduced to ashes, leaving no trace of his passing that an eventual friend or ally could trace back to you. Unsure of what to do with it, you finally bury the man's sword near the entrance of the mine, digging with your bare hands since you don't have a shovel at hand and making sure it cannot be found.

You then place the sack containing your victim's head in your bag; the idea of carrying that thing around is more than a little disgusting, but doing the same with the entire body would be much more tiring, and your grandfather said it will be more than enough to claim the bounty, since a severed head is clear proof of a person's death.

Soon after, you set off. You haven't lowered your guard yet, in case Vespertine hadn't come alone or had friends and allies nearby, not to mention that watching your back will now have to become the norm, but you feel relieved you have completed your task, and you can't wait to reward yourself with a good meal, cash the bounty and return home to tell your mother and grandfather about your first success as a mercenary.

You have started whistling a popular song of your island, the warmth of the blooming day kissing your skin, when suddenly you are not alone on the road anymore; a tall man is walking purposefully towards you, and towards the mine... a man with a large sword hanging from his belt.

Shit. Vespertine did say he was expecting someone, and while you cannot be sure this guy is (was) a friend of your victim and would want to avenge his death, the best, safest thing you can do is to get away as quickly as you can, before he realizes what has happened and that you must be responsible for it. Is it cowardly? Perhaps - no, it surely is, and your grandfather did tell you the honourable man is very often the dead man as well, and you are a mercenary, not a warrior, you are not bound by a code of conduct and it would be very stupid to risk your life when you have nothing to gain from it, but...

But...

"Excuse me." you call to the man who has by now walked five or six steps behind you, turning to look at him and thinking back to your brief conversation with Vespertine "Is your name... Mihawk?"

The man turns, clearly surprised to hear a stranger mention his name. He is very tall, slim but strong, dark-haired, practically but elegantly dressed.

"Do I know you?" he asks after a moment he has spent observing you.

"No, but perhaps we have a mutual acquaintance. Did you know Jack "The Tiger" Vespertine? Were you meant to meet him today?"

You grimace, realizing you have used the past tense when this man -Mihawk- still has no idea Vespertine is dead. This is probably the stupidest, most dangerous thing you have ever done, a leap in the dark, because your gun is still charged and nothing would stop you from at least trying to kill your second swordsman of the day, but you could simply keep walking, and he would have no way to know what has happened, since there is no trace of Vespertine's remains and by the time Mihawk may suspect he had been killed, you would be long gone.

Still. Something in your heart tells you you are doing the right thing, because you are not a coward, and because this man will not prove to be a danger for you. You don't know why, but you are sure.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Mihawk brings his arms to his chest; he is still staring, and there is something in his gaze that makes you squirm - in his gaze, or perhaps in his eyes, which are of a very unusual colour...

"Why should I tell you?" he asks in the end.

"No reason, actually." you admit "It's just... well, I hope you were not close friends, or related, because he is dead."

Silence. You tense, ready for whatever his reaction will be, but the man lets his arms fall to his sides, without touching his sword - a good blade, he will tell you in time, but still largely inferior to Yoru, that will not come into his possession for a few years still.

"You killed him?"

"I did. Less than an hour ago, at the mine he was waiting for you at."

"Are you a pirate?"

No, just the daughter of one, you are for a moment about to answer, before quickly stopping yourself. You have been sworn to silence regarding the identity of your father, for the safety of your family and your own, and you have never been tempted to break that promise until now. What is happening to you?, you wonder, feeling strangely numbed all of a sudden, why do you instinctively feel able, or even eager, to share your secrets with a man you had never met before...?

(You will understand it; in time. And you will be happy of it.)

"No; I'm a mercenary working for the World Government." you answer in the end, trying to pull yourself together; it is technically not the truth, at least until you cash your first bounty, but the Marines do have a number of killers for hire on call, and who knows, perhaps one day you will be part of that selected circle... "Vespertine left a long list of victims behind him, there is a bounty on his head."

"I see."

You wait for him to elaborate, to express rage or regret or joy at the news of Vespertine's death, but Mihawk is clearly not the loquacious sort, because he keeps his emotions for himself, and "Thanks for telling me." he simply says.

"No problem. Why was he waiting for you?" you ask again, cocking your head; you have no idea of how dangerous he is, even now that he is little more than a boy, but even if you knew, you wouldn't be deterred. You are curious... and fascinated, somehow, by this stern and hermetic young man.

Mihawk looks at you, clearly disapproving of your curiosity, but in the end he sighs, and finally gives you the explanation you wanted. "We were meant to duel, Vespertine and I. He had challenged me a month ago, and we were meant to meet this morning at the mine. I... am running late, unfortunately, because the ship I took to reach this island clashed against a larger one and for a while it seemed it would go under."

"Oh, that's... scary."

He shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "I would have managed, I am a capable swimmer. I was just afraid Vespertine thought I had decided not to meet him because I was afraid."

"He... was a capable swordsman?" you ask again, still eager to learn more; the only bladed weapon you have ever handled is the knife you use at the table and, now, the larger one you took with you from home to separate your victim's head from his body, but you have always been fascinated by the world of the swordfighters, bound by a strict code of behaviour, who often have to prove themselves before a more experienced fighter accepts to train them and among whom most serious duels end with the death of one of the two opponents. For them, the weapon is not a tool, of defense and offense; it is... an art. A cult, almost.

"Above average, from what I saw, which is not saying much. But he had challenged me, and refusing would have been a stain upon my honour."

Just like you expected. "I see. Well." you add, suddenly embarrassed "I'm sorry I took your opponent away from you."

Mihawk shrugs, marginally more inclined to chat. "If he let you kill him, it means he wasn't a worthy opponent." he reasons; he has no facial hair, but his sideburns are long and neatly trimmed, and while already tall he's still a few inches away from his full stature "I should thank you for saving me a futile effort."

You cock your head, an eyebrow raised. "Are you saying I am less capable a markswoman than you are a swordsman?" you inquire; you don't care if Mihawk will propose to see for yourselves and challenge you, forgotten is the guilt you felt for ruining his morning. Who the hell this smart-ass thinks he is, especially considering you must be the same age? You don't care how actually powerful he is, you wouldn't even care if he were the world's strongest swordsman, no one can insult you and get away with it "Is it because I am a woman? Or because I use a gun and not a sword?"

"No, I..."

"I'll have you know I've been trained by one of the most capable former mercenaries of the four seas, and that Vespertine didn't even have the time to attack me before I put a bullet through his head."

"I'm sure you are more than capable." Mihawk says, clearly aiming to pacify you but, fortunately, without sounding patronizing "Forgive me; I meant no disrespect."

He seems sincere - he is, he will confess to you years later, and deeply embarrassed for the gaffe he just made; it is rare for him to admit he had erred... but, he will confide you with the shadow of a smile, he is happy those words didn't make you hate him, then and in the years to come. Because of this you decide to forgive him, and

"If you want we can split the bounty." you propose, feeling generous; you intended to donate the money to someone who needed it on your island, but you can take another assignment soon "Or, you know, there is Verspertine's sword, I can tell you where I buried it..."

Mihawk shakes his head. "I can only take another swordsman's blade if I am the one who bested them; in any case, I doubt a man like Vespertine owned a blade I could be interested in." he points out "And I don't need compensation; you killed him, you deserve to keep the money. Well, I... I suppose I should go back."

"Right..."

Silently, you both set off once more, walking side by side along the only path towards the nearest village. You are still on edge, both happy for your first success and shaken by the fact that you have, after all, just killed a man, but soon you find yourself focusing on something else... namely, on the young man walking next to you. He is undoubtedly handsome, but it's something else that piques your curiosity... a depth, and complexity, unusual for one so young, and that you can perceive behind his apparently impassible façade.

"So." you begin conversationally after a while; you have almost a mile to walk to the village, and maybe chatting will make you reach your destination faster "Are you any good with that sword?"

Mihawk grunts, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. "I like to think I am more than good."

"Really? Are you famous?"

"I am... becoming famous. This is why Vespertine wanted to duel me."

"And you think you would have beaten him?"

"I know I would have."

He speaks matter-of-factly, as if describing an undeniable truth and without the slightest hint of arrogance or overconfidence; you usually appreciate humility, and you have no way to know whether he is as good as he thinks he is, but you like the self-assurance he carries himself with.

"So this is what you do? Go around, duel other swordsmen so that you make a name for yourself as a powerful fighter?"

"I do." Mihawk easily acknowledges "When I'm not too busy fighting the Marines and looking for a loot or another."

"You're a pirate."

"I am. A wanted one, in case you were thinking of claiming my bounty as well."

You smile, aware you are both involved in a game whose rules are still undecided. "Is that a challenge?" you inquire, and Mihawk shrugs, looking straight in front of him.

"If you want to consider it as such."

"I see. Luckily for you, I intend to cash Vespertine's bounty before looking for another assignment, so I will not challenge you today."

"Luckily for me..."

Silence falls between you, an unexpectedly companionable one considering you have known each other only for a few minutes. As you glance sideways at Mihawk, you can't help noticing his eyes, yellow like the ones of a hawk; you have never seen anything of the sort, but there is beauty in his gaze.

"What about you?" Mihawk asks "What has brought you to become a mercenary?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Women are a minority in the trade, those as young as you even more so. You are wearing clothes of good quality, which means you are probably not doing it for the money. Am I right?"

"You are."

Mihawk grins. "As I thought. So what? Are you following in a relative's footsteps? Or were you simply bored?"

"Both things, in a sense." you admit, walking leisurely along the mud-smeared path; the fact that a virtual stranger is able to read you so easily should upset you, but it doesn't, maybe because you can perceive Mihawk poses no danger to you, or maybe not "I... simply needed to test myself. Growing up, I never had to worry about money, or fear for my safety; I'm not saying I was spoiled, or that I spend my days idling without duties and responsibilities, but I feared letting things go like they were meant to, I would become indolent, content with what I had but unable to aim higher. I never needed to prove I was strong, and clever, and capable of taking care of myself; but I wanted to make sure I was anyway."

You are not sure your reasoning makes sense, especially to someone who barely knows you, but Mihawk nods in understanding - in approval, even. "That was brave of you. And clever."

"I just wanted to do what I thought was right."

Twenty minutes of sporadic but pleasant conversation later, you have reached the village, actually little more than a handful of houses and little shops and a tiny harbour, connected by a regular ferry service to a larger island from where you can easily catch another boat to return home. Perhaps, you reflect, you should think about buying a small ship of your own; experienced sailors are not lacking on your island, and you could ask someone to teach you...

"You want to join me for a meal?" you propose as you walk past a tavern; you know you and Mihawk are destined to part soon anyway and will probably never meet again, but he is the most interesting person you have met in a long while, and you like talking to him "After all it's breakfast time..."

Mihawk hesitates for a moment, taken aback by your offer. "I'd... like that." he answers, and you could swear that surprises him as well "But I need to depart soon."

"I see. Well..."

You are both standing in the village's tiny, almost empty square. This is good-bye, then, you're about to say, but impulsively you step closer to the man in front of you, who tenses. "What...?"

"Your eyes." you murmur without realizing. You were right, they are yellow, their gaze piercing and deep, intense albeit not necessarily cruel "They are... beautiful."

"... you think?"

"Of course; I had never seen anyone with eyes like yours! They make you look like a bird of prey. Like an hawk."

Something in your words makes the man in front of you smile; he is flattered, and still not as good at hiding his emotions as he will be in twenty years. "I've been told that before."

"Is it hereditary? Do you have a particularly sharp vision or...?"

"I... don't think so; no one I have ever met has them, and I see normally."

"Amazing..."

Silence again; you face each other, both still so young, full of dreams and ambition, unaware of what the future has in store for you - individually and not. Neither has any idea you will meet again, and how your relationship will change and grow, but in that moment, both of you are sure, a sort of quiet, clear certitude: you will remember that brief encounter forever.

In the end Mihawk takes a step back, both literally and metaphorically. "I should go." he softly points out nodding in the direction of the village's harbour "So... good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mihawk." you answer, intimately saddened for reasons you can't fully explain even to yourself; it is not like you to get attached to people you barely know, but there is something interesting in this young swordsman, something special, and you wouldn't mind having the time to discover exactly what...

A nod, the hint of a smile, and he's walking away. You look at his retreating figure for a minute, his dark hair gently swaying in the breeze, his hand elegantly resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Maybe one day we'll meet again." you call out to him, making Mihawk turn "Maybe I'll be asked to bring you in to the Marines."

He smiles; once again, amused, but not patronizing. "I look forward to it." he answers, raising an hand in farewell "What is your name?"

"It's (name). Lady (name)."

"I'll be seeing you then, lady (name)."

A minute later he has disappeared, hidden by the buildings across the square. You smile to yourself; something tells you Mihawk is destined to make a name for himself, as a pirate and even more as a swordsman, and you can only hope that, by your next meeting, you will have done the same.

Still, that could take years, and in the meantime you have a couple of more pressing matters to attend to: breakfast, since your stomach has started growling, and calling both your family, to let her know you're all right, and the Marines.

You decide to take care of that first, to get it over with. You glance once more at the tavern, hoping the coffee they offer is better than the one you drank on the ferry, retrieve your transponder snail from a side pocket of your bag, and dial the number you had learnt by heart before setting off from home. You could technically cash Vespertine's bounty in any Marine base of the world, but you decided to do it at their HQ, especially since it's your first time; you hope it will be easier to get noticed, and make a name for yourself as a capable mercenary.

"Good morning. Who do I have to talk to in order to claim a bounty? Vice-Admiral Garp? Yes, put me through to him, please..."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: when did you know you liked me?

Turning into a series. Jake Kim here.

Samuel quirks an eyebrow at your question.

When did he know he liked you?

Sometimes, especially in moments like now, when you're a bit too needy and attention seeking, he wonders how he can put up with you at all.

Still. He does like you even as you stare at him with big eyes, fishing for a compliment or a fond memory.

One to usually hold onto unpleasant thoughts rather than pleasant, he finds his memories of you surprisingly vivid.

On first meeting his curiosity was piqued with your penetrating gaze. Like you could clearly see his carefully concealed tattoos, the monster lurking within no matter how well he tried to cover it up with tailored suits and expensive cologne.

Realised he tolerated you when you gave your opinion without him asking for it. Instead of dismissing it with a closed-eye smile that actually meant 'fuck you', he considered your words and found them useful.

Valued you as an equal when he was the one that began seeking out your views. Always perking up an ear when hearing your voice or eyes drawn to you as soon as you enter his field of vision.

Liked you, truly, before Samuel even asked you on a date.

And his feelings for you cemented even more when you said no to expensive restaurants and all his usual theatrics.

Instead you suggested going for ice cream. Something so fundamentally innocent and sweet, an activity tinged with nostalgia and youthfulness that he couldn't say no to. Even as he sits opposite you in an ice cream parlour completely overdressed in his suit.

And now he loves-

He treasures you more with each passing day. The person he has shown his humble and painful beginnings to. The person who has seen him at his worst.

Standing beside him on the balcony as he takes drags of his cigarettes into the early hours of the morning. Keeping him steady, keeping him afloat.

Samuel has so little time for honesty. Yet at your question, he can't bring himself to lie.

"When I first met you."

[yunaff05]

vultures - chapter two. (blindness of youth)

fanfic: the retelling of house targaryen and the dance of the dragons. a universe where princess rhaenyra firstborn child was a woman. princess valaena velaryon, daughter of laenor velaryon and rhaenyra targaryen, the heir to the iron throne, princess of the realm that does not accept her for what she is too come.

word count: 3.7 k (not proof read)

prologue, chapter one

midday sunlight leaked through the many windows that covered valaena's chamber walls. a warm, orange ray falling onto the princess fair and white skin, forcing her to remember the freedom that is awaiting her outside.

she could be drawing under the weir wood tree, visiting her mother and the new babe, or even watching her idiotic uncle aegon and aemond spar with her equally as stupid brothers.

though instead, valaena's back is up painfully straight, soft hands resting on the failed attempt at embroidery while her violet eyes peer out the window. day dreaming of many things, possible and impossible. maybe a beautiful knight to come and save her...

"princess valaena!" - yelled out septa essie, jumping valaena out of her dreams and into the present. the princess swiftly focuses back onto the embroidery with a scowl. "you do not need to yell at me" valaena grumbled out in response.

a dry chuckle was heard coming from the septa. a smirk showcasing on her face with the many wrinkles that littered it appearing more prominent "i was not yelling my princess" said the holy lady with a content sigh, hooded eyes still focused on her own embroidery "i had to catch your attention somehow"

valaena's gaze watched septa essie's precise and smooth movements of her nimble fingers working against the stitches of the black thread. tilting her head, the princess groans. chucking her own embrodiery onto the table thats between herself and the septa.

stubbornly glaring up into septa essie's dark blue eyes that are now on the princess. "i am done for today" stated valaena. compeling the septa to raise her thin eyebrow with confusion.

clearing her throat, the septa hums "you are not done princess, we still need to finish this and go over the histories of-" before she could even finish her sentence, the princess in question is already standing up and brushing her velvet dress skirt.

"tasks we can carry on with tomorrow" arrogance laced in her youthful voice, the pout that has been plastered on valaena's face ever since the beginning of her lessons now twisiting into a smug smirk.

scurrying around the round table, valaena looks at the old and round septa through the corner of her eyes "goodbye septa essie" announce velaena with a careless curtsy before rushing to the chamber doors.

watching the princess leave her sight, septa essie frustratdely clenched her fists "do not open that door or else i'll be telling your mother this childis-!"

the sound of a heavy wooden door opening and slamming shut cuts off the septa, yet again. leaving the holy woman alone in the princess chambers with annoyance.

grunting, the septa unclenches her fists in defeat. lowering her head and traveling her gaze around the royal princess valaena velaryon's room. covered in fine silks, gold, and toys.

clicking her tongue, septa essie can only let out a sigh.

"that girl is beyond spoiled rotten"

leaving that unbearable septa was thrilling to valaena. feeling a sense of victory over the old hag, even if all she did was return back the attitude she was giving out and leaving her stupefy.

giggling to herself as she steps through the large red keep halls, a proud smile pulling at the corner of her red cheeks and dimples.

valaena knew where she was heading, and where she wanted to go to the most. the training pits. or most likely the fact that it was the safest option than rather go to her mother. the septa is a fool but she wouldn't back away from her threat she gave out to the princess.

frowning at the thought of getting in trouble, it only makes her speed up her steps. heading down staircases, halls, and the throne room where her grand-sire, king viserys sits, she finally makes it to outside the castle.

hearing the faint noises of grunts, chatter and men, the princess eagerly lifts her dress skirt and beginning to run to the sounds as they only get louder and louder. eventually being greeted by the sight of her grand-sire and his hand, lyonel strong, observing the pits from above.

scurrying her shoes on the cobble, the princess heads to her grand-sire enthusiastically "grandfather!" valaena calls out to the old king.

the king squinting his tired eyes and turning his head to where the voice is coming from. viserys once puzzled look changing into a wide smile.

"valaena my dear! oh come, come" patting his lap, valaena happily jumps onto his lap. earning a grunt from the king at the sudden pressure, making valaena feel guilty at her eagerness.

tilting her head to the side, she lowers her gaze and peers at the king with round glossy eyes "i'm sorry grandfather..." murmured valaena hesitantly. such a innocent sight of his grand-daughter instantly melts viserys heart.

staring at her with a softening gaze, he shakes his head with a tsk of his tongue. reaching his hands to grip around her waist "come sit here, you'll get a better sight of your kin" viserys said under his breath as he pulled valaena against his chest.

"thank you grandfather" said valaena as she looked back straight ahead, trying to hide the small smirk growing on her lips. shuffling to get a little more comfortable before lifting her chin to view the training pit grounds.

the princess' lilac eyes widen at the scene of aegon, the larger boy, landing relentless attacks on jacaerys, a child half his size.

furrowing her white eyebrows at the injustice, valaena tilts her head to the side while her eyes still stay stuck on cole demanding aegon's brutality.

"this isn't fair" she uttered for the old kings ears. viserys only leaning into her with a hum of agreement, parting his lip with some sort of defence - "they are boys, this is what boys do, tis' is just harmeless fun"

excused the king before the sudden screech of aegon yelling 'you dare lay hands on me!' at ser harwin strong stopping the prince from carrying on any further. "aegon!" called out the king in hope to chime down the obvious tension brewing down their, yet it comes to no prevail.

aegon and jacaerys stand next to their brothers while ser criston cole and ser harwin strong battle it out through words and restraint. valaena hops off her grandfathers lap as she instead looms over the cobblestone bricks in hopes to hear what is being said down below.

but instead, all that is heard is the sudden noise of harwin's fist meeting cole's face. the velaryon princess jumping in surprise that her back turns straight. eyes wide as they witness cole being punched again, and again, and again.

all until it takes four kingsguard to tear ser harwin breakbones off the dornish knight who can now finally catch a breath.

"say it again! say it again!" roared ser harwin strong so loud that it was heard by the king himself without trouble. moments pass and cole gets up, spitting out blood from his mouth as the targaryen and velaryon princes are still stunned.

ser harwin being dragged away while the hand can only watch with a troubled expression, unable to make any remark on what they had just been witness too or for his sons actions at all.

valaena only glances at the king and the hands reaction before impulsively running from them. viserys parting his mouth, but nothing leaves. the king deciding best to let her go than try to stop her from her own foolish actions.

rushing down the worn-out steps that lead the way to the training pit. the princess looks around her surroundings, staring at aemond and aegon who stare back. "what are you doing here? aegon commented snarky with an unimpressed glint in his eyes. aemond on the other hand lowers his head and stares at his niece with a softened gaze.

rolling her similar purple eyes, valaena glares at aegon "i'm here to check on my brothers, not you" - this earning a scoff from aegon as he placed his hand on the belt of his tunic.

"are you two okay?" asked valaena in a soft tone while looking down at her two brown haired brothers, lucerys looking a bit more bewildered as he nods his head in response. valaena flashing a small smile at the younger boy as she reaches her hand out to run pale fingers through the brown locks. luke leaning against the velvet dress she wears.

moving her gaze from one brothers head to the other, jacaerys avoiding eye contact with his elder sister as a pout stays on his lips. such a view forcing a smile smile to break on her pink lips. "and you my sullen prince? are you okay?"

expecting jacaerys to simply say yes or no to the question, the prince responds upset "i am fine. and i do not need to be babied by you anymore" - "i am capable of looking after myself" jace snapped to valaena.

such blunt words shocking valaena as her eyebrows stay raised, but her smile fades into a small frown.

"i was just asking-"

"you don't need to ask!" jacaerys swiftly bites back with, the prince looking from his sisters somber self to his younger brothers dumbfounded face. jacaerys then deciding to storm away from his kin with a lowered head.

is he ashamed? of me? himself? his sword skills? - is all that rushes through her head as valaena turns to watch jacaerys leave the sight of the training pits.

instead flickering to peer over at the trio of aegon, aemond and cole. only aemond having the decency to give a small wave, valaena returning it with a small smile aswell before walking with luke by her side as they follow in jacaerys steps and leave the training pits that is tainted with what happened only earlier.

evening sunlight was covered by the red drapes of jace and lukes shared chambers. the duo getting ready for bed after hours have passed of the incident that happened in the yard today.

jace and valaena still having not discussed the sudden outburst he had, and it rather being for the best.

lucerys, valaena and jacaerys all sit and lay on the rug while playing with wooden toys. just like how they started the day. valaena flickering her gaze to their mother, rhaenyra, who is talking to ser harwin strong. the lord commander of the city watch now revoked of his title and banished back to his castle, harrenhall.

valaena, remembering from the histories septa jeyne blabbered on about, is that harrenhall is the largest castle in the seven kingdoms. and the only castle of which such tales and curses it contains like no other in the realm.

observing ser harwin move across the room, the princess watches as he crouches down beside her brothers, ruffling lucerys hair that matches his.

"be kind to your mother lads, i'll try and visit you when i can" ser harwin strong said to the two boys, and nothing to valaena "but that may be some time" the knight added as he stood on his two feet.

harwin turning to look beside him at jace, reaching out to talk to the boy. but instead he runs to his mother who stands with her own grief. looking down at her eldest son with furrowed eyebrows, coddling joffery in her arms anxiously.

"jace..." murmured rhaenyra.

the knight reaches out to lift up the princes lowered head, as if it was in defeat. "i will return, i promise" jacaerys brightened face only grows at the mans words, nodding his head in approval. ser harwins gloved hands rubbing jacaerys cheek with content and a soft look in his brown eyes.

him moving those soft brown eyes to the babe in his mothers arms, harwin furrowing his thick eyebrows.

"do not be a stranger when we meet again..."

the knight whispers out, leaning down to place a loving and warm kiss on the baby boys crown. standing back up to now instead look down at the princess rhaenyra, looking into her glossy violet eyes as she struggles to look into his own brown ones.

princess rhaenyra trying everything but focus on the fact of ser harwin breakbones is leaving the red keep for his lifetime. harwin understands her, like how her understands jacaerys, and even lucerys.

bowing his head slightly with a small somber closed lip smile, he mutters out "princess..." until he looks down at the stone ground with a brooding gaze. nodding with acknowledgement before suddenly turning around to face his back towards her as the knight grabs his swords and bag of belongings.

as he does so, he is greeted by the unamused face of valaena laying on the rug and staring up at the man. harwin flashing her a smile aswell, though it didn't feel like a happy one.

"you look after your brothers alright? take over my duty" declared ser harwin strong, a proud look on his face with a humorous glint to it.

the words he spoke making the princess feel a wave of electricity run down her spine, a wide smile to reveal her white teeth and eagerness at the offer "i will" she responsed back with a slight voice crack, the fair face of the princess turning bright pink.

a deep chuckle heard revibrating off the walls.

and then he left.

heavy thuds of the knight were felt and heard as he exited the chambers and walked down the red keep hall in a strut. shortly after jacaerys rushes out of the chambers aswell, rhaenyra following her son with soft steps. the mother and son standing outside and watching their white knight leave to never truly return again like it was before.

"are you going to miss ser harwin strong?" asked valaena to lucerys, a boy who always seemed more intrested in his playthings than any person or dragon.

the boy furrows his eyebrows and glances at his sister, pursing his red lips "he was nice i guess, he carved me a few nice toys, i dont think i'll miss him" - said by the blindness of youth.

tilting her head, valaena purses her own lips at lucerys words. finding them interesting and wondering if he'll truly not care for the knight as he grows older, or that care only grows into a thorn bush.

eventually, their mother and brother enter the room "it is time for bed you boys, come on now" rhaenyra says as joffery rests in her now still arms.

jacaerys walking to his bed upset, lucerys pleading to play with his toys a little bit more and valaena day dreaming of a dragon as her hand reaches to pick up one of the wooden dragon carvings.

imaging a dragon, one with large wings that its shadow could cover lands, a tail like a whip, mighty horns and fangs, a beast that she could proudly call hers. one that the princess could ride on its back and feel the wind rush through her.

the feeling of being free and loved a fleeting dream.

wild roses and poppies in full bloom, wilted pink tulips beside them as they bunch together in the trimmed emerald green bushes. the gardens of the red keep were surely something, even more beautiful as the sun sets behind valaena and her mother.

rhaenyra had asked valaena to come with her to the gardens, telling her young daughter that she wished to talk to her about something important. this making valaena sweat.

the mother-and-daughter duo step down the gardens with silence. nobody having spoken a word, it seeming that rhaenyra struggling to conjure up the right words and valaena, to nervous about what those words could be.

swallowing down the feelings that makes her stomach flutter, the princess tilting her chin to look up at her mother whos gaze is staring down at one of the rare flowers.

wetting her wet lips, valaena suddenly speaks up hesitantly "i-if this is about the septa- i didn't mean to be so harsh towards the lady. its just that she was boring me to death and..." struggling to make an excuse, valaena tightens her hands into fists.

rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, seeming amused by the sudden energy and words pouring out of valaena's lips and the anxious expression stuck on her face.

chuckling, rhaenyra shakes her head, stopping in her tracks to look softly down at valaena. "no, no" - smiled out rhaenyra, crows feetaround her violet eyes - "its not that septa business" said rhaenyra with a content sigh. "though i do expect you to be more respectful"

hearing her mothers last firm words force her to roll eyes at such a bothersome command "i will..." valaena said in surrdender with a low head. kicking her shoes against the footpath as rhaenyra and valaena both stand infront of eachother.

silence befalls them again. a warm breeze blowing by the two and the sweet harmony of birds singing in the trees. it being a comfortable silence until the sound of rhaenyra's dress shuffling is heard, and the sight of her on her knees is shown to valaena does it really surprise the velaryon princess.

"mother, what are you doing?" asked the confused princess, furrowing her eyebrows, stepping back and unaware on why her mother has been acting so odd ever since they entered these gardens.

extending a hand out, rhaenyra clutches onto valaena's own. looking up at her daughter with glossy eyes that were pale in comparrasion to valaena's wide lilac eyes. sniffling, rhaenyra moves closer to valaena, clearing her throat to be ready for the words to leave her red lips.

staring up at her daughter, from afar, it could be misunderstood as asking for forgiveness "valaena, ive told you many times the duties of being heir to the iron throne are a heavy one... duties we happily are willing to challenge and duties that we wish to take no part in, yet we... have no choice in the matter"

the young princess listens to her mothers worrying speech, lips parting in confusion, like she wanted to ask what is wrong? did something happen? spit it out already.

rhaenyra tried to stare into her daughters own gaze, though finding it a struggle at the weight of it. instead glancing around the place and squeezing valaena's hand to let it be known she cares.

brushing silver strands behind her ear, rhaenyra looks down at valaena's feet "when i was a bit older than you, age of 10 and 6, i was married to your father, laenor. and before me was your grand-sires, viserys and aemma, them betrothed at 10 and 6 and 10 and ten"

widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows, valaena tilted her head to the side "mother what are you trying to say?"

the sweet and soft voice of her daughter made rhaenyra's face turn into stone, only a feeling of guilt washing over her. not wanting to make the same mistake her own father, viserys, put upon her with the marriage between laenor and herself. not wishing the problems that have come along with that mistake to be pushed to her only daughter and heir.

placing valaena's hand on her cheek, rhaenyra cups it gently. using it to reassure her own self of the alliance she had to force for the good of house targaryen, for the advantage of the realm.

"what i am trying to say is that... being heir comes with marriages, unwanted or wanted, successful or unsuccessful" shutting her eyes, rhaenyra's lips part with hesitancy clinging around her throat.

"and thats why you've been bethrothed to aegon targaryen, you two will grow together and learn.."

words falling onto deaf ears, valaena standing shocked, surprised and already seeing her dreams flying away into the breeze. of a white knight, freedom and love.

valaena moves away from her mother, stepping back yet again until her back is pressed against the bushes "no, no, no!" yelled out the princess, not wanting to believe any of it. to believe her mother wouldn't sell her off to her idiot of an uncle, the same man who teases, ridicules, and shames valaena.

what kind of happy union is this?

the muffled noise of rhaenyra's hurried and anxious words of excuses and reasoning fade into nothing but white noise. the view of her mother's sorry face becoming disorented with tears blocking valaena's vision.

"valaena i'm sorry, i truly am, but this is for your own good a-"

slapping rhaenyra's hand away from her, tears drip down from her flushed cheeks "you are not sorry! you didn't! you didn't even ask if i was okay with this!" stuttering, repeating, and attempting to sound audible, the princess fails. her shaky voice strumming at the heart strings of her mother.

rhaenyra moves her right hand to instead cover her mouth rather than reach out to valaena. own tears building in her glossy eyes, heart clenching and a feeling of regret dwelling in her stomach.

shakily sucking in a breath, rhaenyra shakes her head and grabs valaena's blue dress skirt in desperation "please valaena, understand that all i do for you is for your own benefit and pleasure in life"

shaking her head, the velaryon princess grunts and pushes her mothers hands off her weakly. not able to find any strength in her rage-filled body and soul.

"you only do what pleasures you mother!" screamed valaena, causing an even greater scene that attracts all the gardeners attention.

chest heaving up and down, valaena grabs the wild rose rhaenyra placed into her hair earlier and throws it to the ground. it now beated, squashed and uncared for.

parting her swollen red lips, valaena threatens to say more harsh words. though, as her vision becomes clear once more. she sees her mothers own tears fall down her cheeks. hands on her lap, knees on the stone infront of her daughter, and apologetics.

groaning, valaena grabs a fistful of her hair before storming away from her mother. valaena running away from rhaenyra, leaving her alone in the middle of green bushes, flowers and the warm sunlight of the setting sun. while valaena runs into the darkness of the red keep, sheltering and hiding from her duties and feelings.

pity, self-hatred and regret lingering with rhaenyra, all the while valaena is being haunted by duty, loss of dreams and betrayal.

heavy is the head who wears the crown.

[trierarchuncus-prairiensis]

Peter Pan. Bankers Are Giving Pirates A Bad Name

George Darling, Wendy's father, is a banker fascinated by business deals, financial operations, and numbers. This is the world of adults, where the rules of reality strictly adhere to the logic of money. In contrast, Wendy lives in her wild imagination, where Captain Hook in Neverland is a pirate embodying untamed adventures, freedom from limitations, and the dream of the unknown.

He's talking about the banking office.

The image of Captain Hook in Wendy's mind can be seen as a reflection of her dissatisfaction with her father's profession. Essentially, Wendy expresses her disagreement with the banker's image through association with a pirate.

Comparing bankers and pirates, as children often jest, is more of a play on words. It's not necessary to consider bankers and pirates equal in villainy. Rather, it's an expression of mockery towards the financial system or banking behavior in society. It rather emphasizes attention on certain negative aspects of financial practices, such as greed, money manipulations, or high interest rates on loans. This comparison allows viewing bankers' actions and motives with a critical perspective.

It's important to emphasize that this comparison is not literal. It rather reflects some aspects that may be insufficiently maturely perceived by children, such as Wendy. In her youth and immaturity, she sees the world through the prism of imagination and emotions, hence the assessment, "Ew, I don't like what my father does for a living." This expression reflects her childish naivety and misunderstanding of the adult world, but at the same time, it signifies the moment of independent thinking and the beginning of understanding adult realities.