#black hills redemption here we come

[big-boah]

My Arthur shirt and jacket arrived 🤠

[essycogany]

The Roll Reversal Between Sonic And Amy

In Sonic Prime did Sonic and Amy’s rolls get swapped? Because MAN THE IMPLICATIONS IN THIS SHOW IS BOTH SUBTLE AND NOT SUBTLE AT THE SAME TIME.

The reason I say the two hedgehogs rolls are swapped is because one line in the entire show is the only indication of Amy’s crush on Sonic.

Sonic: “You like me….To some extent.” It’s never hinted at in the original Green Hill. Though a funny and random detail I liked is Amy apparently tricked Sonic into getting into the water (Probably to teach him how to swim) and I thought that would’ve been adorable to see.

Now onto Sonic’s part. Sonic possibly having a crush on Amy shouldn’t be a surprise. First of all the implications in actual canon Game/Modern Sonic is increasing more and more in my opinion. Secondly, this show’s version of Sonic is probably the most emotionally driven and affectionate. He’s not as secretive about how he feels either.

Sonic in episode 8 s2: “We’re all in this together. And I’d really think you’d grow to love them as much as I do.”

Onto the small details. We have short, but not hard to miss moments of Sonic just….staring at the different Roses. Sure, it can be viewed as platonic, but it’s the constant softening his gaze in a bunch of different scenes that didn’t have to be added, but was. It’s all up to interpretation.

Anyways, Sonic and original Amy’s first interaction is with the blue blur coming up to her excitedly and standing in a flirtatious manner. His tone of voice when he says “Got a little sidetracked,” could be interpreted as anything, but how he’s animated makes me pretty sure it’s intentionally flirtatious. That’s just me though.

Then we have the flirting teasing at Rusty Rose in the pirate dimension.

Rusty: “Not that anyone will remember you.”

Sonic: “Now you’re just being hurtful.”

Sonic not minding Black Rose hugging him and might even appreciates it.

And almost all the scenes between him and Thorn Rose was ship fuel for me. With Sonic calling her “Thorny,” as a nickname. He kept the location of the green shard a secret so Thorn could trust him. Sonic stopped himself from fighting Thorn as much as possible. (The Amy Flashback was adorable) Not to mention the last few scenes with Thorn holding onto Sonic was sweet as well.

Sonic even helped improved the sisters lives.

With Rusty finding her humanity and ability to live without her Flikie.

Thorn regained her broken friendship and trust with the Bose Cage Gang.

And Black Rose became the new leader of her Crew. (I say that knowing it was mostly Dreads redemption that helped, but still)

Sonic’s also the reason for all the Roses to gain a sisterhood. Which was one of the most precious part of the entire show. Season 3 has scenes of them running up to Sonic to make sure he’s alright, and helping Sonic twice by saving the last three pirates from No Place and getting him back home.

And here’s my favorite detail. I love how Sonic adores Amy’s way of thinking in Prime. When helping Thorn come to her senses, Sonic mentions how the original Amy would handle the situation. Expressing herself and discussing how she feels. The reason I bring it up is because Sonic finds value for Amy being able to do it without issue. Understanding he’s not the best at expressing himself.

Thorn: “I don’t know. She sounds pretty great.”

Sonic: “Yeah. You are.”

In fact. Sonic thinks so fondly of Amy that the show couldn’t end without having him come to her bashfully and calling her, “Sweet Amy.”

Also the posing with Sonic’s hand behind his back and feet up doesn’t help.

Last thing I’d like to point out is Sonic’s implied crush on Amy is very subtle and despite all of this can be interpreted as platonic which I’m fine with. But the thought of a roll reversal between two characters that’s never experienced it prior to now is awesome to speculate.

Stay Creative! 💜

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

Young Adult Book Releases: May 2024

🦇 Good morning, my bookish bats. I hope you have a good book, hit cuppa, and sweet snack within reach! No TBR is complete without a few young adult novels, and plenty were released in May! Here are a few YA releases to consider adding to your shelves.

🩷 May 7 🩷 ✨ The Summer Love Strategy by Ray Stoeve ✨ Hot Boy Summer by Joe Jiménez ✨ The Ballad of Darcy & Russell - Morgan Matson ✨ Pulled Under - Michelle Dalton ✨ Bite Me, Royce Taslim - Lauren Ho ✨ The Unboxing of a Black Girl - Angela Shanté ✨ Dispatches from Parts Unknown - Bryan Bliss ✨ Beastly Beauty - Jennifer Donnelly ✨ This Book Won't Burn - Samira Ahmed ✨ Perfect Little Monsters - Cindy R.X. He ✨ Sunhead - Alex Assan ✨ Lie Until It's True - Jessie Weaver ✨ Malicia by Steven dos Santos ✨ Blood at the Root - LaDarrion Williams ✨ Spin of Fate - A.A. Vora ✨ Death's Country - R. M. Romero ✨ Queerceañera by Alex Crespo ✨ Eyes Open - Lyn Miller-Lachmann ✨ Breathe: Journeys to Healthy Binding - Maia Kobabe, Dr. Sarah Peitzmeier

🩷 May 14 🩷 ✨ The Girl in Question by Tess Sharpe ✨ A Crane Among Wolves - June Hur ✨ 10 Things I Hate About Prom - Elle Gonzalez Rose ✨ Blood & Fury - Tessa Gratton & Justina Ireland ✨ The Dangerous Ones - Lauren Blackwood ✨ Beach Cute - Beth Reekles ✨ The Worst Perfect Moment by Shivaun Plozza ✨ True Love and Other Impossible Odds by Christina Li ✨ Flyboy by Kasey Leblanc ✨ Thirsty by Jas Hammonds ✨ It Waits in the Forest - Sarah Dass

🩷 May 21 🩷 ✨ Keeper of the Stones and Stars by Michael Barakiva ✨ We Mostly Come Out at Night ed. by Rob Costello ✨ Attached at the Hip - Christine Riccio ✨ The Quince Project - Jessica Parra ✨ I Wish You Would - Eva Des Lauriers ✨ Have You Seen This Girl by Nita Tyndall ✨ In the Shallows by Tanya Byrne ✨ Liar's Test - Ambelin Kwaymullina ✨ The Worst Ronin - Maggie Tokuda-Hall, Faith Schaffer ✨ Wild About You - Kaitlyn Hill ✨ Summer Nights and Meteorites - Hannah Reynolds ✨ The Word - Mary G. Thompson

🩷 May 28 🩷 ✨ Flawless Girls by Anna-Marie McLemore ✨ Another First Chance by Robbie Couch ✨ Don’t Be a Drag by Skye Quinlan ✨ Stay Dead - April Henry ✨ The Redemption of Daya Keane by Gia Gordon ✨ The Only Light Left Burning by Erik J. Brown

[pine4pple-b0i]

boy howdy is this update coming in a week late but here we are! sorry for the delay, i was at black hills redemption last week and then there was the whole “getting home with all my things” fiasco… anyways! fourth and final addition to sweetbriers!!!! next part of the series should be out shortly. i wonder whatever will happen 👀

taglist: @photo1030

[lizbethborden]

Here is, at last, an itemized list of my various problems and thoughts with The Fall of the House of Usher. Before you block, unfollow, report, and make a callout post, please be aware that I have an extensive blackmail list. Grazie

Flanagan is flanagan and incapable of not being moralizing and didactic. I think he takes one of Stephen King's problems to the nth degree which is a kind of... sentimentalism and a belief that Good Can Come From Horror. The need for horror to be meaningful and redemptive and in some capacity... joyous? Or at least morally Useful in the fashion of Victorian lit? doesn't make amazing art

He needs to let go of constantly casting his wife and their friends. Every time he brings in someone who's not in the "inner circle" they contribute more strongly and effectively than everyone else.

Case in point, Mary McDonnell. I know I came into the show liking her due to BSG Brainrot and Laura Roslin Pussy Disease, but frankly she can be inconsistent especially with bad directing; whereas here I think she actually provides a very strong foundation because, even though she's working with substandard material, she doesn't have to stretch herself very far to play Steely, Soft-Spoken Matriarch so she does ok--and "ok" is better than a lot of the rest of the cast. Same thing with Mark Hamill: he was such a bright point in this show and it was a great use of his skills in transforming physically as well as vocally. Carl Lumbly similarly did his absolute best with shite material and his role as being functionally a prop/occasional commentator in the frame narration.

The same thing happened when he brought in T'Nia Miller in Bly Manor and she blew the roof off that show. But now she's folded into the inner circle and she does amazing with what she's got, but pLEASE free her.

STOP. CASTING. KATE SIEGEL. PLEASE!!!!! And STOP casting that man playing Young Roderick, he gave NOTHING to the role, he contributed NOTHING. Mr. Gerald's Game literally carried the Roderick characterization all on his own. Can we say if he did well? Perhaps he didn't. But he was putting in the work.

There is an obsessive need to do too much, all at once, that really kills whatever minor crumbs of decent writing or atmosphere they manage to sprinkle around. Why do we need so many references to Poe that have so little to do with the original stories? Wouldn't it be more effective to pick 2-3 and do them right in a more tightly written story than to swing the bat at 8-10 works and maybe only hit 1 or 2 out of the park?

😭 listen, I'm not a genius nor can I or would I ever claim to understand the Black experience. But I certainly doubt a gay Black man in a government job in the 1970s would namedrop his male partner to a complete, white, heterosexual stranger, not even as a manipulative technique to create false intimacy or camaraderie. (Similar thing happened in Bly Manor where a Black woman who wanted to be a high-powered lawyer(?) took a job as a lawyer(?)'s NANNY to try to get a career opportunity with him? Um?) (Question marks after each instance of lawyer because I remember VERY little about the show honestly.)

The treatment of bisexuality as this decadent bourgeois predatory sexuality is actually INSANE in Usher. Please believe me when I say I am pro "bad rep," but Flanagan does not have a good history of thoughtful treatment of sexual minorities, especially female ones (cf. treatment of Trish [also an example of exoticising and marginalizing racism] and Theo [and to some extent Nell] in Hill House, the Jamie/Dani storyline in Bly Manor). And the way sex overall is portrayed and handled is soooo Everyone Is Beautiful And No One Is Horny.

There is this problem with all of Flanagan's adaptations, and Bryan Fuller does the same thing (I've seen it in both Hannibal and American Gods), where they just wholesale poach lines from the author's narration or other works and give it to their characters as dialogue. In this one they even have the grotesque indecency to have Roderick be the "author" of multiple of Poe's poems. HOW? WHY? HOW? WHY? Additionally, when they do this with the narration, it doesn't make sense as dialogue. Human beings don't talk like that except in very rare instances or if they're very pretentious. It just doesn't make sense. It's a failure of writing and imagination on the adaptor's part because they're not confident in their ability to visually create the atmosphere that the written line conjured and it's actually pathetic.

[fredborges98]

Assista a "Amanda Gorman Recites 'The Hill We Climb' | TIME" no YouTube

Here is the text of Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,” in full.

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.

We braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.

We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption.

We feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.

But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.

We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain.

If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.

And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

[kcyars520]

The poem that was read by Amanda Gorman at President Biden's inauguration has been banned from elementary schools in Florida after the objections of just one parent. We are posting the poem here to let DeSantis know that his book bans will never stop us from sharing the truth. Pass it on so everyone understands how hateful and bigoted Florida has become under his reign.

Here is the text of Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,” in full.

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.

We braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.

We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption.

We feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.

But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.

We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain.

If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.

And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid.

The new dawn balloons as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

[darkrubymoon]

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

As Florida has chosen to ban Amanda Gorman's beautiful Inauguration Poem...I have decided to post it here in full.  Read for Yourself what ideas are being banned from schools.  This could one day be all America...not just Florida if you the voters do not start paying attention to what the GOP wishes to do to our country.

Amanda Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,”

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.

We braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.

We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption.

We feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.

But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.

We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain.

If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sun-baked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.

And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

[onceuponastory]

guilty - b.b x reader

Darling, darling, darling, let me sing to you Let me sing to you, let me sing to you Darling, darling, darling, let me shelter you Let you into all the homes that fear has made of me How the shingles fall like dust beside your company - little words: the happy fits (also you should check out the happy fits, cause their music is really good! highly recommend.)

Plot: Bucky tells his girlfriend Y/N the truth about his past...and all the bodies left in his wake. A/N: My friends requested Bucky being told that what happened to him and what he did as The Winter Soldier wasn’t his fault. They also wanted to see more emotional Bucky, like the opening scene of TFATWS episode 4, so I happily obliged! cause Bucky Barnes is not a villain and if you think he is gtfo.  Also, chapter 2 of ever after is coming, it’s just these chapters are turning out to be way longer than I first thought, lmao. Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, torture, death...basically everything Bucky did as TWS. Also a lot of self loathing. This is a very angsty fic, but there’s a happy ending!

There are a lot of things in life that Bucky Barnes hates. The rain, for one thing. And John Walker. But most of all, what Bucky hates is feeling guilty. And with a past stained with as much blood as his...he has a lot to feel guilty about. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to feel guilty or atone for what he did, completely the opposite, in fact. He hates being unable to sleep at night without hearing screaming or seeing the blood he spilt. In all honesty, Bucky just wants it to stop. He hates closing his eyes every night and dreads actually falling asleep because he knows that’s when the nightmares begin. 

Bucky peers over from his spot on the couch to watch his girlfriend Y/N as she cleans up the things from dinner. She’s always been so sweet to him, and it breaks his heart to know that he’s not the kind of person she thinks he is. The complete opposite, actually. But most of all, Bucky hates how he knows he still hasn’t told her about his past and the type of person he used to be. He doesn’t want to tell her, not wanting to destroy her happiness.  Bucky imagines how she’ll react when he tells her. Probably run screaming in the other direction, or dump him immediately. And even though it breaks his heart to imagine that...he knows it’s what he deserves. But first, he has to tell her..and he’s going to do it today...If he can work up the guts to tell her, that is.

“Y/N? Doll? Can you come here for a sec? Please?” Bucky asks, trying to make his voice more serious, but still hating how nervous he sounds. Y/N walks over to him. She raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. Bucky clears his throat and pats the seat beside him on the couch, motioning for her to sit, which she does. 

“Buck? What’s going on?” She asks. Bucky tries not to wince at the fact she used his nickname. It still feels weird to him. Weird that he’s still alive, still loved by people enough to have a nickname, to have a girlfriend, and to be given a chance at redemption...even with all this blood on his hands. And when all the people he killed didn’t even have the opportunity to grow old and be loved. He ruined so many lives. Why should he be the one to find happiness? Why isn’t he the one who died? “Bucky?” Y/N cuts into his thoughts. She’s looking up at him, her eyes full of concern. Again, Bucky wonders what will happen when he tells her the truth. Will she even love him anymore? Or will she run for the hills?

“I uh...” He clears his throat. “I have something I need to tell you.” Her eyes widen slightly, and before Bucky can even think about what he’s going to say next, she asks:

“Did you cheat on me? Please tell me you didn’t.” For a moment, Bucky considers lying and telling her that he did cheat. Even though it’ll break her heart, it’s a lot better than admitting you’re responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, regardless of whether or not he was brainwashed into doing so. That way, he can protect her from ever finding out the truth. She’d leave, and he could go back to being alone. Even though the very idea of losing Y/N and being alone forever hurts, Bucky knows that it’s the least of what he deserves. “Bucky, please. Just tell me the truth.” She pleads, and Bucky can see her eyes glistening with tears. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it and hopefully work through it.” Bucky’s not too sure about that one. He sighs. Even though the truth was a lot worse, Bucky knows Y/N deserves to hear it...even if it might destroy their relationship.

“No, it’s not like that. I didn’t cheat.” Y/N sighs, and relief floods her features.

“Good. I didn’t think you would do that to me. You’re not that kind of person.” Bucky feels his heart shatter. She doesn’t even know the kind of person he really was. The merciless killer. The Winter Soldier. Someone responsible for so much pain and suffering. Bucky takes her hands. He runs his non-metal thumb over her knuckles, trying not to stare too long at his metal arm and hand. Even though he was given a different one in Wakanda, one not tied to suffering, one without blood on it...seeing his metal arm still reminds him of the pain his previous one caused. “What do you need to tell me?”

“Um...” He sighs, trying to find the words. “Remember ages ago, when Sam said something happened to me? Something bad?” Y/N nods. “Well...he wasn’t exactly honest. I mean, yeah, something bad happened to me. But I did something bad. Something...worse.” She frowns. “Back when I was in World War Two with Steve, my unit got captured, and they experimented on me.”

“I know this. You and Steve told me.” Y/N cuts him off. 

“I know...but you don’t know the full extent of it.” Bucky sighs, memories flooding his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, trying to block them out. “They injected me with super-soldier serum, which helped me to survive the train fall, as you know.” She nods, listening intently. “Well. I didn’t just sit and wait for Steve to find me or escape heroically or anything. I, um...I....” He takes a deep breath. Y/N squeezes his hand, and Bucky almost breaks down in tears right then. She’s too sweet for him. He doesn’t deserve her. “I was taken by the Soviet Wing of Hydra, and they wiped my memories, implanted these...trigger words in me so I’d do whatever they want. I became their...assassin.”

“What are you saying?” She asks.

“I’m saying...I was the Winter Soldier. The monster that killed innocent people and injured countless others. I’ve left so many bodies in my wake...and done so many bad things Y/N. And I don’t deserve any of...this.” He waves his free hand around at the apartment they’re both in...and at her. Y/N blinks back at him, looking slightly shocked at Bucky’s revelation. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. Not after what I did or who I was. The person who tried to kill Steve, Sam, Fury and Nat-”

“But you didn’t, Bucky, you-” She leans in closer, reaching her hand closer to the forearm of his metal arm.

“BUT I TRIED TO!” He exclaims, cutting her off as he jerks his metal arm back. Y/N jumps back a little, a look of fear crossing her face for a moment. That makes Bucky feel even worse. Even though Ayo and Shuri helped rehabilitate him, and Ayo removed his trigger words, Bucky has spent many sleepless nights tossing and turning. He stays awake almost all night, wondering how much of The Winter Soldier remains within him and whether he’d hurt or scare anyone that way again. Seeing the look of fear on Y/N’s face tells him only one thing: he’s still the same monster he was before. And now he’s scared the one person he wanted to protect. Bucky panics, and his stomach drops. Drops into a black hole that he wishes would swallow him whole. “I’m sorry, I-I I didn’t mean to-” He stammers, tripping over his words. Tears threaten to spill over, and he gets up from the couch quickly. “I’m sorry....I-I should just go. Maybe just...don’t contact me. I don’t want to hurt you o-or...” Without another word, Bucky walks towards the door. 

“Bucky! Bucky, wait!” He hears Y/N following him, and he tries to speed up to avoid her. “Wait, please! Please...don’t leave.” Bucky opens the front door to her apartment, and she runs in front of him, shielding the door with her body and placing her arms out so he can’t get by her. Bucky sighs. In the past, with his true strength, he could easily move her out of the way. But of course, there’s no way he would hurt her...at least, any more than he probably already has. 

“Y/N. Let me get past, please.” He mumbles, and she shakes her head. “Doll....”

“No. I’m not moving.”

“Look, it’s better for both of us if I just go. I’m a monster. I always have been and always will be. That serum that turned me into this monster is still in my veins. Who’s to know when it will strike again, even stronger, or if I hurt you? I can’t do that. I have to go.” He argues back, his voice quieter and shaky.

“No. You don’t. I’m not going to let you.” 

“Y/N.” He sighs again, exasperated. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this so much. I mean...it’s nice, but trust me, I don’t deserve it. Now...” He leans in and presses a delicate kiss to her forehead. But despite how delicately he kisses her, there’s still pain behind that kiss. The pain of leaving Y/N, the only woman he’s ever loved, forever. Bucky almost scoffs at that. Even when he’s trying to be tender and loving...all he does is cause pain. But after everything he’s done, Bucky knows that pain is what he deserves. And Y/N deserves someone better than him. Even though saying that still breaks his heart, he knows it’s true. “You need to let me go. Please. Just let me go.” He whispers, tears falling slowly down his cheeks. Y/N shakes her head again.

“No. Stop asking me to, because I won’t.”

“Why not? You know-”

“Because!” She shouts, snapping her head up to him, tears filling her eyes too. “...Because I’m in love with you, Bucky, and hearing you talk about yourself like that, and saying you don’t deserve to be loved...it breaks my heart.” Bucky blinks at her, confused.

“But-but I did so many bad things!”

“When you were brainwashed!” She snaps back. “I know you killed people. But it wasn’t your choice. Was it?” She asks. Bucky shakes his head. Of course, it wasn’t his choice...but he still did it. And he still has to live with it. “See? It wasn’t you, Bucky. They turned you into that person. It wasn’t your conscious choice.” 

“But I-” Bucky tries to argue back, but Y/N interrupts him again

“Listen. The way I see it, you were kidnapped whilst you were trying to save the world. And when that happened, they tortured you and forced the serum on you whilst Steve chose to get it, right?” Bucky nods. “And then, they kidnapped you again, wiped your memories and forced you to kill all those people.”

“Well, yes, but I-”

“Bucky. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your choice. It's not your fault. I know you didn’t want to do those horrible things. And you’re atoning for them, aren’t you?” Bucky frowns.

“How...how do you know that?”

“I found your notebook. Sam told me it used to be Steve’s. I uh...I had a look inside and saw a list of names. Are those the people you wronged?” Bucky nods, feeling tears growing in his eyes again. 

“My uh...my therapist suggested it would be useful. It’s part of my pardon, I think. But I wanted to anyway.” 

Y/N’s eyes soften. “See Bucky? The fact you’re atoning and that you actually want to, means so much about you. You’re trying to do the right thing.” She steps forward and gently takes his hands in hers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. Because I know that’s not you. It wasn’t you then, and it’s not now. You’re the kind of guy who brings me ice cream when I’m upset, who laughs at pictures and videos of cats, and sings along to Disney films with me. You’re not a killer. You are not The Winter Soldier. Your name is James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and it’s not your fault.” Bucky is silent for a while, as he can’t even think of something to say. He’s simply overwhelmed with emotion and the feeling of having someone like Y/N loving and supporting him. So overwhelmed, in fact, that he starts crying. Actually, he starts sobbing as the years of pent up emotion spill over. Y/N wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer. Bucky doesn’t even try to stop her, and just wraps his arms around her in return. He feels like his legs are about to give way at any moment and that he’s definitely covering her outfit in snot and tears, but she doesn’t seem to care. All she does is repeat: “You are not The Winter Soldier anymore. Your name is James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and it’s not your fault.” She continues this phrase, trying to drill into Bucky that it’s not his fault. After a while, Bucky feels his legs give out, and the pair crash to the floor, but Y/N doesn’t let go. She squeezes him even tighter as Bucky’s body shakes as he cries, so tightly it’s as if she’s trying to transfer all her love and warmth into him. “I love you. So much.” She whispers, softly kissing him on the lips.

“I love you too.” Bucky whispers. Y/N pulls away and looks over at him, her eyes full of love and support.

“I’m here for you. I always will be. You deserve love. It’s not your fault Bucky. It never was.” She whispers. And for the first time in forever...Bucky starts to believe that. Of course, he knows he still has a lot of healing and therapy to go through. But, he knows that as long as he has Y/N there to support him, he’ll be okay.

[allthingsfern]

Martin Luther King Junior’s “I Have a Dream” speech (printed below) is usually summed up as a statement sweet, pacifist faith in a future when race will not matter. However, when reading it, one finds expression of faith, yes, but also of the frustration of centuries of brutal injustice and “of the fierce urgency of now.” Yes, that urgent now he referred to was almost 60 years ago, but The Reverend King also was referring to the urgent now we are living today.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered this iconic ‘I Have a Dream’ speech at the March on Washington on August 28, 1963. See entire text of King’s speech below. (Source: NAACP.org)

I Have a Dream

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free; one hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination; one hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity; one hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself in exile in his own land.

So we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note in so far as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now.

This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy; now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice; now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood; now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment.

This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content, will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the worn threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protests to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy, which has engulfed the Negro community, must not lead us to a distrust of all white people. For many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of Civil Rights, “When will you be satisfied?”

We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality; we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities; we cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one; we can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “For Whites Only”; we cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro in Mississippi cannot vote, and the Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No! no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations.  Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality.

You have been the veterans of creative suffering.

Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi. Go back to Alabama. Go back to South Carolina. Go back to Georgia. Go back to Louisiana. Go back to the slums and ghettos of our Northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.  Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream.

It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama — with its vicious racists, with its Governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification — one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low. The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.

With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brother-hood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning, “My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.” And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire; let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York; let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania; let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado; let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that.

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia; let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee; let freedom ring from every hill and mole hill of Mississippi. “From every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

“Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”

[cappymightwrite]

Jon Snow, Manfred & The Byronic Hero: Part 2

Previous Posts: PART 1

Hopefully Part 1 served as a good introduction on the topic and characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as how Jon Snow in particular is likely an iteration of this figure. But now we come to the real meat of this meta series — a closer look at Byron's dramatic poem Manfred (1816–1817), and more importantly, its titular character in comparison to Jon Snow. I was originally going to do an analysis and comparison of two key episodes in Manfred and A Storm of Swords, Jon VI, but have since decided to give that its own post... that's right kids, there will be a part 3!

(Detail from Lord Byron, Thomas Phillips, 1813)

So... why Manfred? Why not Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, or The Corsair, or Don Juan, or any other work by Lord Byron? Well, I'll tell you why, my sweet summer children. It's because of THIS:

Manfred/Manfryds and Byrons in ASOIAF, by order of first appearance and publication:

Ser Manfred Swann (ASOS, Jaime VIII)

Ser Manfred Dondarrion (The Hedge Knight)

Manfred Lothston (The Sworn Sword)

Manfryd o' the Black Hood (AFFC, Brienne I)

Manfryd Yew (AFFC, Jaime V)

Ser Byron the Beautiful (AFFC, Alayne II, TWOW, Alayne I)

Ser Byron Swann (ADWD, Tyrion III)

Manfryd Merlyn of Kite (ADWD, Victarion I)

Manfryd Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool (The Princess and the Queen, TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (Fire and Blood)

Like... what the hell, George?

I find this very interesting, very interesting indeed! *cough* intentional, very intentional *cough* And I have to thank @agentrouka-blog for reminding me of the existence of these Manfreds/Manfryds, and thus pointing me in this particular direction. This evidence is, for me, my smoking gun, it's why I feel justified in exploring this specific work. In my opinion, it really strongly confirms that GRRM is aware of Manfred, he is aware of its author — as a literary name, it is pretty much exclusively connected to Byron, it's like Hamlet to Shakespeare, or Heathcliff to Emily Brontë. In fact, GRRM likes it enough to use this name several times in fact, its frequency of use aided by a slight variation on its spelling.

So, as we can see, there are a striking number of Manfred/Manfryds (9!!) featured in the ASOIAF universe, whereas Byron (2) is used a bit more sparingly — perhaps because the latter, if more liberally used, would become far more recognisable as an overt literary reference? Interestingly, though, we can see a direct link between the two names as both bear the surname Swann: Ser Manfred Swann and Ser Byron Swann (note the exact spelling of Manfred here, as opposed to Manfryd). Ser Byron was alive during the Dance of Dragons and died trying to kill the dragon Syrax, whereas Ser Manfred was alive during Aegon V's reign and had a young Ser Barristan as his squire. So, in terms of ancestry, Byron came before Manfred, which makes sense since Lord Byron created the character of Manfred; he is his authorial/literary progenitor, if you will.

But why Swann, though? Is there any significance to that surname? Well, I did a little bit of digging and turned up something very interesting, at least in my opinion. In Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem Lines written among the Euganean Hills (1818), in its sixth stanza, the poet addresses the city of Venice... the “tempest-cleaving Swan” in the eighth line is clearly meant to be his friend and contemporary, Lord Byron, that city’s most famous expatriate:

That a tempest-cleaving Swan Of the songs of Albion, Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee;

(st. 6, l. 8-12)

Ah ha! But let's not forget that the Swanns are also a house from the stormlands — stormlander Swanns vs. "tempest-cleaving Swan." It seems a nice little homage, doesn't it? You could also argue that the battling swans of House Swann's sigil are a possible reference to Byron's fondness for boxing (he apparently received "pugilistic tuition" at a club in Bond Street, London). But to make the references to Byron too overt would ruin the subtly, so it isn't necessary, in my opinion, for the Swanns to be completely steeped in Byronisms.

All in all, it would be very neat of GRRM if the reasoning behind Byron and Manfred Swann is because of this reference to Lord Byron by Shelley. How these names and the characters that bear them might further reference Byron and Manfred is a possible discussion for another day! It's all just very interesting, very noteworthy, and highlights how careful GRRM is at choosing the names of his characters, even very minor, seemingly insignificant ones.

(Illustration of Villa Diodati from Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, Edward Finden, 1833)

Now onto the actual poem, and the ways in which Jon Snow could being referencing/paralleling Manfred. First things first, a bit of biographical context. Take my hand, and let's travel back in time, way back when, to 1816, the year in which Lord Byron left England forever, his reputation in tatters due to the collapse of his marriage and the rumours of an affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh (plus he was hugely in debt). No doubt, most of us are familiar with the story, but in 1816 Byron travelled to Switzerland, to a villa on Lake Geneva, where he met the Shelleys and suggested that they all pass the time by writing ghost stories.

The most famous story produced by them was, of course, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) — which may have served as the partial inspiration behind Qyburn and Robert Strong! Byron himself did begin a story but soon gave it up (yesss, we love an unproductive king); it was completed, however, by his personal physician, John William Polidori, and eventually published, under Byron's name, as The Vampyre (1819). But Byron didn't completely abandon the ghost story project, as later that summer, after a visit by the Gothic novelist M. G. Lewis, he wrote his "supernatural" tragedy, Manfred (1817).*

*I've seen it dated as 1816-17, but the crucial thing to rememeber, in terms of Byron's own biography, is that unlike The Bride of Abydos, he wrote it after his departure from England... this theme of exile will come up later.

Manfred is what is called a "closet drama", so is structured much like a play, with acts and scenes, though it wouldn't have actually been intended to be performed on stage. Indeed, Lord Byron first described Manfred to his publisher as "a kind of poem in dialogue... but of a very wild—metaphysical—and inexplicable kind": "Almost all the persons—but two or three—are Spirits... the hero [is] a kind of magician who is tormented by a species of remorse—the cause of which is left half unexplained—he wanders about invoking these spirits—which appear to him—& are of no use—he at last goes to the very abode of the Evil principle in propria persona [i.e. in person]—to evocate a ghost—which appears—& gives him an ambiguous & disagreeable answer..."*

*As in Part 1, more academic references will be listed in a bibliography at the end of this post.

To sum up the narrative for you, Manfred is a nobleman living in the Bernese Alps, "tormented by a species of remorse", which is never fully explained, but is clearly connected to the death of his beloved Astarte. Through his mastery of poetic language and spell-casting, he is able to summon seven "spirits", from whom he seeks the gift of forgetfulness, but this plea cannot be granted — he cannot escape from his past. He is also prevented from escaping his mysterious guilt by taking his own life, but in the end, Manfred does die, thus defying religious temptations of redemption from sin. He therefore stands outside of societal expectations, a Romantic rebel who succeeds in challenging all of the authoritative powers he faces, ultimately choosing death over submission to the powerful spirits.

According to Lara Assaad, the character of Manfred is the "Byronic hero par excellence", as he shares its typical characteristics found in Byron's other work (as discussed in Part 1), "yet pushed to the extreme." As noted above, there is a defiance to Manfred's character, which is arguable also found in Jon. Certainly though, in all of Byron's works, the Byronic Hero appears as "a negative Romantic protagonist" to a certain extent, a being who is "filled with guilt, despair, and cosmic and social alienation," observes James B. Twitchell. I'll come back to those characteristics presently.

As noted by Assaad, "Byron scholars seem to agree on this definition of the Byronic Hero, however they focus mainly, if not exclusively, on the dynamics of guilt and remorse." Indeed, it is only in more recent years that the incest motif, as well as the influence of Byron's own biography, have been more widely discussed. But perhaps the most compelling aspect of the Byronic Hero is his complex psychology. Although trauma theory only really started to flourish during the 1990s, thus providing deeper insight into the symptoms that follow a traumatic experience, it nevertheless seems, at least to Assaad, that "Byron was familiar with it well before it was first discussed by professionals and diagnosed." As we know, GRRM began writing his series, A Song of Ice and Fire, during the 1990s, and character trauma and its effects feature heavily in his work, most notably in the case of Theon Greyjoy, but also in the memory editing of Sansa Stark in terms of the infamous "Unkiss".*

*The editing, or supressing, of memories is not exclusive to Sansa, however. E.g @agentrouka-blog has theorised a possible memory edit with regards to Tyrion and his first wife Tysha.

But if we return back to that original quote, in which GRRM makes the comparison between Jon and the Byronic Hero, his following statement is also very interesting:

The character I’m probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Theon [Greyjoy] is the one I’d fear becoming. Theon wants to be Jon Snow, but he can’t do it. He keeps making the wrong decisions. He keeps giving into his own selfish, worst impulses. [source]

As noted by @princess-in-a-tower, there is a close correspondence between Jon and Theon, with each acting as the other's foil in many respects. In fact, Theon does sort of tick off a few of the Byronic qualities I discussed last time, most notably standing apart from society, that "society" being the Starks in Winterfell, due to him essentially being a hostage. Later on, we see him develop a sense of deep misery as well due to his horrific treatment at the hands of Ramsey Snow. Like Theon, his narrative foil, Jon is also a character deeply informed by trauma (being raised a bastard), but the way they ultimately process and express that specific displacement trauma differs profoundly — Theon expresses it outwardly through his sacking of Winterfell, whereas Jon turns his trauma notably inwards.*

*Obviously, I'm not a medical professional — I'm more looking at this from a literary angle, but the articles I've read for this post do include reference to real medical definitions etc.

Previously, I observed how being "deeply jaded" and having "misery in his heart" were key characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as Jon Snow — this trauma theory is a continuation of that. Indeed, to bring it back to Manfred, Assaad goes as far as stating that the poem's titular hero "suffers from what is now widely recognised as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)." I am purposely holding off on discussing what the origin of that trauma is, in relation to Manfred specifically, because, well... it needs a bit of forewarning before I get into it fully. Instead, let's look at the emotions it exacerabates or gives rise to, as detailed by Twitchell, and how they might be evident in Jon and his feelings regarding his bastard status.

(Jonny Lee Miller as Byron in the two part BBC series Byron, 2003)

Guilt

Does Jon suffer guilt due to him being a bastard and secretly wanting to "steal" his siblings' birthright? I'd say a strong yes:

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. – AGOT, Jon VIII He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. – ASOS, Jon XII

But I think Jon's sense of guilt also extends to the high expectations he sets for himself, his "moral superiority" in the face of his bastard status, as discussed in Part 1. He feels guilt pulling him in two different directions, in regards to Ygritte: guilt for loving her, for breaking his vows, and potentially risking a bastard, but also guilt for leaving her, for abandoning her, and potentially leaving her unprotected:

His guilt came back afterward, but weaker than before. If this is so wrong, he wondered, why did the gods make it feel so good? – ASOS, Jon III Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body... and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he'd left Jon's mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night's Watch. – ASOS, Jon VI "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her..."I wasn't strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I..." His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool. – ASOS, Jon VI

This guilt surrounding leaving the women/girls he cares about unprotected also extends to Arya. Yet it was his need to prove himself as something more than just a bastard, by joining the Watch, which initially prevents him from acting, and which also makes him feel guilt for being a hyprocrite:

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. – ADWD, Jon VI

I think there is a lack of reconciliation between Jon and his bastard status, between what being a bastard implies in their society: lustful, deceitful, treacherous, more "worldly" etc. Deep down, subconsciously, Jon really rebels against it. You can see that rebellion more clearly in his memories as a younger child, less inhibited:

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. – ASOS, Jon XII

But Jon knows this truth about himself, he knows that he has "always wanted it", and that causes him so much guilt because he can't allow himself to be selfish in that regard, because to do so would confirm for him his worst fears... that he truly is a bastard in nature as well as birth — treacherous, covetous, dishonourable.

Despair

As he grows up, learning to curb his emotional outbursts from AGOT, Jon appears more and more stoic upon the surface. But beneath that, buried in his subconscious in the form of dreams, you have this undyling feeling of despair, this trauma connected to his bastard status, his partially unknown heritage:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. – AGOT, Jon III

These recurring dreams, sometimes explicitly involving his unknown mother, sometimes not, represent a clear gap, a gaping blank in Jon's personal history and his perception of his identity:

"Sometimes I dream about it," he said. "I'm walking down this long empty hall. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. I don't even know who I'm looking for. Most nights it's my father, but sometimes it's Robb instead, or my little sister Arya, or my uncle." [...]

"Do you ever find anyone in your dream?" Sam asked.

Jon shook his head. "No one. The castle is always empty." He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. "Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf's shaggy white fur. – AGOT, Jon IV

"That always scares me", he says quite tellingly. From this key passage, in particular, we can see that Jon feels a deep rooted despair at essentially being unclaimed, unwanted... being without a solid (Stark) identity around which to draw strength and mould himself. He's afraid of being a lone wolf, because as we all know, "the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," (AGOT, Arya II).

This dream points him in the direction of the crypts — "somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to" — which actually does have the answers he seeks because that is where Lyanna Stark is buried. Yet Jon is "afraid of what might be waiting for [him]", and wants to "scream" with dispair because of the darkness. So, this need for a confirmed identity is a double edged sword, which will no doubt be further complicated when his true parentage is revealed.

Elsewhere, Jon's dreams continue to have this despairing quality to them, often involving Winterfell, the Starks, and especially Ned, which is very interesting on a psychological level:

The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night's Watch. – AGOT, Jon IV

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night's Watch now, not a frightened boy. – AGOT, Jon VII

But it is never "only a dream", is it?

And when at last he did sleep, he dreamt, and that was even worse. In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father's face, but he dared not tell Mormont that. – AGOT, Jon VIII

Even Jon's conscious daydreams in AGOT revolve around his dispairing search for a solid identity:

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. – AGOT, Jon VIII

A lot of these early dreams occur in A Game of Thrones, probably in response to his removal from Winterfell... his self exile. But later on in the series Jon continues to have dreams that tie him to the Starks and to Winterfell, ominous and sometimes despairing too. There's honestly too many instances to list, but if you want to understand the root of Jon's existential despair... it's in his dreams.

Cosmic Alienation

Cosmic alienation, now that's an interesting one in regards to Jon, since he definitely hasn't reached this state... yet. Life and his belief in the divine (the old gods) still hold meaning for him, but then he gets murdered by his black brothers. In the show, the writers hint at some cosmic alienation through Jon stating that he saw "nothing" whilst dead, but then they take it no further and generally do a piss poor job of post-res Jon. This characteristic of Manfred coming to the fore in Jon depends on what happens in The Winds of Winter, but I don't think it is at all that far fetched to assume that Jon will return to his body with a darker, altered perception of things.

Social Alienation

In Part 1, I discussed how Jon, like Byron's heroes, could be read as a "a rebel who stands apart from society and societal expectations." On a more psychological level, we can see how this Otherness, stemming from his bastard status, deeply affects Jon and his perception of himself and the world:

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. "Don't you usually eat at table with your brothers?"

"Most times," Jon answered in a flat voice. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them." – AGOT, Jon I

In his very first chapter, we see him quite literally alienated from the rest of his siblings, made to sit apart from them, an apparent necessity he seems fairly resigned to. Also in Part 1, I gave examples of instances in which Jon is mockingly called "Lord Snow," as well as a "rebel", "turncloak", "half-wildling", all of which serve to alienate him from the rest of the brothers of the Night's Watch.

Stannis gave a curt nod. "Your father was a man of honor. He was no friend to me, but I saw his worth. Your brother was a rebel and a traitor who meant to steal half my kingdom, but no man can question his courage. What of you?" – ASOS, Jon XI

The above interaction may seem on the surface to be about one thing — whether or not Jon will be of help to Stannis, offer him loyalty etc. — but tagged onto the end we have quite a poignant question: "what of you?" What are you, essentially. Who are you? The truth of his parentage may, in part, solve these questions... but it may also serve to alienate Jon from his perception of himself further. Ultimately, who exactly he is — what he believes in, who and what he fights for, etc. — will be solely his decision to make going forward.

So, the Byronic Hero, certainly in Manfred's case, but also in later iterations, is arguably traumatised by his own past. But regardless as to whether his trauma is related to a mysterious past, a secret sin, an unnamed crime, or incest, aka "secret knowledge", what is clear in Assaad's interpretation, is that the Byronic Hero is "living with the traumatic consequences of his own past and so suffers from PTSD." But why is Manfred traumatised, what is the specific cause of this trauma, or how might it reveal something deeper about Jon's own trauma? Now, here we come to the unavoidable... I'm going to start talking about Byronic incest and the pre-canon crush/kiss theory, and how it potentially parallels certain aspects of Manfred.

I should preface this by stating that I don't think Jon is suppressing trauma because he committed intentional incest with Sansa, but I do think (or at least somewhat theorise that) Byronic incest does come into play regarding his intense feelings of guilt and existential despair.

But still, stop reading now if are opposed to discussions of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory and the literary incest motif as a whole!

(Detail from The Funeral of Shelley, Louis Édouard Fournier, 1889)

Hey there to the depraved! If you aren't already familiar with the theory, here are some previous discussions/metas on the subject:

Full Blown Meta:

A Hidden and Forbidden Love by @princess-in-a-tower

Ask Answers (Long):

Jonsa as a more positive mirror to Jaime and Cersei? by @princess-in-a-tower, with additional comment by @jonsameta

Discussing the theory by @jonsameta

Evidence for pre-canon Jonsa? by @agentrouka-blog

Kissing in the godswood? by @agentrouka-blog

Why don't we read about Jon's reaction to Sansa and Tyrion? by @agentrouka-blog

More on Jon's supposed non-reaction by @agentrouka-blog, with additional comment made by @sherlokiness

A Jonsa "Unkiss"? by @fedonciadale

A hidden memory? by @fedonciadale

Sansa's misremembering by @fedonciadale

Descriptive parallels between A Song for Lya and Jonsa by @butterflies-dragons

Ask Answers (Short) & Briefer Mentions:

Jealous Jon by @princess-in-a-tower

Your new boyfriend looks like a girl by @butterflies-dragons

Like in Part 1, I've tried to cite as much as I could find, but as always, if anyone feels like I've missed someone important or that they should be included in the above list, please just drop me a line!

Now, it's a controversial theory, and not everyone's cup of tea — I think that's worth acknowledging! I myself am not wholly married to it, I'd be fine if it wasn't the case, but that being said, I can't in good faith ignore it when considering Lord Byron and the Byronic Hero. The incest is, unfortunately, very hard to ignore, both in his work and in his personal life. It's pretty hard to ignore in Manfred, for that matter, which is why I've held off talking about it... until now!

All aboard the Manfred incest train *choo choo* !!

First stop, Act II, scene one. Oh, wait, an annoucement from your conductor... apologies everyone, I purposely neglected to mention quite a key detail. Remember "Astarte! [Manfred's] beloved!", (II, iv, 136)? Yeah... it's heavily implied that Astarte is in fact Manfred's half-sister. *shoots finger guns* Classic Byron! *facepalms*

Oh, and that's not all! Let's consider the context surrounding the writing of this work for a moment, shall we? Unlike The Bride of Abydos (1813),* Manfred was written notably after the fallout of his incestuous affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, composed whilst in a self-imposed exile. *spits out drink* Woah, woah there cowboy... what in tarnation?! EXILE?!

*As referenced in Part 1, @rose-of-red-lake has written an excellent meta on the influence of Lord Byron's work (and personal life) on Jonsa, paying special attention to the half-siblings turned cousins in The Bride of Abydos.

Although, as noted by rose-of-red-lake, The Bride of Abydos bears strong parallels to the potential romance of Jon and Sansa, as well as Byron’s own angst regarding his relationship with Augusta Leigh, the context surrounding Manfred seems... dare I say it, even more autobiographical. Because like Byron himself, Manfred wanders around the Bernese Alps, solitary and guilt ridden, in a state of exile heavily evocative of Byron's own — as I mentioned earlier, the beginnings of Manfred occured whilst Byron was staying at a villa on Lake Geneva, in Switzerland... the Bernese Alps are located in western Switzerland. In light of this, I think it's very understandable that some critics consider Manfred to be autobiographical, or even confessional. The unnamed but forbidden nature of Manfred's relationship to Astarte is believed to represent Byron's relationship with his half-sister Augusta. But what has that got to do with Jon?

Look, I don't know how else to put this:

Byron self-exiles in 1816, first to Switzerland, to Lake Geneva, where it is unseasonably cold and stormy — his departure from England is due to the collaspe of his marriage to Annabella Milbanke, unquestionably as a result of the rumours surrounding his incestuous affair with his half-sister.

Displaced nobleman Manfred wanders the Bernese Alps, in a kind of moral exile, where "the wind / Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows / Began to glitter with the climbing moon" (III, iii, 46-48), traversing "on snows, where never human foot / Of common mortal trod" (II, iii, 4-5), surrounded by a "glassy ocean of the mountain ice" (II, iii, 7). He feels extreme, but unexplained guilt surrounding the death of his "beloved" Astarte, who is heavily implied to also be his half-sister.

In A Game of Thrones, Jon Snow chooses to join the Night's Watch, with the reminder that "once you have taken the black, there is no turning back" (AGOT, Jon VI). By taking the black, Jon arguably exiles himself from the rest of the Starks, from Winterfell, to a place that "looked like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice" (AGOT, Jon III). But we aren't given any indication that he does this due to incestuous feelings regarding a "radiant" half-sister, akin to Byron/Manfred, are we? And it's not like we have several Manfreds/Manfryds AND Byrons namedropped within the text, is it? Oh wait... we do. *grabs GRRM in a chokehold*

What the hell, George?!

(Lord Byron on His Deathbed, Joseph Denis Odevaere, c. 1826)

But lets get back on track here and take a closer look at that section of Manfred I mentioned at the beginning — Act II, scene one, aka the part where all the incest and supressed trauma really JUMPS out.

So, early in Act II, in the chamois hunter's abode (a chamois is a type of goat?), according Assaad's analysis, Manfred is "hyper-aroused by a cup of wine." The wine is offered in an attempt to calm Manfred; however, to the chamois hunter's great dismay, it instead agitates him and makes him utter words which are "strange" (II, i, 35). Rather than wine, Manfred sees "blood on the brim" (II, i, 25). His sudden agitation and erratic behaviour confound the chamois hunter, who observes that Manfred is losing his mind: "thy senses wander from thee" (II, i, 27). Assaad's analysis of this scene, which she believes "is the most revelatory in the entire play" discloses "a bitter truth: Manfred's traumatic past informs his present life."

We might compare this with Jon, in particular, how his dreams reveal certain bitter truths to do with his past, now subconsciously informing his present. I've already looked a bit at his crypt dream from AGOT, Jon IV, but we see a sort of recurrence of this dream again in ASOS, Jon VIII. The imagery of being in a crypt, somewhere underground, buried, in the dark, a place of ghosts and spirits, is extremely evocative. Indeed, to go back to Byron's own description of Manfred, the setting of a crypt is extremely suggestive of certain bitter truths "left half unexplained", of secrets buried... and we know that's true because the secret of Jon's parentage is hidden down there, in the form of Lyanna Stark.

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark... – ASOS, Jon VIII

I don't think it's outlandish to state that, unquestionably, Jon's bastard identity is a source of ongoing pain for him. I talked about the theme of despair in Jon's characterisation and it is very evident in the above, and it stems from this "bitter truth" of not being a trueborn Stark, of not being "welcome", or having a true place. The emotions/mindset this trauma, concerning his birth and identity, evokes in Jon is arguably what brings him, on first glance, so closely in line with the Byronic Hero:

Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed / The crypts were growing darker = A mysterious past / secret sin(s)

You are no Stark / I am no Stark = Deeply jaded

There is no place for you here / I am not welcome there / This is not my place = standing apart from society and societal expectations / social alienation

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell / He walked deeper into the darkness = Moody / misery in his heart

He fell to his knees / Forgive me = Guilt

He walked deeper into the darkness / Please, Father, help me / He fell to his knees = Despair

These aren't all the Byronic characteristics I've addressed in relation to Jon, but it is a substantial percentage of them, all encapsulated, in one way or another, within this singular dream passage. As far as what is fairly explicit in the text, being a bastard is Jon's "bitter truth", it is the "traumatic past inform[ing] his present life." But what is Manfred's "bitter truth", what past trauma is informing his present? And can it reveal a bit more about another layer to Jon's trauma? Because there is a key distinction — Manfred's trauma, his PTSD, stems from a specific event, notably triggered by the (imagined) "blood on the brim" of his wine, whereas for Jon, we have no singular event, we have no momentus experience, we just have this "truth."

As mentioned previously, Assaad has recognised the character of Manfred as displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). In Assaad's article, she remarks that "an experience is denoted as traumatic if it completely overwhelms the individual, rendering him or her helpless," and this is quite evident in the interaction between Manfred and the chamois hunter. Sharon Stanley, an educator and clinical psychotherapist, writes that "the word trauma has been used to describe a variety of aversive, overwhelming experiences with long-term, destructive effects on individuals and communities."

So, if trauma is related to an experience, or experiences, is it still accurate to say that Jon experiences trauma, connected to being a bastard? Because there is seemingly no singular or defining root experience, or event that it stems from, it just is… it is a compellation of several moments, revealed to the reader through Jon’s memories and/or dreams. What is being "left half unexplained” here?

Assaad makes reference to the American Psychiatric Association's definition of PTSD, in which it observes that for an individual to be diagnosed with PTSD, they have to suffer from one or more intrustion symptoms, one or more avoidance symptoms, two or more negative alterations, and two or more hyperarousal symptoms. The dreams Jon has certainly suggest something, but it seems like a stretch to say that, like Manfred, he is suffering from PTSD, right? We and Jon are very much aware that he is "no Stark", at least not in the sense that he is Ned's trueborn son, this isn’t something Jon is actively suppressing. By comparison, it is incontrovertible that Manfred committed something in the past, which he deeply wishes to forget and disassociate from:

Man. I say ’tis blood—my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours When we were in our youth, and had one heart, And loved each other as we should not love, And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, Where thou art not—and I shall never be. C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half—maddening sin

(II, i, 28-35)

However, we cannot be sure what this traumatic point of origin is, though we know that it is related to something he has done to his beloved Astarte, which subsequently led to her death. Many critics have suggested that his sin is that of incest, and as I noted earlier, that Manfred as a whole is more than just a bit autobiographical and/or confessional in nature. Manfred's incestuous sin therefore re-enacts Byron's incest with his half-sister Augusta. But regardless of the true cause, Manfred is traumatised by his past and cannot overcome it. Is there something in Jon’s past, that may have subconsciously, or consciously, influenced his departure to the Wall — his self exile — which he cannot overcome, and which is closely tied to the issue of and pain he feels due to being a bastard, not just the illegitimacy, but also the negative characteristics it assigns? Is there an event, or experience, we can pinpoint as the origin of Jon’s trauma and potential PTSD?

To circle back to Jonsa, there is some, not unfounded, debate amongst us concerning the validity of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory. I've always found it an interesting theory, but until now, I haven't really given it too much thought. In light of the Byron connection, however, as well as the textual analysis I have for Part 3, I think this scenario, as detailed by agentrouka-blog, seems more and more likely. And I don't say that lightly, I really don't. It is a somewhat uncomfortable speculation to make, even if the interaction was more innocent rather than explicit (this is the side I firmly fall down on), however, it’s ambiguity does potentially parallel Byron’s Manfred and Astarte. This post would be even longer if I included my side-by-side text comparisons, so you may have to trust me for the moment that there are some very striking similarities between Act II, scene I of Manfred, and Jon's milk of the poppy induced dream in ASOS, Jon VI, as well as the actual buildup to that vision.

But, that sounds frankly terrible doesn't it? And it doesn't bode well for his future relationship with Sansa, does it? And what does it mean if Jon is suffering from PTSD due to an incestuous encounter with Sansa? What does that mean for Sansa, Sansa who is doggedly abused and mistreated by men within the present narrative? This is awful, why would GRRM root their romance in something traumatic? Oh I hear you, and these are questions I needed to ask myself whilst compiling this. But you see... now bear with me here... it isn't the actual encounter itself that was traumatic, for either Jon or Sansa, and that is reflected in both their POVs, because, though they think about each other sparingly (explicitly at least), it is never done so negatively. No, the potential PTSD Jon suffers from this experience isn't connected to Sansa, to whatever occured between them. Rather, I believe, it's connected to either the fear, or the reality, that Ned, his assumed father, saw and/or caught him (either Sansa had left at this point, or didn't fully grasp the issue), and this fear, this guilt, this sense of despair, is made evident in this passage:

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red. – ASOS, Jon VI

That's the traumatic experience, I believe, not the kiss — yep, I strongly suspect there was a kiss. Moreover, Jon's recurring assertion, throughout the series, that he "will not father a bastard" is tied to this in some way, it’s tied to Ned, it’s tied to some sense of guilt and shame. It’s not tied to Sansa. But we'll look at this passage, what it means, what it parallels, and what directly precedes it, in comparison to Manfred, a lot more closely next time.

I'll leave you with a slight teaser though — the parallel that made me really sit up and take notice:

C. Hun. Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day 'T has thaw’d my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine. Come, pledge me fairly. Man. Away, away! there’s blood upon the brim! Will it then never—never sink in the earth?

(II, i, 21-26)

Note this imagery!!!

Maester Aemon poured it full. "Drink this."

Jon had bitten his lip in his struggles. He could taste blood mingled with the thick, chalky potion. It was all he could do not to retch it back up. – ASOS, Jon VI

In both instances, a drink is offered, with "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled". In Manfred's case, this is an explicit trigger for him, whereas for Jon? Well, it bit more hidden, a bit more buried, but this moment is, to my mind, the catalyst, because its imagery strongly evokes the colours of the weirwood tree — "blood" red and "chalky" white — you know, the "huge white weirwood" he later on envisions.

*spits out drink*

Maybe the magnitude of this parallel isn't completely evident as of yet, but it will be... or at least I hope it will be, so stay tuned for Part 3!

(Starting to run out of Byron pics so... I dunno, here's Rupert Everret, from The Scandalous Adventures of Lord Byron, 2009)

In Conclusion

To summarise, why is the Manfred connection so monumental to me? Why do I find the pre-canon kiss theory, specifically the scenario detailed by agentrouka-blog, now very hard to dismiss? Because:

The nine (!) Manfreds/Manfryds included within the text, as well as the two Byrons, one of which, the first mentioned in fact, first appears in Sansa's POV. But crucicially the direct link made by GRRM between Byron Swann and Manfred Swann.

The strength of the similarities that can be observed between Jon and the Byronic Hero, but also notably to Byron's Manfred, the "Byronic hero par excellence", according to Assaad. Especially the recurring emotions of guilt and despair, the latter exemplified perhaps most clearly in Jon's dreams.

The prominent theme of self-exile to escape something, something that perhaps cannot be openly stated, present in Manfred, Byron's own life, and Jon's narrative.

Those pesky half-sisters: Augusta, Astarte, and Sansa.

The PTSD symptoms clearly present in Manfred, but left "half unexplained", and seemingly not explained at all in Jon's POV — I'll dig more into this in Part 3.

The "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled" — more on that in Part 3, I hope you guys like in depth imagery analysis!

Obviously, this is all still just speculation on my part, and it's speculation in connection to a theory that is understandably controversial. I'd be happy to dismiss it... if it weren't for the above. So, I suppose I'm in two minds about it. On the one hand, however you look at it, it's more trauma in an already traumatic series... which is *sighs* not what you want for the characters you care strongly about. But on the other hand, that literary connection to Manfred (and by extension to actual Lord Byron), the way it's lining up, plus that comparison GRRM himself made between Jon and the Byronic Hero... that's all very compelling and interesting to me as a reader, as a former English literature student. So, I don't want it to be true because... incest hell. But then, I also want it to be true because then it makes me feel smart for guessing correctly.

But anyway, we're going to be descending into incest hell in Part 3, so... we'll just have to grapple with that when we come to it. I hope, if you stuck with it till the incesty end, that you enjoyed this post!

Stay tuned ;)

Bibliography of Academic Sources:

American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edn (Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Publishing, 2013); online edition at www.dsm5.org

Assaad, Lara, "'My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep': The Byronic Hero’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder", The Byron Journal 47, no. 2 (2019): 153–163.

Byron, George Gordon Noel, Byron’s Letters and Journals. Ed. Leslie A. Marchand. 12 vols. London: Murray, 1973–82.

Holland, Tom, "Undead Byron", in Byromania: Portraits of the Artist in Nineteenth- and Twentieth- Century Culture, ed. by Frances Wilson (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2000).

MacDonald, D. L. "Narcissism and Demonality in Byron’s 'Manfred'", Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal 25, no. 2 (1992): 25–38.

Stanley, Sharon, Relational and Body-Centered Practices for Healing Trauma: Lifting the Burdens of the Past (London: Routledge, 2016)

Twitchell, James B., The Living Dead: A Study of the Vampire in Romantic Literature (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1981).

[ilovevillains]

Insides Kisaki's brain 🧠

WARNING: THE MUSIC VIDEOS MIGHT HAVE FLASH LIGHT EFFECTS.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SEXUAL THEMES, TOXIC THOUGHTS, STALKING.

Album: Tokyo Revengers Playlist

PRELUDE:

The day has come, here is the first playlist of my Tokyo Revengers playlist!

Kisaki, Kisaki, Kisaki... my king, my love... I'm not forgiving you, I love you, but I am not forgiving you.

I'm going to keep this intro short, because the long paragraph is reserve for the outro.

🧠 Now That I'm Wanting More, Koko

I know I want you I’m feeling obsessed It’s like in my mind I am being possessed

🧠 Every Breathe You Take, Chase Holfelder (cover)

Oh, can't you see You belong to me? How my poor heart aches With every step you take

🧠 eat u alive, Marian Hill

I been looking on, I been biding my time You been looking strong with a glint in your eye Everybody knows if I'm given the night I might eat you alive, I might eat you alive, yeah

🧠 Crystaleyes, AViVA

And when I wake into this dream I’m falling in and out of time Falling under, falling over Floating on the sky You face it when you’re going down Our planets won’t align

🧠 Unsmiling, Aunty Social

Knowing I could be the one To give you everything Is the issue Knowing I could give you shelter Just makes you feel beneath Someone’s the fool I—

🧠 Nightfall, Black Lilys

There you go in this crowd Never been satisfied There you dream days and nights Of the lover you'll never have Please tell me why?

🧠 Coming for You, Nuela Charles

I am coming for you So watch what you do I intend to be cruel to you and you Should watch what you do When my hands are on you 'Cause I'm, coming for you (and you and you and you

🧠 Paradise, The Neighbourhood

Sensations don't mean anything If I can't just have everything Some days I think I'll run away But what would I even do if I made it? I just keep on fading 'cause I never feel enough, it never fills me up I'm climbin' up a giant rock, I'll never reach the top But I can't stop, I can't stop, so

🧠 I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE, Måneskin

And I'm a killer Who's searching for redemption I'm a motherfucking monster Who's searching for redemption

🧠 Pray, JRY feat. Rooty

Forget the words I'm saying I know that I've been cruel I pray for peace Tell me why don't you

OUTRO

Now it's the moment of the truth. Why do I love Kisaki? Kisaki is one intriguing character for me. I'm part of the group that believes he deserved a better development, but part of me is grateful he didn't have other motives, because I believe he could pull a Profesor Moriarty and Kisaki would have been unstoppable.

Another reason why I love Kisaki (and other villains) is that they are realistic. In the manga, Kisaki knew who he was and what was his roll in the live [trama] of the world he was living. When I read that specific panel I could not stop myself from loving him more. Even though his reason weren't good, his attitude of keep going on to achieve his goals it's what I really love and adore of him (and Takemitchy and other characters, my other kings, I love them too). I guess that's how I love my kings: determine to achieve their goals ♥.

Remember that next week we have Hanma's playlist... stay tuned for the playlists! Take care and keep fighting for that dream (or maybe those dreams) ♥

-Villain Lover🖤

[sunfloweroranges]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕕 ℍ𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘   𝒮𝓊𝓀𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓍 𝓃𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳⁱᶜᵃˡ|ᶠᵃⁿᵗᵃˢʸ ᵃᵘ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 Ⅰ

𝐀/𝐍 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 [𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚋] · 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢|𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎 · 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚌 · 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷𝟷𝚔 · 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜 (𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜), 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎/𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 · 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

ℙ𝕥 𝕀 | ℙ𝕥 𝕀𝕀

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

 · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Gazing down, between pale clouds, floating along the winds of the wild sea, coast emerged in its waves.. Japan was a land of art, invention, culture, tradition, truth be told, this realm wasn’t normal, laced with things, beings called curses, land where the thought of men could create powerful monsters, where hate seeped into creation leading to demise or redemption… This province, decorated with mountains in which resided creatures most men feared to think of, cut with rivers, flowing with hills, made of beauty, heritage, decorated with shrines, some old forgotten, rundown and taken back by earth itself, some vividly colored, decorating the ground they were resting upon, risen in praise to gods men believed, risen for protectors, for those who bless with good harvest, which carry victory for its prefecture. This motherland which contained so much beauty so many stories associated with every mountain, every river, even a rock under which resided a spirit providing safe travel, all of that spun from the mind of men, their stories, myths, their conceptions....

· · · · · With a flutter of dark wings, a bird of prey circled one of the fields looking out for pests rummaging in the yearly yield of food for a nearby settlement, in the field worked people, with big straw hats protecting their heads from sun, which slowly rose from behind one of the magnificent mountains that enriched the view from the village.They weren’t the only ones that rose with the warm rays, the animals, their caregivers, the people gathering themselves to go off on a journey far deeper into the land of cherry blossom, with them rose students, in this quite big village, named Tokyo by the prefectures governor Yuga, under care of few, Lead by Nanami Kento, a land owner, respected for his knowledge and sober, clear judgment, people lived prospering lives, educated to the role assigned in their lives by fate, fate which looks unclear until someone, someone like villages takusen or oracle as they were called, cleared their clouded fates and set them on clear path of life..

To become one of the roles, people with their fates leading them to be, either farmers, caregivers, healers, governors or oracles, they were taught, from youngest of ages, taken into schools, to learn the sacred knowledge of their path, this was the tradition after all, though some paths were clearer than others.. which ones? The perfect example would be one of Twins, two humans born of one woman in the same day or night, how were their paths clear already? You see, there’s this thing everyone here has for tradition, legends and mysticism, twins are one of the more buzzing subject, their existence tied to mankind. Every prefecture, every village, had their own word on it, here in Tokyo twins were a dual flame, thought of as one spirit separated into two bodies, with their approach to life being- good always comes first, they thought out their own look..

· · · · · ℌ𝔲𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔡𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔱, 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔰𝔢𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔦𝔱𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔴𝔬. 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤- 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢, 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔩𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶, 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔴𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔶, 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱, 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡, 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢.. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔡.. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔠𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯𝔰- 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔨𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔤𝔢, 𝔞𝔰 𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔢- 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔬. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔞𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥, 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡, 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱.. 𝔗𝔴𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔪𝔶, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢𝔫- 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡, 𝔬𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯, 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔡𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢𝔱𝔶..”

With a small shuffle of pages and hands tracing down virtuous letters came a sigh “Well, that’s just harsh don’t you think Kugisaki?” a tired voice brushed through the morning air, two people sat on velvet pillows by a small table, one known by the village, born and raised here in Tokyo, the other.. had a more patchy story, being adopted by a group of scholars when found on the libraries doorstep. “Why?” A bored tone responded, Nobara was staring blankly at the pages full of scribbled in rush notes not even reading them properly, her shorter hair fell messily still not fully settled after a good night’s rest /s. The two were sleep derivated, not only them, almost everyone with maybe a few exceptions, everyone in this year was close to the final exam, the test that would truly determine if their fate was to become a villages miko or takusen.

“People aren’t plain black or white..” y/n spoke with a saddened tone, there they go again, Nobara rolled her eyes and turned her head towards her dear friend, her hand placed down the small notebook, closing it which just proved the theory, Kugisaki wasn’t really learning but just staring at her notes. Y/n sighed and shook their head, there was one thing they knew, how pointless miko or takusen names were, why not just call them oracles? After all they were believed to have both spirit parts, masculine and feminine, if one wanted to become the master oracle their parts should balanced like the lives of twins are.. “You know we can’t go against sacred texts, it’s just what we have to remember.. Knowing only one of us will become the oracle..” Nobara added with little to no hope of actually passing, she already looked into her fate with one of Tokyo’s smaller miko’s, just so she would have the security and clarity of what comes next.

While these words fell Y/n got up from their seat and looked to the beautiful landscape stretching out before their e/c eyes, mountains, countless buildings, some being homes, some small temples, some stores, y/n could never understand how Tokyo was still called a village with the amount of people and the sheer size of it, but what do they knew about governing over land, they were no Yuga nor Nanami to know anything about it, their specialization was in spirits, curses, the mystical side of their land.

Their train of thought was disturbed by their wary eyes catching a glimpse of a flock of birds startled by something, their brows furrowed a little with confusion.. With a moment of thinking y/n came to a conclusion that it was no other but the temple of Tokyo’s head takusen, the most powerful of all, not only in their prefecture, but in the whole sacred province of Japan, Sukuna. The same one that was to take in one of their group in a month or so, when the final test decides who is worthy of working beside the King of Curses, as they called him.

· · · · · On the other side of Tokyo, in a peaceful temple, with beautiful garden right by a calm porch sat no other, but the powerful King of Curses himself, in his favorite white gown embedded with most expensive purples on its hems, sipping on a morning tea before his work would begin, already knowing waves of sorcering warriors would come pleading for him to work their skin, give them power and resistance to fight against enemy, whether it be curse or men. This lovely and most probably the calmest of moments in takusen’s day was cut short by a very particular lanky man, dressed in black with the most annoying voice making the pink haired man want to rip his ears off. “Sukuna!~” All too familiar mess of white hair poked out from behind a corner, this startling a flock of birds from one of the cherry trees and earning just a click of tongue from the tattooed male which just about spilled half of his green tea. “What the hell do you want?” His words were sharp, honestly Gojo was pretty sure everything was, his nails, eyes, even his hair though looking like it was taken care of, if one would dare and touch it their fingers would be cut off. “How harsh” The blindfolded man theatrically clutched his chest, as if pretending to be hurt, though both of them knew that it couldn’t happen, not with how much power the annoying man possessed. “You never come here without a demand, what is it?” Sukuna spoke sparing a glance to the other which rushed over with an idiotic smile he wanted to slap off of this pale face..

While Sukuna wiped dry a small table on which he spilled the tea, Gojo humming sat down and rested his head on one of his hands, a sly smile evident on his face, of course he wanted something, he wanted to see precisely, he wanted to watch The Final Test of the oracle students, but this was a month from now. He already waited 10 years! A decade!! Do you know how excited do you have to be when the one time you’ve seen this miracle show of a test you’ve been 19 and didn’t give a shit about it?! But Gojo had a plan, a plan that was foolproof, doomed to succeed with just a few words.. “Kyotos Miko said you’re weak.” That’s it. A pair of two ruby eyes sparkling with rage fell onto the blindfolded man..

“Oho, but don’t worry, no one questioned your mastery, she questioned, or rather, challenged your ability to ‘teach the mastery of curse tattoo’s to a hatchling’” The man rose his hands in ‘I didn’t do anything’ position. Gojo felt like Sukuna would burst this second if he didn’t calm it a little, his plan might’ve worked just a tiniest bit too well. “Eh? Teaching ability? Who is that bitch..“ The strawberry haired man was stopped from getting up by a lanky hand on his shoulder “Now now, we both know you wouldn’t let your reputatuion suffer, nor let anyone question your power right? But you don’t have any new apprentices, not until next month’s test-“ “The Ceremony is happening tonight.”

Sukuna’s words cut off Gojo which couldn’t help but internally smile like an idiot, his plan worked so much so the most powerful King of Curses made such a decision on a whim, not like the blindfolded man didn’t like it, he loved this idea, he got what he wanted, surprisingly so. Improving his bluffing skills could be checked off of his bucket list for this year. Sukuna got up brushing the white haired males stick-like hand off of his shoulder “Go and tell them already, preparations have to start immediately.” The sly sorcerer didn’t need to be told twice and was gone with the wind as soon as Ryomen finished his sentence.

· · · · · Before Nobara could take a peek through Y/n’s notes, or them even opening their lips to scold their friend for it, the door to the shared dorm flung open, behind them ever so excited Gojo-sensei which seemed to buzz with enthusiasm, which definitely was not reflected by his students which tiredly crawled out of their dorms as their morning calmness was disturbed by their dear teacher. “Y/n, Nobara, go to the outside training field, I’ll meet you there when I gather everyone else.” With those words the white haired man disappeared, something was weird, the sudden spike in their sensei’s eagerness felt off for probably everyone who wasn’t half asleep while walking to the training ground.

The news of sudden, pretty big move of a very important event spread like wildfire, the town having barely woken up was suddenly buzzing with preparations, the streets slowly decorated with vividly colored lampions and flags, tapestries hung out, even animals treated to a good bath and dressed in their best decorative gear, everyone though suddenly rushing tried their best. Nanami, the land owner which probably could be the only one to stop such sudden not well thought out decision seemed to keep silent and move on to assisting and cooperating the giant event that had the whole prefecture keep their eyes on Tokyo which transformed from one moment to another into the most lively, colorful, celebrating village of Japan.

“The big test, your final exam, is moved to...!” Gojo-sensei stood in front of a group of almost 20 half awake students jumping around and moving his hands in a drumroll motion “TONIGHT!!” this word was enough to wake every single one of the students “EEEHHHH?!” “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me..” Y/n whined while Nobara had a hard time gathering her jaw from the floor “Ah ah, language dear y/n-chan~!” Came from the white haired teacher which probably just earned a few more enemies in his class, what a love- hate relationship he had with the class, but who cares?! He was about to witness the greatest festival of them all, The Final Test!

“Now now, everyone calm down! I know you’re excited but there’s a lot to work for! I’ve already prepared a schedule ahead, that was supposed to happen in a month but here we are~” Gojo pulled out a stack of papers seemingly out of nowhere, or everyone was just too tired to notice where they came from but it didn’t matter. The white haired man handed out everyone a single paper which contained a full schedule “The ceremony will start at 10pm! Of course the carnival part will begin two hours earlier, can’t let any kids miss it and bedtime’s at sunset!” Gojo spoke with some weird spark going out of his, probably winking eye which was covered by a blindfold. “Of course I had to change a few things, in a moment you’ll be served breakfast, after that you’ll have two review periods, one for theory the other for practical skills, between them you’ll have a short break to change, since you’ve been split into four groups, two first will have theory then practical reviewing, while the other will have practical and then theoretical periods.”

Now that was a lot of information to take in from the very morning, while Gojo rambled on explaining everything Y/n felt the stress build up, they were close to the top of the class yet the dread of The final exam loomed over their shoulder for a while making them anxious over their performance, this was no joke as Gojo-sensei has repeated between his ramblings.. A shaky breath left their parted lips which felt extra dry now “Alright, that will be all, remember that after dinner there will be a big 3 hour period for practical test and then right after theoretical, no one wants to miss the carnival right? Lovely, now go off, I’ll be meeting all of you here after the meal where we’ll part into two groups!” This felt like a damned summer camp, but demanding like an army training, after all, Gojo was sorcerer warriors commander, y/n had no idea why this guy was in charge of them, but there was no time, everyone had to focus and pull whatever was left of their energy to perform their best.

· · · · · Now the whole day was a rush for everyone, but that didn’t mean that the preparations were half assed, this actually was the opposite, even more attention was given to details, paper and straw figures emerged from under hands of common folk, more intricate decorations or costumes were woven or taken out of their storages in the higher parts of Tokyo, dances and theatrical stunts were practiced. The big event was planned since last year’s summer, yet this one month less, and sudden need of perfection within ONE day was something that truly hasn’t happened ever in the history of any prefecture.. Sukuna’s sudden order shocked the higher up’s but none could protest, whether it be because they feared the head takusen or enjoyed the big event and wanted to see it happen, after all it would trade for one month more of calmness between these once in a decade event.

While in the sorcerer school last year students reviewed all their skills, from intricate designs being pierced into men skin, their design and placement to every miniscule detail, as the speed of each poke, as the ingredients of their tools, from ink to the twine that tied together a sharp point that pierced the skin and a stick held by the oracle. Y/n luckily ended up in the first group which got to theoretical review first, this let them read up on everything they felt a little unsure in, of course the groups weren’t left unsupervised like Gojo would probably leave it be. Nanami Kento himself appeared in the school, being one of the scholars that adopted y/n he was like their father, his presence gave somewhat comfort with a big dose of weight, as if making those which still couldn’t believe it too well, how serious the situation was.

Nobara ended up in something she liked much more, which was kicking ass of weak curses beside the practical application of temporary boosts, which were tattoos applied with special paste and sealed in for a specific amount of time with cursed energy the students learned to harness in around 10 years of their 20 year long education, everyone had their own specific way of harnessing the energy, of applying it to each task, from sealing the paste on an object such as a rock to defending themselves with their cursed tools. Nobara was a blunt woman, and so was her tool, using a hammer, or two, no one was really sure how many she had in her possession, but many feared them, even the rubber squeaky hammer she used most often while practicing the fighting techniques with other students.

“𝔈𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔥𝔫𝔦𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔳𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔡, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶  𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔳𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔰, 𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔬𝔞𝔩, 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫, 𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔩 (𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔷𝔢 𝔬𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔩𝔡) 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫. 𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫, 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱’𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔬.” With a sigh y/n brushed their fingers through loose strands in their brushed back hair, focused like their life depended on it- because it very much did, they knew just bits and pieces of what awaited, they knew they had to remember each tools usage. That using a young rose thorn and charcoal/eggshell ink provided best working vigor, stamina tattoos rather than using an old thorn and ink made of charred bone which provided agility and core strength to the subject. So much information and so little time to actually fully repeat every single thing. Some students overwhelmed themselves while trying to repeat every single thing, y/n kept to an advice they were given by Nanami-sensei at the very beginning of their journey ‘complete a list with your weaknesses before each test, better yet, every week, and practice over those areas, focus on your weakness instead of repeating things you’ve already caught a proper grasp on.’ Their e/c eyes scanned over their complied notes and the list that was almost halfway checked out, time flew by when one dreaded what was to come.

· · · · · The break that gave the four groups just enough time to gather themselves up, change and attend the opposite groups activity, came too early for y/n’s liking, but they couldn’t do anything, just push themselves just a little more, striving for this, they worked for this for 20 years, this was their fate, everyone here had the same fate, but the result depended on this night, on today, how the hours passes painfully struck these which worked till blood, sweat and tears would mix into success. From sparring between students, alone, in pairs, groups, against each other, against curses, to applications of their knowledge, painting barriers of infinity taught by Gojo-sensei who seemed to master the art of being untouchable, working on their permanent applications on things that weren’t as alive. Gojo made it clear “This is nowhere near what the real skin worked on feels like, as you know having had a chance to feel live skin under your hands! Be prepared to work on skin that you’ve never felt before.” Of course Gojo didn’t know much, but various miko’s and takusen’s gathered and taught individually every single student, from advice to practical showcase of their art.

Sitting in their work gowns every student of the group on a special outdoor desk worked off on what they were given, practicing from simple paper sigils that turned into sparkling butterflies that would light the night sky like starts before fading with the wind to applying temporary tattoos to the carnival animals, such as horses making their appearance so much brighter and eye catching, or giving the nervous ones a light help with a few strokes of a brush that let the animal feel tranquil for the night.

Y/n worked on one of the fruits, with a slender stick made of cherry trees young branch finished with silk thread that held 3 bronze needles on its end, these were one of the more fancy tools, but knowledge of their use was important, a desk over worked one of y/n’s classmates, she held a chestnut stick and a birch rod to which on a 90 degree angle were fixed dried thorns, with light taps of the chestnut stick the woman worked away on the skin of a pumpkin creating one of the most intricate designs one would lay their eyes on, Yukine was the very top of the class after all, no one expected any less.

· · · · · The pressure was immense in the sparring y/n almost losing to their classmate in one on one spare, before remembering that, only killing wasn’t allowed, they used a long stick against a katana of choice of their opponent, this could end bloody but, after all, all tricks were allowed, their e/c focused on their opponents forehead which was hit by invisible burst of cursed energy from y/n, giving them the advantage of shock and tumbling back of their opponent to make a move, flinging the long rod around just to point it at the students throat as he laid on the ground defenseless, point for them, winning this one on one spare y/n set their weapon aside and offered their hand to help the other up…

This may have been a competition but it didn’t mean they hated each other all the time, sure an outcast happened from time to time, but cooperation and bonds with other students were important, as much power as they could harness turning a weak old man into a vigorous giant dragon, one person would never amount to cooperation between works of miko’s and takusen’s, unless you were Sukuna, the one ‘human’ that was able to create spells groups of four couldn’t amount to in power. Cooperation here was key, and they had to know it, take it into account as much as the balance of self within them, whenever they had the chance, fighting or working in pairs or more, they needed to work it out in a way that they would perform best, ‘otherwise they were as good as dead’ harsh but painfully true words that were repeated by probably every single teacher of theirs.

Y/n helped the classmate up “Good fight Seto-kun, but you leave yourself open to other tricks!” Gojo spoke from the side of the sparring ground. Seto nodded to his sensei and left the rink, y/n would face another person, a winner of their own spare, this elimination lead by Gojo’s somehow comprehensive thinking to picking out the weaknesses of his students as well as seeing who was the most capable of combat in this, human on human sparring. Y/n was lucky ending up in top 5 of the students, Yukine, the top class student won the first spot in this group. All of this sparring let the students work on their weaknesses, for y/n it was focusing on disarming their opponent first, without going into much defense or offence, this lead to minutes on end y/n trying to confuse their opponent with no success, which lead to stress and mistakes resulting in their loose.

· · · · · The cool water after countless sparring till they fail was just what y/n needed, the refreshing sip felt like a blessing cooling their hurting lungs and dry throat, sweat glistened on their forehead, just to be wiped off with a small towel, each student had those, it was nice they were given them alongside the water. Y/n’s eyes observed the top 3 students spar against each other from the side, they sighed wiping their nape of sweat, their attire was soaked too, luckily the students will get enough time to have a wash before dinner, today was going to be full of preparations, from here Y/n could see how Tokyo slowly was decorated colorfully. The training  grounds filled with people, changing their activities preparing for the big test right after.

With a blow of refreshing cool wind a brass bell was rung by one of the miko’s calling everyone to the diner to eat what would be their last meal till the carnival to which they still had 7 hours, this first 5 hour period was a pain, imagine now a 6 hour one after this.. Y/n groaned softly realizing how much work was still ahead, the adrenaline still buzzing in their veins seemed to dull the stress for this moment, but surely not for much longer.. They got up and picked up their bo staff putting it on their shoulder, minding everyone around of course, don’t want this stick stuck in anyone’s eye. Y/n deposited the staff with everyone else at the racks where the weapons were taken by school personnel, a luxury in this school.

· · · · · While students of the oracle school worked away on their reviewing and polishing their skills, other schools gathered to help with organizations of the main arena, where the tests would be performed, they worked in a specially build spot, which had beautiful engraved, art in itself, stone walls, which had one entrance for public only and one secret entrance for the participants, which lead underground and into the specially build storage house behind the arena. It had to be cleaned, as if woken up from its slumber, a decade of bare minimum cleaning showed the lack of usage, but it just showed how important the oracles and this Final Test was to the prefecture. People worked on the field, cleaning out any weeds that outgrew a garden that was settled in the arena, which itself was giant, fitting probably all of Tokyo inside its walls, all for 20-30 students of oracle school each decade.

Within these walls were three areas, two similar in size, one being a clean fight rink, the other being a wild garden, that grew in such a way it looked like a piece of wild forest was taken and planted within these walls, the last area, which was smaller, was used as a tattooing space, all of the equipment, such as stools or tables were brung in from the storage house at the back of the arena, which while cleaned was also decorated by students of the art school, with banners, flowers from florists whatever they could find fitting. The fighting area of the ground would be also used as a performance spot before the final test would begin. Every person participating in the parade would end up going to the arena, where they would perform, whether it be theatrical, musical or gymnastic stunts, it all finished here. From this arena they could go to the storage house, which had a fenced off area for the carnival animals to rest in while the Final Test was wtached by Tokyo folks.

The walls were put into sections, for common folk, for scholars, for orchestra which would provide the lovely atmosphere of the arena, and the last section which was right above the main gates, the oracle section, where miko’s, takusen’s and Sukuna himself would be seated, in the same area a little above them the leaders of Tokyo would be seated, because of such rush Yuga could not appear in this decades show, but his prefecture had its own show, he couldn’t complain about missing this one. Nanami left the school while the students of the school were dining, and now a few hours later was the head decision maker to the preparations of the arena, his assistants were send out around Tokyo to look over everything else, the parade, the streets, even the shops and small stalls set up for the carnival itself...

· · · · · Once the sky turned from blues to reds which faded into black, when the sun dipped down behind the horizon and the sky was littered with shimmering stars, once the roads to all nearby temples were lit with sacred fires of their gods, Tokyo began its carnival, music played down in every corner of the colorful village, people like ants flooded the streets, from children to elders, everyone gathering to watch the event which they so carefully prepared.. Now that everything was done, every street beautifully decorated, every performance polished to perfection, the fun, the dance, the singing began.

Paper puppets in shapes of flying majestic dragons swirled around above onlookers head, music and bustle rung in everyone’s ears, food sold in stalls made in a way it looked like a performance itself, with fire lit beneath big iron plates or bowls, with sweet caramel like syrup hardening once swirled in shapes of fish or animals for the children to wonder at and enjoy the sweetness of, with ingredients being swirled and thrown in the air while fried, the streets came to life more than ever..

The students of oracle school finally went down from their school in the mountain, everyone dressed in their carnival robes, which they have had made by other students, students of the craftsman cast, most people took this as a break, as a time to rewind and join the common folk before they would be taken to their final test. Nobara and y/n stuck together, following instructions of their teachers to keep in groups or at least pairs, of course their arrival caused bustle, as much as they would want to just blend in, it was the day they all awaited.

“Look! Mum, look! Shamans!!” one of many children called to their mother which held her child close as the group went down the main street, people parting to make way for them, this felt really awkard for a few people in the group,, y/n included, but they tried not to let it show, holding themselves properly and smiling to the common folk, they were treated almost like a royalty. Y/n followed with the group, they were walking like so to the closest open space where usually people could find a market, but now in the circular spot waited for them the higher-ups, on their front stood Nanami, who was assigned to welcome them an wish them a moment to relax and good luck in their oncoming exam.

When finally, the formalities were done the students scattered around the carnival enjoying the most of it, Nobara and y/n went together to look at two things, the big red and white dragon performance y/n was so excited to see and to take a look at some stalls Nobara was interested in, they went almost hand in hand to make sure the crowd wouldn’t separate them. While caramel haired woman looked at jewelry in one of the stalls y/n watched with their lips slightly parted the swirling dragon to the music played by the artist which went down the street, while they watched a group of small kids approached, much to y/n’s dismay..

Y/n never really liked kids, they were fine, just over there and not here. The children started asking stuff about magic since they’ve seen y/n in the group of shaman students, they were blabbering yelling over each other asking questions that made y/n’s head ache, but they were prepared after their experience on other carnivals. They reached into their gown pocket and pulled out a small folded paper with beautiful swirling pattern on it, just when Nobara  turned to look y/n handed the paper to the children and spoke “If you want to see something magical, think of your favorite color and blow on the paper.” The children curious turned to discuss which color would be best to pick, using this moment y/n grabbed Nobara’s arm and dragged her away “O-oi, y/n!” she exclaimed a little surprised at the sudden escape.

A pair of crimson eyes followed the small interaction, Sukuna was here, and he observed the students which were to compete against each other in just a few hours time, his brows rose curiously when he saw a small paper be handed to a group of children just for the two students to flee the scene. He was about to look away but a burst of countless beautiful crimson and gold butterflies kept his gaze there for just a moment longer, lingering on the magical sigil creatures which illuminated the air around for a moment before falling apart in glitter like dust and fly away with the air...

· · · · · “Suku-“ A roar of flames suddenly appeared, just about saving the shaman from the annoying blindfolded male, for a moment everything looked as if the sun was still out- the deafening rumble of flame slowly died down another noise joined in, first drums slowly picking up speed as a big figure rolled in, an actor with a mask on, red faced man with long white hair, moustache and beard, dancing between live flames which bursted between his moves, other artists around operated the flames or played the wild music with drums and stringed instruments, a group of strong men carried the platform with the actor and behaved as a choir which was deafened by the flames as they yelled their war cries of some sort, this was a part of some big street performance as a few streets over another flame appeared and some other drums joined in, above the roofs towered a figure of a dragon swirling between flames.

Sukuna used that moment to walk away from the blindfolded man which was dressed surprisingly in something else than his atrocious tactical outfit which didn’t even resemble the traditional warriors clothes. The pink haired man was no different, dressed in a special occasion kimono of his- of course some people said these were for females- but who were they to dictate what he wore? The material of these was always so much softer and silky unlike the male gowns! Sukuna slipped past groups of people watching the performance from the side when he ensured Gojo was lost for a moment, a moment to let Sukuna calm down and not fight the annoying man.

With a small sigh the pink haired shaman headed down the streets and alleys, observing the students he saw, recognizing them by a sting of wooden beads on them, weather it be on their necks, on their wrists, ankles or tied to their clothing, this was a symbol all of them carried, each cast had their own symbol, this rosary of sorts was used for various things, mainly for meditation which the shamans performed before after and sometime even during their work- tattooing, imprinting the skin of their subject with sacred symbolisms, with 108 beads they were there to keep count of the prayers and mantras the shamans performed during their rituals.

Sukuna had his own, string of cherry wood beads on himself, usually he had it wrapped around his hand rubbing the beads or seemingly repeating mantras or praying on the daily just as he walked and did his thing, it was a small quirk of his, that special string of beads was made from a branch of a cherry tree Yuji and Sukuna planted over their parents graves deep in one of the mountains, with then a dangerous spread of curses, the two couldn’t visit the grave safely, this was something the shaman kept close to himself, somehow sentimental which wasn’t very known of the fearful king of curses.

· · · · ·

Y/n twirled a string of green sandal wood beads in their hand as they watched with anticipation the biggest performance going on now- the clash of two most powerful beings of the past! The special grade curse dragon and the greatest of shamans, one which could live with a flame flowing though his veins, the idol and admiration figure for all shaman students- these which of course had their path true and wanted to pursue the art of sharp point and ink embedded in skin infused with the magical part of the cursed energy. Their e/c eyes followed the movements of the figures, the flames that danced and licked onto the air around them, the music making y/n’s blood pump faster, they knew the whole story by heart, they were very passionate and loyal to their path, and yet every time this legend was depicted, talked of or shown in such awesome show, they couldn’t help but hold their breath with excitement.

Nobara also was there, well she just joined with two sticks of dango in her hand, one was handed to y/n with a small nudge to their shoulder “Hey- y/n you’re going to catch a fly if you keep your mouth open like that” The brown haired woman chuckled only for y/n to scoff and bite into the treat with a small hum, their eyes once more sticking to the figures which fought between flames, with deafening rumble of the fire and accompanying drums, the earth felt as if it was shaking, the whole performance was so intense l/n felt as if they were sucked back into the old times where it actually happened, the clash of the most powerful beings of their time…

The clash of the legends, this was the leading performance of the parade that slowly but surely moved towards The mountain, on which towered the arena, lit up with countless lamps, paper flying lanterns were lit and left to drift into the clear sky adding stars to it, from few places Y/n’s sigil butterflies appeared, some were from the kids, other were from them handing out a few papers to their classmates to wish upon when they saw a lampion falling, which symbolized a falling star to wish upon. Giant parade, filled with song, music, dances, colorful clothing’s, flowing creature puppets that seemed alive in the artists hands, they all moved towards their final destination… · · · · ·

The giant doors were opened, first to come in were the two fighting figures, which also positioned themselves in the centre of the arena continuing to fight, which symbolized the countless days the shaman had fought with the cursed dragon right here, where this arena was build over the corpse of the very cursed dragon which fell defeated and exorcised after 3 weeks and two days of the fight- this was what the legend spoke of anyway.. The arena filled with people, then came in one by one the other performers, which finished their gigs by the feet of the main two characters and disappeared into the back doors of the arena, where in one room all the students were preparing in a rush, they were changing their clothes and hair, long hair was to be tied in a very specific way, short hair had a special string braided into their strands.

Y/n felt their hands shake as they tied the last knot of their gown, the top was kimono like shirt, laying close to their skin, their chest bounded with bandages, which was the preferred way of y/n’s appearance, they felt more comfortable like so- The red string they tied was around their hips, keeping in place special pants, that when stood in looked almost skirt like, plaited black material was light and was made especially for what was to come, everyone had their uniform made to their needs. y/n had long sleeved top which provided cushion to their elbows and forearms, which were most exposed to painful hits of their bo staff, which was their weapon, which was the last to be picked up by them.

Nobara had a special belt like slot build into her gown which held the nails and hammer of hers, everyone was scrambling around, dressing up fixing their hair to make sure it didn’t fall loose during the first round of which they knew- it was the showcase of their fighting skills, this was what Gojo told them, they would fight in group, then pairs and then alone, all to show off how well they could adapt placed against curses with help or without it.. Y/n let out a shaky sigh as they tightened the band around their h/c hair. Their hand grabbed onto the staff and turned it to vertical position as not to bump into anyone, with a soft pat the staff rested against the guards of their gown, the adrenaline was getting to them, this felt so unreal their whole body shook, they weren’t alone either, someone ended up leaving their dinner in the changing room because of stress…

Y/n’s knuckles turned white as they gripped the staff, outside the roar of flames, the deafening drums and the cheers of the common folk, the whole Tokyo was out there, watching as the legendary shaman defeated the cursed dragon after 3 weeks and 2 days of non stop fight, as the dragon figure fell and the shaman actor rose his weapon the cheers got so loud l/n was pretty sure that the creatures within miles were awake. Fireworks were set off as the actor ‘dragged away’ the defeated dragon, with that the students were motioned to get out there, y/n felt their head spin for a moment as they saw everyone line up with their weapons by their sides, their hands felt cold, the throat tight but they put on a brave face and marched outside, just to be blinded with countless lampions, some floating, some hung, some held or set down on the railings, it was beautiful, but at the same time, completely terrifying…

As the 26 students lined up in front of the main gate, their eyes fell to the figure that rose from his seat, the head shaman, Sukuna, the glint in his crimson eyes as he scanned his plaything- students and soon to be judged apprentices, was piercing, y/n felt as if the air was knocked out of their chest as the pair of mischievous eyes lingered there while staring in their general direction. Sukuna approached the balcony like structure and when a special cone was placed near his mouth his lips parted to speak, the drums on the band side were soft but played in anticipation, truly the musicians were the masters of their path, especially in providing ten times more stress than necessary…

“Welcome, soon to be judged students, one of you will become miko or takusen, the one which will be granted to work alongside the master of their cast! I expect you to do your best, you climbed your way here, you followed your life’s path, time to prove which one of you is worthy! Let’s begin!~” Sukuna’s voice rumbled through the cone which somehow made his voice so much louder, ringing in y/n’s ears repeated ‘prove which one is worthy..’ their mind was somewhere else for a moment, their focus snapped back in place as soon as another voice rung through the surprisingly quiet arena- all of Tokyo was able to shut up in anticipation of what was going to happen. “First test! Showcase of cooperation fight against a high level curse!”

As the bald man in black gown spoke through the cone two groups of men came out from the back doors, each group had a caged curse which was contained for now, the 26 students were split into two groups, 13 people each against a high grade curse, the announcer wasn’t kidding, these curses were dangerous and everyone could feel it- a special veil was casted by group of miko’s and takusen’s which guarded the arena in case anything went wrong, the veil was see through from outside, but from inside it looked as if they had a black courtain pulled over the starless sky. The groups were to fight one after another against the two curses. The order of the groups was chosen by chance of picking out a paper from a bag and this determined which group was first- to Y/n’s demise or, most probably blessing in disguise they ended up in the first group, the first group to fight the high grade curse… · · · ·

The screeches were horrible, gurgling between inhuman roars, almost forming words as bones were cracked, the team worked to their best, they knew this could be the first and last test for them, Y/n clutched their staff which was covered in goo like liquid, supposedly the curses blood, the bastard was hard to kill even with such amount of people, two were already down, l/n didn’t even want to think why that one classmate hasn’t moved in a while, the adrenaline that rushed through their veins burned, it burned so much they were determined to save everyone else, they had some kind of formation, attacking, distracting the beast and attacking from another side, with another technique.

Y/n wiped the bit of blood that was splattered on their face by their classmate, who luckily didn’t loose an arm in this attack. They knew this wasn’t enough, their eyes scanned the area, covered in blood, kicked up dirt, in classmates that fought for their lives,  not even to pass the test, but to come out alive as the curse rampaged inside the arenas fighting ground, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to wait out, nowhere to run, as the bodies crumbled, horrible cries of their classmates filled their ears, the beating of their heart in their ears felt deafening, almost dulling the loud crack of yet another leg-

Y/n barely spared a glance to one of the boys which tried to get up as their calf bend in half and yet another sickening yell tore through the air, this was a bloodbath that needed to stop.. They never imagined such thing would be happening, no one expected to die here, to loose an arm or  break each and every possible bone in their fragile body. L/n swallowed the bitter taste in their mouth before gathering the most of their sorrow in the densest controlled way, this fight has been going on for much too long- “Just STOP ALREADY!!” Y/n cried as their weapon flared with so much dense cursed energy people outside of the veil stared in shock, Sukuna rose his brows, this particular act of desperation was cute, but he didn’t think this was enough- oh how wrong he was, the blast of the cursed energy, the dense power that sliced right through the demon was enough to collapse the veil held by 8 masters of their cast.

The crimson eyes stared in shock at the figure which stood in the centre of what was a demon just a second ago, now being a splattered mess, Y/n was no different, holding their staff with white from pressure hands, their breath shook, as the dust fell to the ground everyone scrambled to prepare the next group, l/n felt as if they were about to pass out, their chest heaving as the kimono of theirs was now drenched in blood of their classmates, covered in dust and torn by vicious attacks of the by now non existing curse. With a deep shaky inhale Y/n twirled their staff to vertical position behind their arm and bowed to the judges before leaving the scene, the first group was now attended to medically and some were covered with black silk- this didn’t feel real, how did they let these monsters kill their classmates so easily?! They were here for 2 decades, living their lives up to this and yet- and yet..

Y/n clutched their head in their shaking hands, they knew some would have it so much harder later on, loosing fingers, hands, limbs and yet still forcing themselves to perform further, this was a disaster- Y/n ended up with a painful cut to their thigh which was a lucky one at the same time, a bit deeper and y/n would bleed out on the spot- everything was sewn back together, healed to the best extent of takusen’s which were to attend to the students medically, while miko’s prepared the fresh change of clothing and a bath- of course there would be a longer break for the students- those which would survive the first test..

Y/n looked to the boy that had a silk black material pulled over himself- Seto-kun ..Their breath hitched in their throat, this was the same guy they spared with just a few hours ago, their eyes watered, feeling sick, the realization hit them like not one but 17 cursed dragons at once. Y/n covered their lips as one of the takusen’s rushed over to replace the bleeding through bandages on their side and soothe the nausea with some herbal tea, sure it helped, but it somehow didn’t at the same time, seeing the pain, the reality of what fighting a grade one curse was.. Y/n’s mind wandered again, will they be exposed to pair and single fighting? They weren’t even sure if there will be enough people to pair with! This was sick- so so sick… · · · ·

After what felt like hours and at the same time just a few moments the remaining people of the two groups were summoned to the main arena again, from 26 people only 11 were left, some didn’t make it in fight, others were lost soon after the defeat of their opponent, everyone was cleaned, dressed in clean gowns once again, a few were missing limbs, two lost a part of their legs, one lost their whole arm, another lost fingers, other went half blind, they didn’t feel as much pain now, the reverse cursed techniques of the skilled takusen’s were enough to heal their injuries but not regrow their lost limbs, but they all had to perform their best, with new fresh scars, with new fresh traumas.. Their eyes once again fell onto the pink haired, crimson eyed tyran- shaman of the prefecture…

His voice rumbled once again, first, as if mockingly congratulating the students on passing the test, and then announcing “..Since most of the contestants have been, disposed of.. There isn’t a way to pair you accordingly for pair and single fights, most of you unable to perform to their fullest.” Sukuna’s eyes narrowed onto the lacking limbs of some of the students “These parts will be skipped, as you’ve been judged accordingly to your performance in the first, group fight.. Your next test is the performance of your skill with edge and ink.” As the shaman spoke, his hands hid in the sleeves of his kimono, a few people came down to the arena, one held a metal bowl with pieces of paper..

“Each one of you will come up and by chance have their work decided, each paper has a different work an effect assigned to it. The technique and tools are up to your, creation, you have to make your own tools, for gathering your materials you will be given time to explore this part of the arena, you’ll be able to find what you’re looking for if you know what you need.” Another, mocking smile appeared on Sukuna’s face, one that Y/n wanted to slap off of his face, they expect how quickly this idol of theirs, the figure they always looked up to, suddenly turned to the worst being that existed in their eyes.

Each student from right to left was choosing their topics, picking out with fate a paper that would either let them show their best side, or challenge their weaknesses… Y/n’s turn came, their name was called out and they stepped out of the line, no one had their weapons anymore, their hand reached into the brass bowl, the metal cold against their fingers as they caught one slip between their middle and pointer finger, they pulled the single piece out and unfolded it.. “Skin of steel, wise yet greedy, breath of fire with sharp scale. Impenetrable skin, fire breath” Y/n already thought of what they could create, what material to use and what inks, knowing all too well this wasn’t an easy one thing prompt, but two, and two which would definitely be tested, two which could easily lead to demise of their subject. Y/n folded the paper back and held it in their hand, nodding to the judges and bowing to the people in front of them before backing out into their spot in the line, watching and listening to everyone else’s prompts, a lot of them contained hinting at transformation, a complete one, which could be pulled off only by knowledgeable masters, was this some kind of a joke? Or was it truly what they as barely students could be capable of? · · · ·

All they were handed was a small knife and their weapon back, then they were given just a few moments to complete a list of what they needed, before they were let inside this forest in the arena, truly it was a part of the wild, once one entered they felt as if they were in another dimension, but this wasn’t the point, Y/n didn’t have time to admire the beauty of the wilderness contained inside this arena.. They had a list of ingredients, the set they needed was made of three tools and three types of inks, one of which was a paste. Y/n pushed through the bushes looking for just the right plant to take a branch from before stumbling on another piece they needed, a small box which contained a comb like formation of needles, three rows of 4 needles, they took the point and wandered deeper, they needed two more sharp points, a bronze blade and a steel needle, these were harder to find and it was also a rush against time, someone could’ve grabbed that exact blade y/n needed but they weren’t aware of it..

An hour passed, the shield of the full moon rose to its peak as the 11 students emerged from the wilderness with all or lacking a few ingredients, y/n was somehow lucky, able to have gotten all of the necessities to their tattoo, they found a little bronze blade, it definitely needed polishing, but they would be provided with a sharpening stone in their work station, as much of a beast Sukuna seemed to be for organizing this test, he made sure to provide enough things to make this part of the test at least a bit more civilized.. but of course, with that came the price of time..

Sukuna appeared once again on the balcony and spoke to the 11 students, which stood by the prepared stations with what they have gathered, form sharp points to twigs and stings to soil and fish blood for inks.. “You have  gathered your ingredients, time to create your tools, while making tools you have time to come up with your designs, come up with size, complexity and placement, on your subjects.” With his words a group of 11 warriors came down to the arena, they were dressed in only specially tied cloth around their hips, to keep most skin exposed, for the students to have the most of work space and planning they could have. Truly the pink haired shaman was cruel, work the ink, create the tools, design and plan out the tattoo at the same time?!

There was no time to complain though, they didn’t have all day, they honestly barely had any time, the test was supposed to be finished, and the final apprentice was to be chosen before sunrise, they were already up for so long, the adrenaline rush kept them awake but as soon as they had time to sit down, the wave of crushing exhaustion rammed into their sore backs.. Y/n looked at their subject, a warrior, experienced, luckily his back wasn’t as littered with scars as his limbs were, scars were a pain to ink over, y/n ground the paste ink which was to be used as the lines, cut with a bronze blade which was already waiting prepared to be sharpened into perfection with their skilled hand… The students worked away on their tools, tying the sharp points to rods in one way or another, grinding up inks, mixing colors and sharpening their blades, this was a spot of focus, the musicians luckily chilling a bit and giving a more traditional ambience almost letting them relax, but keeping the music fast and jumpy enough to keep the students on edge. · · · · The final bell was hit signaling the begging of their time, they had around 5 hours to make and complete their work, the cursed energy that seeped through the inks, tools and the shamans themselves was suffocating to the onlookers, Nobara was nearby Y/n but the two acted as if they didn’t exits, each student was in their own zone, in their own world working away on the skin they were provided with, some had less luck and had skin that barely took in, some were half lucky, having skin that took in but was littered with scars, there was no perfect skin to work with here, they had to adapt to what they had..

Y/n held the bronze blade with their dominant hand while their other hand pulled the skin stretching it to have the cleanest cuts over a sketch they made with normal ink over their subjects skin, the dark haired warrior luckily laid still as a stone on their table, letting l/n work away on the skin which while littered with freckles took the ink in a bearable way. When the lines were done, each rubbed with a special mixed ink to provide for the impenetrable skin once finished, Y/n grabbed two rods made of sandalwood, one tipped with silver points which were dipped in two inks throughout the process, one in the color of blood and the other in the color of the purest of gold’s, these were embedded into the skin as flames already burning into the skin of their subject the shaman worked away laser focused on their work, switching their tool by the very end to the single point steel needle, which dipped in cold blue ink colored the scales and details of the intricate design, a dragon made of steel, surrounded by fire it breathed, or rather, the fire it created with its presence..

The time flew by so fast Y/n didn’t even notice till the last time the skin was pierced by the steel needle the bell rung again calling the end of tattooing, the tools were all put down and taken away by miko’s that came up to each station taking away the tools in case anyone dared to cheat.. Sukuna’s crimson eyes scanned each student as they were handed the last ingredient, a specially made ointment, they didn’t have any other effect but the protection and quickened healing of the tattoos. His skillful eye caught the sizes, the tools were brung to him too and to other judges, to inspect the mastery of creation, as well as the inks, everything was inspected, a lot of these tools were made well, some even now away from their creators hands radiated dense cursed energy, some inks were better, some worse, some made by people who had both arms, some by people who had to improvise and make up for a lacking arm- which lead to lacking strength, some more potent than other’s..

Each student once finished covering their work was left to clean up their work station as their subjects were healed by takusen’s just a few feet away, this was the magic of the tattoos, fresh they didn’t mean anything, but once healed, fused fully with the skin of the wearer they could gain power unexplainable to normal warriors, these after all, were jujutsu sorcerers, the warriors that fought these grade one curses probably too many times for their liking… Y/n glanced to their subject which seemed fine, there were a few that didn’t take the healing well, something must’ve been off, one from what they overheard, didn’t want to heal at all, as if something was blocking their reversed techniques…

Y/n really just wanted this to be over, somehow they felt so drained and yet so on edge all this time, it felt sickening so long that now it was a dull uncomfortable ache in their chest.. But sooner than later, each subject was to be presented to the final judgment, this being 76% of the whole test grading, the fight didn’t matter as much, though l/n’s classmates lost their lives because of these, every single one of these 11 people, because of making it alive were able to become takusen’s or miko’s if only they wished so, but only one was to be chosen to work under the masterful eye of Sukuna himself.. · · · ·

Each subject was taken out to the arena with their artist and then was tested.. most of the tattoos worked, one transforming a giant warrior into a deadly tiny spider which to test its venom killed a cow within moment, another failed, deforming the subject which then passed from blood loss on everyone’s eyes, another which wasn’t the best but worked, helping the warrior camouflage, not perfectly and sneak soundlessly around anyone. Then came y/n’s turn, their subject stepped out and proudly presented his tattoo, a blue like dragon across his back surrounded by flames, the traditional style was mesmerizing, with swirls and the pattern of coloring definitely catching Sukuna’s eye, this one was quite a piece since the begging, from single handedly killing a barely injured first grade curse, to the technique of their tattooing, but here came the final test, does the tattoo work..?

The man burst into flames, Y/n felt horrified, after all they did everything right! The inks, the needles it all should be perfect why?! Out of their sight at the giant flames Sukuna’s lips tugged into a sadistic smile, maybe the application was right, but seems like the poor little h/c wasn’t so special after all.. Wrong, again, was Sukuna’s judgment clouded by something? From the flames rose a snake like body, besides the hot flames a roar tore through the air, a steel like dragon emerging from the flames, fire licking at the scales which didn’t seem affected at all, of course this wasn’t enough, the dragon, which was honestly so impressive Sukuna had to back out into the shadow to hide his gaping mouth.. Was to undergo another test, the impenenetrable skin, the dragon was attacked, with spears, stones, flames, nothing harmed it, the tattoo was completely impeccable..

The judges had a hard time deciding between a trio of the highest graded students, it took yet another hour, in which they were allowed to finally rest, have a drink of water or green tea and anticipate the final judgment.. “L/n y/n.” The name was called, the h/c figure choked on their beverage almost spilling it all over themselves before jumping to their feet and meeting the judges and Sukuna in the middle, the cheers weren’t there yet, a lot of the towns folk knew the judges sometimes threw out the losers first, but then Sukuna stepped out and looked down at the smaller frame, his head tilting to the side “I hope you will grow stronger, my apprentice.” With these words that sounded so clear, spoken in no risen tone but in a completely silent arena the crowd erupted, the music once again played as Y/n stood there in shock, was it really happening?

The situation still didn’t fully sink in,, unlike the silver needles which pierced the delicate skin of y/n’s left wrist, slowly but surely creating two black bands around it, with every beat of Sukuna’s masterful hands the information slowly sunk in, making l/n laugh and cry at the same time, it happened, they passed, they really did! “oi don’t move l/n..” The crimson eyed shaman spoke as he sat cross-legged on a silk pillow, on the arena still performances happened, a lot of Tokyo folks decided to stay till the tattoo was done and the apprentice would officially join under the wing of the master Sukuna, the King of his cast, that was challenged, challenged by someone who clearly didn’t know what kind of fresh hatchling the shaman got himself… · · · · @ryosmne​ @love-amihan​ @falling4fandoms​ ||if youd like to be added to the tag list, send an ask or a dm :)) cover art belongs to HDL on twitter

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

Ok this is gonna be long. I’ve literally been slowly working on this for… too long. I’m just in a mood to have a long discussion about ships. I’ll be looking at canon and not, so bare with me. I don’t ship all of these personally. I’m mostly just picking the most popular ones. I chose to leave out a few that I just don’t want to talk about. I tried to keep this loosely chronological, but that quickly went to hell. None of this is meant to be hate towards anyone’s ship, just my personal opinions on each of them.

Canon:

Scott x Allison: True Classic

Scallison is so sweet as it is truly the epitome of young love. Romeo and Juliet, except Romeo is even more of an idiot and Juliet is a badass who dies for a cause. They’re moral and ethical codes are both highly valued by themselves, even if they don’t align with others very often. They loved with everything they had. They were beautiful. We’re they soulmates in the end, or just the first love who will always hold a special place in your heart? Who knows, but I’ll always love these immature kids who thought their love could change everything.

Stiles x Lydia: The Long Awaited

Stydia is as slow burn as you can get. Unfortunately their actual getting together was slightly rushed in my opinion. They didn’t have time to find their own as a couple because Stiles just wasn’t in the show enough at that point. I know the reasons behind it, but it did leave this couple at an awkward stage of official-but-not-shown. The idea that Stiles loved her as a kid, immature and infatuated, and he saw her for who she really was, will always be cute. Then they grew, changed, became friends, and found other people. Them finding each other later on, having real love that’s developed slowly, is a wonderful arc. Though, a part of me will always believe they should have pursued other story lines in the wake of Stiles’ absence from the plot. They’re finally together! …but we don’t get to see it.

Jackson x Lydia: The Image

Oh Jackson and Lydia. Honestly, I love them. Their connection at a time in their lives when they couldn’t open up to anyone else, just hits me right in the feels. I mean, god that HUG. You know the one. Always brings me to tears. I’m so sad their relationship was almost entirely depicted during Jackson’s kanima time when he couldn’t think nor truly act for himself. Those small moments of scared vulnerability when he wanted to protect her from himself… I’ll miss these two. They deserved to find other people and remain life-long friends. I loved their moment in the last episode. I wish they’d gotten to see each other grow. Also they had such bixbi solidarity vibes, and I’ll die on that hill.

Scott x Lydia: Leaders

Ok, I’m gonna be honest here. I ship it. The power couple they would have been?? Also them coming together after they lost Allison would have actually made sense. A part of me kinda wishes the writers had moved on from Stydia as a romantic relationship and leaned into them growing as friends and Stiles moving on from his childhood crush. Scott and Lydia actually would have had good chemistry. They were both very headstrong heroic types, but Lydia would have balanced Scott out well intellectually. They had the history, and I think it could had worked if they wrote it right. Plus, Scott and Lydia would have been a better endgame that Scalia.

Scott x Kira: New Beginnings

These two were adorable. Kira was a badass, don’t get me wrong, but she let herself be soft in a way Allison was always afraid to. This couple was truly Baby. Absolute dorks. I can definitely see the lasting quality between the two of them. They saw things very similarly, and had a ton in common. I do think Kira deserves more characterization outside of their relationship, like more of her friendship with Malia. Overall, her departure from the show will always be sad to me. It was bad writing. Scott was over her far too quickly.

Aiden x Lydia: Pretty People Herd

I honestly didn’t see much between these two other than mutual attraction. The best thing to come out of this relationship was Lydia’s line, “You’re not just a bad boy, Aiden. You’re a bad guy. And I don’t want to be with the bad guys.” Good character development moment.

Ethan x Danny: Step to Redemption

Danny really was the thing that made Ethan look outside of the pack for what he really wanted out of life. They had a few cute scenes. Gotta love Danny’s final remarks, “Dude, it’s Beacon Hills.”

Allison x Isaac: Unexpected Rebound

Ok, I like these two. Isaac could match Allison’s snark in a way Scott couldn’t. They both fought the progression of the relationship slightly. They didn’t expect to fall for each other. They were less willing to let someone in close. I’d love to have seen more… but unfortunately their time was limited. On a side note, sometimes their relationship did feel like ‘we both are in love with the same guy, let’s cope with each other’, but I find that completely valid. I’ll talk about Scallisaac later though.

Stiles x Malia: Anchors

Ok but, them <3 I love what they did for each other. Stiles was able to help Malia connect to her humanity and other people. He never tried to isolate her in their relationship and encouraged her growth. Malia offered Stiles the emotional support he never asked for. She defended him, fought for him, and loved him fiercely. Stiles needed that so much after season 3. I think they were a love that wasn’t meant to last, but the impact of it was forever. I wish we’d gotten to see a real end for them where they agreed that they needed to grow as individuals but would always still care.

Liam x Hayden: Three’s a Pattern

These two’s characterization stopped whenever they had storylines together. Their relationship was built on Scallison references. Hayden’s character could have been interesting, but they never really gave her a moment to shine. Liam has the worst plots when they revolved around her. Cute couple, poor writing.

Derek x Braeden: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl Boss

Derek deserves to be happy so much. Kate and Jennifer were just... jeez. Him and Braeden were cute and deserved more screen time. I think her intensity allowed for Derek to let go of control a bit more comfortably. Let Derek Be Soft. Anyway, love them.

Corey x Mason: Gotta Have That Rep TM

These two could have been cute if they were shown for more than two seconds at a time. I highkey forget Corey even existed all the time. Kinda just felt like a relationship to fill TW’s gay quota.

Jackson x Ethan: The Callback

Honestly? Loved them. Loved the chemistry. Loved the dynamic. Best twist. I know it was probably written in like that because Colton came out during his time away from the show, but it absolutely fit his character. Jethan is top tier.

Melissa x Chris: BAMF Parent Duo

Ok, so like, Melissa deserved this plot. She deserved someone to care about her. However... what the hell? Chris? In canon, his wife died like 2-ish years prior? His daughter died 1 year prior?? Is Chris really in a position to pursue a new relationship?? Also, like, Scott and Allison dated and loved each other up to her death. Kinda weird to have their parents hook up. I don’t hate it, but I don’t ship it…?

Scott x Malia: Lead up? What’s lead up?

These two came out of nowhere I stg. Like, 6B really tried to tell us this was something that had been slowly developing in the background? Also, I understand that they are their own people, adults, and completely in charge of their own romantic pursuits: but did Scott seriously never call Stiles? Like, Malia wasn’t just his first girlfriend. She was his first. Like, dude that’s your best friend?? Not even a head’s up? No, ‘hey would this bother you?’ Oof. Plus Malia was way too chaotic for Scott. She existed in gray morality that always prioritized her immediate circle, and Scott was a very black/white type of heroism. I just didn’t feel like they fit.

Non-Canon:

Scott x Stiles: Childhood Best Friends

Ya, sorry, I don’t ship Sciles at all. I get it. Like, I totally understand the ship, and I mean no judgment at all. I just see them as friends. I really value good male friendships in media because I feel like we don’t get enough, and I always liked these two.

Stiles x Derek: Enemies to Lovers. 100k. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

God these two really are what fanfiction was made for. I could write a much longer discussion about Sterek, and I probably will eventually. I’ll try to keep this brief. These two weren’t always on the same side, but their approach was the same. They were very similar at their core. Plus, wow the chemistry. This should have been canon. Jeff’s a coward.

Allison x Lydia: Powerful.

This ship is so great. They really had a great dynamic, and a romantic plot would have easily fit the established narrative. Lydia’s confidence in herself and Allison’s confidence in her own abilities crossing over to each other because that’s what the other lacked? Iconic.

Danny x Jackson: He Gets Him

Danny really saw Jackson for everything he was and still cared. I wished we’d gotten to see more of them. I  want more background with Jackson’s eventual coming out and his friendship with Danny. Like, they ended up dating the same guy. What did Ethan have to say about that??

Stiles x Jackson: Bastards

Ok these two had a super fun dynamic. The asshole-energy between them was, great. The snark was always so entertaining.

Melissa x Noah: Family

How were these two not endgame? Their sons were practically brothers already. They had amazing chemistry. The flirting? Not to mention, their timeline would have made way more sense. Missed opportunity.

Chris x Peter: The Opposite of Love is Indifference, Not Hate

Ok so like, this was definitely one of those ships that I had absolutely no knowledge of before I was pretty into the fandom. Like, this was not something I would have guessed just after watching the show. That being said; my god the chaos alone…

Scott x Isaac: The Disaster Duo

Okay ya I love these two. Two dumb asses who act like idiot puppies. Such a fun dynamic. Plus?? Chemistry??? Hellooo

Scott x Allison x Isaac: Three Heads Are Better Than One

This ship is definitely one of my personal favorites. I very rarely poly-ship. I just feel like most of them are just love triangles with an ‘easy solution’, when two of them have no real connection. That is so not the case here. I feel like all of them have such great chemistry with each other. They also have a great dynamic as a group. Season 3A was really just Scallisaac rights.

Stiles x Isaac: I Hate You, jk…Not Really

Ok I loved their banter, but I really just don’t see this ship. Idk, I don’t personally ship it. Would have loved to see their friendship develop more tho.

Erica x Allison: Duo that would stab you with a stiletto

I don’t ship it, but I do wish we’d seen them become friends. I feel like they had a very artificial ‘girls fighting over a boy’ dynamic? They could have been such a badass duo.

Stiles x Erica: Batman x Catwoman

Ok I’m not sure exactly how to express my feelings for these two so bare with me. OMG I love their dynamic so much, and they are sooo cute. Their energy? Amazing. Chemistry? Great. History? It’s there and has so much potential. 10/10. Love them. But, no, I don’t ship it lol. Just really love their friendship, but with the underlying history of crushes.

Boyd x Erica: Was This Not Canon?

How can anyone not love Berica? Ugh they are adorable. These two deserved so much better.

Boyd x Cora: Survivors

Honestly I don’t really see it? Like they definitely had a connection, but it never felt romantic. I really feel like they just had to lean on each other and bond to make it through captivity, and it just lasted.

Boyd x Erica x Cora: The Pack

I literally learned this was a ship a couple days ago. Similar feelings towards this as Bora, but with the added hesitancy of we never actually saw Erica and Cora interact.

Cora x Stiles: Slow Build Up

These two were clearing being lined up to be a thing before Cora ended up leaving. I can’t say I’m disappointed they never happened. Kinda felt like they just wanted to straight-code Sterek.

Cora x Lydia: Mean Lesbians

Not much interaction to actually go off of, but yes I 100% support. They have very different approaches to problems, which is fun. Very ‘opposites attract’.

Malia x Kira: “Maybe you could date the coyote?”

Another one of my favorites!! They really complimented each other. Also, how full circle would they have been? They were introduced in back-to-back episodes. Malia stalking her as a coyote? The line from Kira’s dad about dating it? It would have been so funny if that ended up happening.

Malia x Lydia: Beauty and the Beast, but make it wlw

These two were fun. I liked their friendship, but I don’t really ship it. Though, rip Stiles that would have been hilarious.

Parrish x Lydia: The Cop and The Minor

Must I say more? Like, Parrish’s character, so sweet and big rule follower, did not make sense for what went down with Lydia. I love Parrish, but the dynamic just felt off. It didn’t feel consistent with the rest of his characterization.

Parrish x Stiles: The Cop and The Minor, but gay?

Ok, same reasoning as above, but also they had absolutely no connection romantically.

Scott x Theo / Stiles x Theo: Sometimes The Villain is Hot

Ok I’ve put these together because I have the same opinion for both. I don’t ship it. Neither had any rebuilding of trust, and Theo really hurt both of them. I just don’t really think they work.

Mason x Liam: Sciles Puppy Pack Edition

Similar to my feeling about Sciles, I just don’t ship these two. They had a good friendship, from the little we saw of it.

Theo x Liam: Anchors 2: Electric Boogaloo

Another personal favorite! I really don’t even understand why this didn’t go canon?? The elevator scene was just, so intense. They helped each other grow in 6B, and I really loved their dynamic. They should have hooked up.

Honorable Mention?: 

Parrish x Laura: What’s canon?

I’ve seen this in fanfic a lot, and I actually really like it lol. I thought I’d add it in here because I do love the creativity of fandoms.

[missnight0wl]

What do you think of Rowan, Ben, Penny and Merula's Patronus? Though I don't like Merula very much, I still think she is able to conjure one.

I’m putting it under the cut because it turned out a bit lengthy.

Rowan

I used to think of an Owl for Rowan because, y’know, it's “a symbol of wisdom” and all. But when I got this ask, I remembered that I found the site on Irish Astrology just days earlier – the same Rowling was using for birthdates and wand wood of the Golden Trio. Interestingly, each sign has assigned an animal there, and since the rowan tree is one of them, I decided to check it to find out that it’s a crane or a green dragon. A dragon makes me think of Charlie, but I did a little bit of digging on another option, and I have to say – I think I’m gonna stick with a Crane Patronus for Rowan.

This is what I found on the Crane symbolism:

Throughout Asia, the crane is considered as a bird of happiness and prosperity. The Japanese, Chinese, and Korean traditions relate it to longevity and fidelity.

Aristotle wrote about this bird that it always held a stone in its mouth so that if it fell asleep and the stone would fall down, the bird would wake. Thus crane symbolism came to be linked with vigilance.

I also checked Indian symbolism since Rowan is part Indian, and I found this:

[The Sarus crane] is also known as the eternal symbol of unconditional love and devotion and good fortune.

Interestingly, cranes are monogamous and they mate for life. That’s actually why in Japan, they’re often incorporated in wedding décor!

Overall, we have pretty positive symbolism. The parts about devotion and unconditional love sum Rowan up as a friend pretty well. We also have a part about vigilance which again is pretty fitting for Rowan who was probably the most aware from all of our friends that MC is indeed in constant danger – and that’s why they were suspicious of Ben (not because they simply didn’t like Ben – let’s remember that Rowan and Ben were friends at the end of a day).

Admittedly, “in some cultures, the meanings of crane birds can be negative: they represent deception, a harbinger of death, and even the symbol of the devil.” However, it’s actually a bit meta, considering all the people suspecting Rowan of being a traitor.

Ben

I really like the idea of a Lion Patronus for Ben. A Patronus form is not only about representing one’s personality, but also “the Patronus represents that which is hidden, unknown but necessary within the personality” - and it fits Ben’s bravery so nicely. I talk here mostly about Old Ben, but that’s also a pretty old idea of mine. I mean, Ben was always super brave when his friends needed it, he just couldn’t really accept it himself. I also find it kind of heart-warming to imagine Old Ben being intimidated by his own Patronus at first, only to become more and more comfortable around it with time.

Another thing, I remember reading once someone else’s point that it could be a funny reference to the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz – which, now that I think about it, Ben would be probably familiar with as a Muggleborn!

Now, as for New Ben… Well, honestly, I don’t think that Ben would be able to cast Patronus Charm at this very moment. He probably still feels too much guilt for Rowan’s death and whatnot. Still, I remembered a discussion I had with my friend after Rakepick’s Patronus was finally revealed, and she pointed out then that male lions tend to kill little cubs if they defeat a previous male lion and take over his pack. Y’know, to eliminate wrong genes. And you know what? It’s kind of what Ben did with his old self. Before the end of Y5, Ben had a pretty good understanding of bravery. There was that very sweet moment in the O.W.L.s TLSQ, for example:

But then, the end of Y5 happened, and Ben was like: “Nope. I know no fear and THAT’S bravery”.

Either way, I do hope that Ben will eventually return on his path of a healthy balance between his old and new self, and I have a feeling that a Lion would still be a pretty good match then.

Penny

Probably an unpopular opinion, but I always thought that Penny’s Patronus should be some kind of a predator. I once even proposed a Black Panther, but I didn’t have a lot of reasoning behind it, to be honest. Now, I think I’m gonna change it anyway, and I’ll say that Penny would have a Fox Patronus. This is information I found on it:

The fox is a natural trickster, and brilliantly charismatic. Those with this Patronus are often more reserved, but do have the social capability to speak to just about anyone. They are strongly ambitious and observant of the behaviour of others, watching key points in what others do and storing them for further reference, when they may need them. They are good talkers, meaning they can convince people to do what they want and make them think it was their idea in the first place.

Foxes are quick, intelligent and strongly ambitious. Although they are known for their cunning nature, they are very charismatic and easy to love. If your Patronus is a fox, you have an ability to think outside of the box and act quickly during emergency situations.

Penny is insanely ambitious about her Potions-making. She said on more than one occasion that she couldn’t pass the opportunity to brew more advanced Potion. She’s also obviously charismatic, and the part I might like the most is about “making others do what they want and even make them think it was their idea”. Because when you really think about it… it’s exactly Penny.

Like, making MC steal the ingredients for the Forgetfulness Potion and very similar situation again with the Draught of Peace (each time not even telling MC what it’s about until the very end). Making MC impersonate a Professor or a Prefect. All those situations could get us in pretty serious trouble. Yet, the best example in all of that is the Animagus TLSQ, in my opinion. 

The quest started with the rumours that Talbott is planning to become an Animagus, and so MC got intrigued and decided to help Talbott get ingredients, hoping that Penny could make an extra Potion for them. But then, it turned out that Penny doesn’t make the Potion for Talbott at all, and she wanted MC to take it instead. Moreover, Talbott was already an Animagus, so the whole story didn’t really make much sense from the very beginning. Now, it might be the case of Jam City screwing up badly in writing, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is basically what happened: Penny wanted to brew the Animagus Potion, so she sent Talbott to get MC intrigued in the whole thing, so MC thought it was their idea while Penny could brew her Potion. Now, tell me she’s not a Fox – especially that again it could’ve been pretty dangerous for MC if anything went wrong.

There’s also a part about thinking outside of the box and acting quickly during the emergency, and funnily enough, it’s also kind of true for Penny. The thing is that she doesn’t act well in those situations – but that’s a separate problem.

Also, I don’t know if you can tell it by now, but I totally believe that Penny should’ve been a Slytherin, and I will die on that hill. Just a digression.

Merula

Hm, how about a Mole? Or a Rat? :D Just kidding, of course. Mostly…

Seriously though, I had a bit of a problem with Merula. I thought of a Skunk or a Frilled-neck lizard at first, y’know, because they try to look more threatening as a self-defence mechanism. I considered a Yorkshire Terrier as well because they’re always yapping at bigger dogs. And while they kind of fit Merula, they’re definitely not perfect matches. Merula has no dog qualities whatsoever, and even though her aggression is probably caused by a lot of insecurities, skunks and frilled-neck lizards don’t really harm whatever threatens them. Merula does harm, whether physically or emotionally, and she’s pretty calculated in that.

So, I kept thinking about something else, and there was one option I was coming back to. And even though I didn’t fully like it at first, I think I’ll stick to it, and I’ll say that Merula would have a Black Mamba Patronus.

Here’s some information about Black Mambas:

Cloaked in the color of death and measuring over 14 feet in length, the Black Mamba is regarded as one of the most vicious snakes in the world. It’s also one of the most venomous. (…) Unlike many animals, which simply have an anger problem, Black Mambas are driven by an extreme form of fear-based aggression. Being exceedingly nervous, the slightest sense that the snake’s escape route is compromised may unleash an attack of unparalleled ferocity.

There’s also an interesting quote from the discussion on whether or not they chase humans:

No, they absolutely don’t chase humans. No snakes chase humans. However black mambas are so high-strung they’re practically hysterical the moment something makes them nervous, and they’re really not very intelligent. As a result, these snakes are extremely prone to absolute panic. If you corner a mamba, its fight/flight reflex is triggered, and it will freak out and try to fight you to escape. This involves wildly throwing itself around and biting you like 60 times in a row, if you don’t get the blazes out of the way. (…) And they’re not very good at evaluating the level of danger they’re in. Or… much of anything.

… and that’s basically Merula. She’s in a constant state of panic that people are better than her. Especially in earlier years, she constantly felt threatened by MC’s mere existence, even when MC was clear they just don’t care about her – so she was attacking. All. The. Freaking. Time.

Moreover, snakes in general are often associated with deceit, so there’s that.

Of course, there’s also much more positive symbolism around snakes, like a rebirth, transformation, or heling. And while I have no doubts that Jam City won’t give Merula a proper redemption arc (because they're too lazy about it), she clearly is a character who’s supposed to be all about redemption. So, I guess that’s another reason why a Black Mamba would fit nicely, even though it seems a bit stereotypical for a Slytherin (then again, Merula totally should’ve been a Gryffindor, but that’s a topic for a different discussion).

[candychronicles]

elysian // s. daichi

A/N: my take on the Haikyuu Headquarters mythology nsfw collab! this was my first time writing for Daichi. i took a greek myth route and had so much fun!!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Daichi Sawamura x F!reader

WORD COUNT: 2,859

WARNINGS: manipulation, oral (F!receiving), mentions of several religions

SYNOPSIS: all your life you had been fighting only to end up at a boring 9-5 with nowhere to turn. Daichi has a proposition and you accept without realizing the consequences. 

Want to read more myths and legends? Click here! 

you were always fascinated with the idea of something larger than you, something so fantastical and great that it consumed the earth over and over again. while many people turned to other religions or no religion at all, satiating their own desires for redemption, love and acceptance, you chose to dig deeper, look at what truly resonated with your life and dutifully settled upon the greek gods. 

they didn’t sugarcoat the bad things they did, that they used their power any way they pleased, that they were stronger, faster and larger than life. they were powerful gods who held powerful positions and were unpredictable, wild and fluid in their dance with humanity. you admired the stories from years ago of how they defeated the titans and split the land between the three sons: the skies for Zeus, the seas for Poseidon and the underworld for Hades. 

Hades had always spoken to you in a way you couldn’t describe. when you worshipped him needing guidance, offering him dark chocolate and sweet, rich red wines, he complied with very little hesitation, always wanting to seemingly please you as long as you kept up your worshipping of him. he became quite moody, jealous and wouldn’t want to talk to you for days if you spent too much time interacting with the other gods. to be frank, you loved the attention he showered you with and felt at ease knowing he would protect you for life.

sighing, you pulled your apron tight around your waist, ready for another day at work slinging coffees and cakes to the less than pleasant customers that walked through the door. being a barista seemed like fun in cliche stories and movies but it was actually just another job that got you through your boring summer. 

it only took an hour before people began screaming and shouting, angry at your lack of speed and pleasant smile on your face. it was just you and two other people there serving a line of ten plus at any given time and while you all tried your best, things never seemed to go the way they were planned.

“one large coffee, black.”

you took a deep breath before plastering a smile on your face, giving the man with the honey sweet voice a price and looking up, the smile threatening to spill onto your cheeks as you recognized Daichi, one of your favorite customers and now good friends.

“thought you might need one friendly face among the crowd of crazy,” he joked, tapping his sleek black credit card against the machine to pay, making sure to leave a hefty tip before nodding and walking away.

he sat for another two hours in the shop, nursing on his coffee and working on his laptop as he waited for you to get a break. when the line finally died down, your rushed from behind the counter and plopped yourself down in the booth across from him.

“what brings your handsome face around here?” you asked, tapping your feet against the ground as the anxiety of the day began to wear off.

“coming to see you as always,” he replied smoothly, downing the last of his coffee before placing the cup back on the table.

“you haven’t been around for awhile,” you pouted, not caring that you sounded desperate.

“i’m sorry but you know work can get oddly busy at times. how about i make it up to you? dinner, tonight at seven? my treat, anywhere you want to go.”

you gaped at him, not sure of what to say. you two had been flirting for months, the only friendly face you had really seen outside of the occasional older lady who always bought you a snack or drink for being so kind and patient with them. he was always sweet as candy, sugary words viscously flowing out of his mouth. at first you thought he was just some tightwad business man looking to get into your pants but as you got to know him, you realized he was just naturally kind, always looking out for the underdog. he treated you with the respect and decency that you deserved and maybe you were just so used to being treated like shit most of the time but his upfront and honest nature just blew you away.

before you had a chance to even reply, he looked at his phone, frowned and stood up.

“i’ll see you at seven, text me your address, yeah?”

with that and a gentle caress of your chin, he practically dissolved into thin air. you blinked once, twice, three times trying to process what had just happened before digging into your pocket to text him your address, not even remembering giving him your number but sure enough, there he sat in your contact with a simple flower next to his name.

the rest of the day went by in a blur and before you knew it, you were sitting on your couch, donned in your best dress, sparkling earrings dangling from your ears and shiny jewels adorning your body. you frowned as you checked the time, noticing it was already ten past seven. just as you were about to give up, you received a text from Daichi.

i’m sorry princess. something big came up at work. i’ll make it up to you. first thing in the morning, dress for the outdoors and bring a jacket, it’ll be a bit chilly where we’re going. i’ll see you then.

you huffed, throwing your phone down on the couch before stuffing your face in your hands, trying not to cry. you began methodically undressing yourself, taking off all your accessories and makeup, barely listening to the TV in the back drone on about some factory explosion that had happened in the next town over, killing two hundred people practically at once. you stopped to share some of the jewels with Hades, lighting his black flame and watching it dance in excitement, thanking him for never leaving you, even in the harshest of times. with all the makeup off, the dress peeled from your body and your shiny jewels laid on the table, you collapsed in bed, too tired and confused to dress yourself again.

a knock on the door had you scrambling off of your bed, hurrying to find a robe before peeking through the peephole to see who woke you up at such an early time on your rare day off. your eyes widened in surprise before squeaking, peeling the door open just a pinch to greet Daichi who held a rather large bouquet of flowers in his hand, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and squinting his eyes as he held the petals out towards you.

“Daichi, i-”

“i’m real sorry about last night. crazy last minute meeting, totally unexpected. i promised i’d make it up to you though, right?”

you opened the door to him at that, blushing when you realized you were only in your robe before practically sprinting to your bedroom to begin getting ready. when you were ready, jacket in hand, you walked back out, a sheepish smile on your face.

“i uh, really didn’t think you would be here in the morning. thought you were just trying to lead me on or something,” you confessed.

“now doll, i think you know me better than that by now,” he chastised, standing up from your couch to offer you his arm.

you took it instantly, a bounce in your step as you followed him out of your apartment, listening to the door close with a resounding thud. 

it took only a few minutes before you were sat in his sleek black car practically oozing with the feeling of money. you gingerly sat down in the leather seats, instantly feeling drowsy. shaking your head, you tried to fight it off but was stopped by Daichi.

“it’ll be a little bit of a drive before we get to where we’re going. you can take a nap, it’s okay. i’m a safe driver. i promise i won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

with his soothing words, you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, allowing yourself to be completely relaxed in his presence.

a small jerk woke you up and you blinked, looking out the window to see fields and fields of picture perfect flowers. you were practically surrounded by them, the only clearing being the dirt road you came on and patch of grass leading up to a hill.

“Daichi…” you breathed, speechless by the beauty of the location.

“c’mon, lets eat.”

you practically scurried out of the car, eyes wide as you continued to scan your surroundings. he dutifully began taking the picnic out of the car, setting down the blanket, basket, food and drink in a tasteful and elegant way. you absolutely melted seeing all the delicious food that was laid out for you. before you had a chance to eat, however, Daichi grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into his arms and looking you in the eyes.

“y’know, i’ve been absolutely fascinated with you since the first day i met you, all doe-eyed and innocent. the world has knocked you down so many times and yet you still get back up to fight another day. tell me, if i offered you a life of luxury, of eternal peace, full of love and richness, never having to work a day in your life if you didn’t want to, would you take it?”

you were taken aback by his words, not understanding where they were coming from. sure, you two had spent so much time chatting at your coffee shop, sharing your hopes and dreams with him, confiding in him like you would no one else, but you didn’t realize he had taken it all to heart, that he had actually fallen in love with you like you him. you didn’t even realize in that moment that you had even really loved him until he said those words, looked deep into your soul like he knew everything about you and then some.

“i mean, if you’re offering, yeah, i think i’d like a life like that, but maybe once i got to know you first,” you only half joked, wanting to know more about him, a sucker for an idyllic life.

“just say yes and you can spend all the time in the world getting to know me.”

“yes, Daichi, i would take it in a heartbeat.”

he surged forward with that, lips attaching to your own with such ferocity that you weren’t even sure what to do. he tasted like rich chocolate, wine and coffee, a delicious medley on your tongue as you reacted on instinct alone. something about this, with him, felt so right. your head was muddled with thoughts of Daichi and only Daichi, a man who was so mysterious and yet so supportive, always there when you needed him, seemingly popping up out of the blue on your worst days. listening to your problems with a frown on his face, doing everything he possibly could to make you feel better, never overstepping his boundaries and cherishing the time you spent together like there was no tomorrow.

he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he took you to the ground, flowers crunching around your body as he laid on top of you, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, relishing in the way you went breathless just from his lips alone.

“tell me that you want me, that you need me, that you worship me, that i’m the only man you’ll ever need,” he commanded, popping the buttons open on your shirt and ravishing your chest, tweaking your bare nipples in his hands, the cold shocking you to the core.

“you’re all i’ll ever need, Daichi,” you confirmed, too consumed in your own pleasure, wanting to feel more and more of him until he was all you could think of.

“let me take care of you princess.”

with that, he delicately pulled your shirt off, your pants coming down next, your underwear not receiving such a kind fate as they were cruelly ripped off your body. you gasped as you felt his hot breath on your thigh, squirming underneath his touch, the way his tongue danced along your inner thigh, flesh sinking in between his teeth. you whined at the way his cold fingers ghosted over your clit, just barely there but enough to make you go crazy.

“Daichi, please, i need you, please.”

he complied without resistance, his tongue darting out to kitten lick your clit, relishing in the way you instantly melted underneath his touch. you were absolutely enraptured with the way he felt against your body, the cool of his hand tracing seemingly meaningless patterns against your silky inner thigh, his other sinking into your heat, enveloping his digits with warmth, something he rarely felt, his tongue licking and sucking on your bud like your life depended on it. it was all too much, the feeling of him on top of you, doting on you like you were everything to him and you came suddenly, pulsating around his fingers, your own carded in his hair to ground yourself, tears leaking out of your eyes at the sheer feeling of him, only him.

he slowly calmed you down from your high, eyes never leaving his body as his fingers gently continued to pump in and out of you, his other hand continuing to soothe your body, kisses placed anywhere he could reach. when you were finally calm, he removed his fingers, still cold despite the warmth the received, and licked them clean, watching as your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the sight of him worshipping you.

“let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in you, yeah?”

he spent the next few minutes gently wiping you off, dressing you back in most of your clothes sans the underwear he destroyed, a sheepish and apologetic smile on his face as he promised to buy you a new pair, no matter the price. you shrugged your jacket on over your shoulders, finally noticing how cold it was, a chill running straight to your core as you tightened clothing around you.

after a few moments of catching your breath, you stood up with the help of Daichi, walking over to the picnic and sitting down, mouth drooling at the sight of food, suddenly ravenous.

“were you really serious about saying yes, about being mine forever?”

“like i said Daichi, i do want to get to know you better, but i can’t deny i’m not falling in love with you. something about you feels familiar, like you’ve been with me my whole life, like you know me better than i know myself. i feel so comfortable and safe around you. so yes, call me a dumb romantic, but i was serious about that.”

with a satisfied nod, he began feeding you, watching you closely as you swallowed food after food, a delighted smile on your face. you felt stronger, more relaxed, less cold and certainly happier eating and drinking, taking the time to really talk to Daichi, learn about him, his thoughts and feelings, some of his tragic past and your heart hurt more and more as you listened to him.

when all was said and done, you stood up, wiping the crumbs off your body as looked at Daichi, a smile plastered on your face.

“when are you taking me home?” you questioned, looking around the field to see if you could spot anything else to do.

“well, my dear, whenever you’re ready, i’ll show you your new home right away. after all, what kind of king would i be if i didn’t let my queen see her palace right away?”

“what?” you questioned, looking at him quizzically. 

when he stood up, you noticed the whole mood had shifted and so did the world. the flowers, as bright and beautiful as they were, were no longer illuminated by a brilliant sun but rather a striking moon, darkness encircling your very body. you felt cold and yet not cold at all, like it was a very part of your being. Daichi seemed to stand immortally tall before you, an air of authority that was not there before. beautiful houses scattered the flowerbeds, people milling about, people from stories you had read to soothe yourself to sleep as you dreamt of one day being a hero of your own.

“Daichi, what is going on?” you asked, frightened and confused.

“well, doll, i did ask you several times to make sure but i knew in my heart that you would come to accept and eventually love this life as i have,” he started, gesturing for you to turn around to look out behind you, a whole world opening up in front of your eyes, “this is the underworld, i am Hades, you’re currently in the Elysian Fields, now that you ate the food down here, you are an immortal part of me and this, my queen, is your new home.”