#suffer and die and reap the consequences of others actions

[damndude69]

Mourning the life I could’ve should’ve had on this Thursday evening

[mxtxfanatic]

Bing-ge and Victim's Entitlement as Portrayed by MXTX

I was thinking about Bing-ge’s journey as an abuse victim into an abuser and how much the creation of Bing-mei is a critique on both the writing trope that creates Bing-ge as well as the societal expectations that drive it.

In the world of PIDW, one of Shen Yuan’s main critiques was about how terribly the young Luo Binghe is treated by the narrative, so much so that he views it as torture porn. From being abandoned as a baby, to being abused as a servant and watching his adoptive mother wither from sickness and die, to finding his way to Cang Qiong Mountain and suffering under a cruel shizun who then pushes him into hell, Shen Yuan finds all this unnecessarily cruel. However, Shang Qinghua knows that the trauma Luo Binghe suffers directly correlates to the enjoyment readers are meant to get out of the second half of the protagonist’s life when he becomes overpowered and primed for vengeance. Shen Yuan knows this, too, as this is the trope he girds himself with as Shen Qingqiu to work up the nerve to push his disciple into the Endless Abyss, to “earn” his happiness. However, is this a true happiness? Does the trauma justify any and all of Luo Binghe’s actions?

On the surface, Bing-ge seems happy! He is able to enact revenge on Shen Jiu—and demolish Cang Qiong Mountain Sect who acted as accomplices to his abuse—and was given narrative access to any and every woman of marriageable age who crossed his path. He is even able to destroy his world by merging the three realms with no consequences to himself. Bing-ge has seemingly reaped the twisted “reward” that having survived unconscionable abuse and abandonment from the time of his birth had sown for him, and PIDW readers were able to enjoy and defend Bing-ge’s later megalomaniacal actions directly because they had read through hundreds of pages of his ill-treatment beforehand. The worse Luo Binghe’s childhood was, the more they were willing to accept of his actions in adulthood. We see a similar thing take place in the SVSSS fandom: the reveal of Shen Jiu’s past as a child slave is used to justify his later abuse of his child disciples—children who had no hand in his trauma but who he has decided to bear the brunt of it, anyways. But Shen Jiu lived a very unfulfilling adulthood due to his unwarranted actions until his untimely death. Is Luo Binghe any different?

Enter Bing-mei: the revised protagonist who abandons revenge in pursuit of experiencing genuine affection from the only person who gave it unconditionally. No, Bing-mei doesn’t get all the girls or all the power. He does not become the emperor of all three realms and he is not an uncontested leader that all conscious beings bow to. In fact, he is very tame and controlled in comparison to his PIDW counterpart despite not having complete control of his sword that amplifies his negative emotions. But when Bing-ge slips into the world of SVSSS and discovers that, despite all of this, Bing-mei has an intact world, platonic relationships, and a shizun who loves him, he’s willing to throw it all away to experience that same life. Bing-ge is revealed to be the unhappy, unfulfilled one, because the one thing he wanted—genuine unconditional love—was the one thing that he cannot earn or forcibly take. No amount of audience hype can change the fact that Bing-ge must leave behind the happy Bingqiu couple to return to his destroyed world in his unsatisfying reality.

This isn’t just a theme in SVSSS, either; it’s present in all of MXTX’s works in how people—both characters and the irl fandom—react to antagonists and asshole characters who have experienced trauma. In mdzs: a female cultivator tries to say that Jin Ling endangering other cultivators should be forgiven “since he’s an orphan.” Jiang Cheng throws his parents’ and sister’s death around to justify being an unrepentant serial killer. Jin Guangyao cries about how much his father hates him compared to the legitimate Jin heirs that he murdered. In tgcf: Qi Rong escapes discipline at every turn because his mother had to escape with him from his abusive father, and Mu Qing’s transgressions against the marginalized are ignored because “he was poor, once.” All of these characters have their actions whitewashed both in their stories and by their fandoms at large because their defenders believe that their trauma excuses any of their subsequent behavior.

Yet, MXTX does not prescribe to this idea. Notice the pattern of how the above characters end their stories. Jiang Cheng tanks his reputation and loses the respect of his only living relative. Jin Guangyao and Qi Rong die. But Jin Ling experiences setback after setback until he adjusts his behavior, and Mu Qing had to earnestly apologize under harrowing circumstances to be forgiven. It is not characters who seek justice for being harmed who are punished in these novels but those who persevere in their entitlement to do whatever they want because they were once harmed, thereby eventually destroy any goodwill others, particularly their loved ones, had towards them. The characters who are able to contain their actions to aim only at those who wronged them or else honestly reflect on their sense of entitlement in order to change for the better become well-liked by their peers. And as for Bing-ge: his inability to change within the narrative of PIDW may have “earned” him all the material things his world could offer and the affections of an unseen audience, besides, but he misses out on true human connection and love. These are the things he can never forcibly take, because in real life, no amount of trauma would entitle him—or anyone—to those things.

[nootcatt]

TGCF and the Literary Tropes

Okay so this is a long text post, but its something I've been through and discussing a lot.

I’ve mentioned this before, but let me say it more clearly: in my opinion, there’s no such thing as being “doomed by the narrative” in Heaven Official’s Blessing (TGCF) by MXTX. It’s an important distinction because it sets MXTX’s storytelling apart from other narratives where characters are often victims of fate with no real agency. MXTX understands probability, and does not operate by the ‘but what if!’.

For those unfamiliar with the term, “doomed by the narrative” refers to a trope where a character’s fate is sealed or predetermined by the structure of the story itself. Essentially, it means that no matter what the character does—regardless of their actions, intentions, or desires—the plot is already designed to lead them toward an inevitable downfall, failure, or tragic end. It’s a form of narrative determinism, where the story traps a character in an inescapable fate. This idea is commonly seen in tragedies or stories centered around themes of fate and destiny, where even the audience often feels that sense of looming disaster, even if the character does not.

While TGCF is a novel rich with themes of fate and destiny, it doesn’t employ the “doomed by the narrative” trope. Instead, the story revolves around other different ideas, such as “you reap what you sow.” In TGCF, the characters—especially the gods—face the consequences of their own actions. From the Banyue Arc to the final arc, we consistently see this pattern. No character suffers without reason, and no fate is forced upon them by the structure of the story itself. Their actions, choices, and motivations directly shape their outcomes.

In TGCF, fate is not something manipulated by MXTX to move the plot forward or force a tragic conclusion. She doesn’t kill off characters just because it serves the story or because she’s trying to make a point about destiny. Instead, fate in TGCF functions more like an ecosystem—a natural cycle where actions have consequences. It’s a world where what goes around comes around, and every character is accountable for the decisions they make.

Consider the Blackwater Arc (FengShui Di Arc) as an example. Many have discussed this before, so it’s not something you have never come across. It’s a key moment in understanding how fate operates in TGCF. Shi Wudu is faced with an impossible moral dilemma, a classic “trolley problem.” He has to choose between sacrificing the life of a stranger and their family or allowing his beloved younger brother, Shi Qingxuan, to die a death more tragic than anyone can imagine. For Shi Wudu, this is not a simple decision; he has dedicated his entire life to protecting his brother. Older brothers are like parents, to their younger siblings. Shi Wudu does not regret making the decision he did. In the end, he makes the choice to switch the tracks, saving his brother at the cost of another’s life and family.

As the arc unfolds, we see that Shi Wudu must also face the consequences of his decision. He is driven mad by the end of the arc, and his punishment is both brutal and symbolic—his head is ripped off, an echo of the price he paid for his brother’s safety. Shi Wudu made a choice that could be viewed as understandable or even noble, but he also committed a grave wrong. And in the world of TGCF, he reaps what he sowed. Even in his final moments, He Xuan gives Shi Wudu a choice, he can still reverse the tracks and fix it, or die at the hands of the person he chose over him, and Shi Wudu stands by his decision, telling Shi Qingxuan, “Gege will go ahead and wait for you.” He does not regret his sacrifice. He is killed for it. His end is a form of cosmic justice. Despite the tragedy, there’s no sense that he was doomed from the start—his downfall is the direct result of his own actions.

This principle also applies to He Xuan. “But He Xuan suffered so much; he deserved his revenge.” That’s the point. He Xuan’s story is not one of a man doomed by fate, but rather a man consumed by revenge. He Xuan, who endured unimaginable suffering and betrayal, chose to devote his existence to vengeance. He had already avenged his suffering by killing the people responsible—he became a Ghost King, devoured the Jinx Demon, and infiltrated heaven. He gained power, status, and acceptance among the Heavenly Officials. Shi Wudu changed his fate so that he could no longer ascend? Here he is, a god (and an elemental god, instead of a civil god like he would have been if his fate hadn’t been switched). He could have lived peacefully, yet his obsession with revenge defined every move he made.

Even when He Xuan had achieved everything he should have wanted—status, wealth, respect—he couldn’t let go. His fixation on vengeance led him to destroy the very peace he could have had. By the end of the arc, when Shi Wudu asks if he’s happy, He Xuan’s answer is a hollow “yes,” fueled by the sight of Shi Wudu’s suffering. But as Shi Wudu points out, this revenge has changed nothing. Shi Qingxuan, despite the tragedies, had lived a better, fuller life than He Xuan. Shi Wudu’s words break He Xuan, driving him into a final fit of rage where he decapitates Shi Wudu and refuses to let Shi Qingxuan die, just to prevent the brothers from reuniting in death. What does he get in the end? Nothing, but the head of Shi Wudu and a life time of brooding in the nether water manor.This act of spite is not the work of a man doomed by narrative fate—it’s the result of He Xuan’s choices, driven by his inability to let go of vengeance.

In conclusion, TGCF does not operate on the idea that its characters are “doomed by the narrative.” MXTX creates a world where actions have consequences, where fate is shaped by the decisions characters make, and where justice—whether deserved or tragic—is always a direct result of their choices. The characters in TGCF are not trapped by an unavoidable destiny but by the weight of their own actions. It’s a powerful form of storytelling that places responsibility on the characters themselves, rather than the structure of the story.

[jayktoralldaylong]

Hua Cheng is not the reward for Xie Lian's suffering. Hua Cheng suffered because Xie Lian suffered after all. Xie Lian was just lucky that someone....loved him that much.

There is no grand amazing world altering moral lesson at the end of TGCF, though some may say staying on the path of good and righteousness no matter what evil comes your way. However, in truth, Xie Lian stayed good because he couldn't bear to be evil. Hurting people has only ever hurt him. The way he so deeply regrets what he did in the past, it shames him because seeing his enemies suffer would have never brought him satisfaction. The same way Bai Wuxiang had to keep finding new enemies to fight because revenge doesn't make the pain go away and won't bring back what was lost. It's not a revelation that revenge is bad or a waste of time, but that it won't change how broken you are inside.

Xie Lian stayed true to himself but the reason he's so happy at the end of TGCF is not because of that. Hua Cheng would love him no matter what he did after all, and Hua Cheng knew Xie Lian so well, right down to the worst he was capable of, he knew Xie Lian would never hurt people, but it ended up boiling down to Hua Cheng choosing Xie Lian over and over again. Through the pain and suffering and sorrow. After everything, Xie Lian was just lucky.

It's painful, knowing that that's exactly how life works. Xie Lian was lucky that there was someone willing to fight for him and by his side for 800 years. Xie Lian was loved and adored the way everyone deserves to be loved and adored. A home was created for him and his pain did not feel meaningless at the end.

But what about Qi Rong? The neglected child who didn't get his happily ever after, except in headcanons? He didn't ask to have bad adults that never corrected him. He didn't ask to.crave attention so much that he'd rather be tortured than ignored.

What about He Xuan who lost everything for something that was never his fault? Getting revenge didn't get that back, it just made him lose more. Where is the home and happiness that He Xuan deserves once and for all?

What about Bai Wuxiang..... The version of Xie Lian that never got a Hua Cheng. That just kept suffering till he went mad.

What about Shi Qingxuan who had luck for majority of his life but will now live and die in insignificance, once again through no fault of his own. Or is he at fault for never asking his brother how he took care of the problem?

What about Ling Wen who loved and killed but never stopped loving. Who went to great lengths to revive her lover just to lose it all. What about Ling Wen who achieved so much but has lost one of her best friends and won't get the one she loves?

Unlucky. That's just it. Things didn't work out for them.

In the grand scheme of things, whether you're evil or good, sometimes things work out and sometimes they don't. Not all bad guys 'reap the consequences of their actions'. Not all good guys get a happy ending. Xie Lian was lucky, and I'm so happy for him. But every time I remember the others....it brings me to tears.

[carefulfears]

can you talk about how dd wanted hank to die vs the ending as it is? like. i can't help but love the characters, i wanted them to make it and for things to get better. but things don't really get better? hank tries and sometimes he does better than others. it was always a struggle, and it wasn't just hank. (things i know you've talked about, i just really love what you have to say 💜💜)

i love you so much <33 yeah i think it's a classic "david sowing vs. david reaping" situation in the sense that he's talked about before the magic trick of that character. making him someone that people don't hate. seeing redeeming qualities in him, like loyalty and honesty. putting so much into it, and pulling it off, in a way that doesn't always happen. i really love that character and not because of who he is as a person or any qualification or anything to do with the way we've begun talking about characters in recent years (as though to love a character you have to want to be friends with them) but because i think it's a great character. so much went in to making it a great character.

and because of all of that...you don't want hank moody to die in the end!! i don't want hank moody to die!! but at the same time, duchovny is right. there is this whole alpha male incel culture based around that character (which fascinates me to no end) and a lot of it lacks an understanding of consequence. in duchovny's work and writing, there is always a clear sense of consequence. there are clear morals, a beginning and end, a right and a wrong. he writes fairytales, basically exclusively. and so it makes sense to me that he would want to make sense of this story and character that way, and it makes sense that he never was going to be able to do that. it ultimately just isn't that kind of story.

one of my clearest memories around this show is when you started watching it and you were watching the raw and the cooked, and you were really upset by the ending scene. karen's "angel i love you so, so much" and the break-up and ‘free bird’ and the ring. and you texted me and you kept saying "i love them so much and it's all terrible" and "it was terrible" and "it's insane that i like this man i get why they love him"

and i said "you have to believe that there's a reason why his girls love him so much and you kind of DO." which was kind of the first way that i contextualized that character…you have to accept, if not understand, that there is something in him that people want to save. something worth sticking around for years, weeping on the porch, waiting on the day where everything will “be okay again” (as karen says).

otherwise, it’s just annoying to watch this group of people suffer at the hands of his actions and wait around for more. for that show to work, you have to believe in him. that’s what the first essay that i ever wrote on the series back in october was about, kind of, “the seduction of sunk potential.”

i remember writing that and choosing every word so carefully and thinking of the “sunk cost fallacy,” this concept of sticking with something just because you’ve put too much into it to give up now. and i wrote about what’s “seductive” about hank moody being “sunk potential,” so much in him that could be realized, if only.

that’s a character that always stands out so much to me (especially as someone so idolized by an “alpha male” culture) as being so loving. he’s openly physically and verbally affectionate with his friends, both male and female. i love scenes where he’ll come into charlie’s house and just casually kiss his forehead hello, or want a hug before work. when charlie’s upset hank always holds him. fucking around with marcy, sitting with her legs over his lap (with their spouses and exes in the room). always would walk away from any situation to help someone else. he never left a room without telling his girls and his friends that he loves them (“to my son, the writer. something i never said too much: i love you” / “i love you. i didn’t say it to hear it back.” being the same episode, etc etc). scenes where becca storms out upset with him and he’s just like…. “okay. i love you.” tries again the next day (a lot of that, verbatim, in s4.)

even what i was talking about yesterday with slow happy boys, the way he cries on the beach listening to his old friend talk about his life and health, drops him off at the airport and hugs him goodbye saying “i love you. i love you.” (and his friend being like…… “okay, homo. love you too.”)

“what’s up, mama mia? mind if i join you?” and sitting out on a ledge, offering to help with her writing when it really confused her (“my own father has never so much as offered to help with my homework, so”), the way he always goes to get her and tells her she’s a “good kid” and hugs her goodbye even after everything.

that character was loving in a very specific way that lacked ego (which he had PLENTY of in every other arena so let’s not get crazy), and that isn’t cohesive with the “last real man” archetype that the show catered to and has become associated with.

and that wasn’t necessary to walk the line of keeping him redeemable. keeping him someone that you don’t hate. which they could’ve done in any number of ways, that didn’t risk making him look like a pussy. (a “homo”)

but he has this endearing goodheartedness to him. and my favorite favorite favorite thing about that character, is that it doesn’t matter. it just doesn’t matter.

it all falls second to this extreme cowardice, and weakness, and vice.

it doesn’t matter that he adores those girls and tells them that he loves them every day, when his dad never said it too much. karen tells him that she knows he loves them, but she doesn’t know what that means anymore.

becca says a few times that she knows that she has parents that love her, and that’s a lot, but that her life has been chaotic and hard. there’s that great moment where she says that her first boyfriend makes her feel beautiful, and hank says very matter-of-fact that she is beautiful, and she rolls her eyes that she is not. and he makes her stop and tells her to never say that, that she’s “the most beautiful thing in the world” to him, and she tells him to treat her that way then.

when she asks if he’s ever felt like he has no one and nothing, and he says that he used to feel like that but now has her. and she asks why she still has nothing.

he can pull mia off every ledge for her whole life, shove and threaten every predatory man around her, help her with every writing assignment and forgive her every sin- but he did not tell a grownup what was going on with her.

he played her game. he kept their secret. he does not ultimately save or protect her, and he does it to save and protect himself.

that’s what keeps me coming back to this character. and i imagine that it’s what keeps his loved ones in LA. there is very easily something good there, something worth saving, but it isn’t winning. and as a viewer you can know that it’s not going to, but it doesn’t feel that way while watching.

and so when you think about this question of like…..how should it all have ended? narratively, he should’ve failed. if not death, something like the ending of season 4. i love that scene so much: hank walking through the film set hugging marcy, making charlie laugh. seeing visions everywhere of karen, and becca, and mia. versions of them that aren’t there anymore, that maybe don’t exist anymore. riding off into the sunset alone in the porsche, typewriter in the backseat.

it’s a good ending. not perfect, maybe not even narratively sound. he doesn’t die, doesn’t really lose, except for the fact that he’s alone. which is really the one thing he never wanted to be: “a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness.”

but how much are you really going to get, on a showtime comedy? this isn’t a david duchovny novel. isn’t one of his x-files episodes, isn’t one of his films. he talks all the time about how he wanted hank moody to die because he didn’t want him to get away with it, and maybe that’s part of what’s causing so much of the cultural reputation and harmful rhetoric around men. but you’re never really going to realistically get that on this type of show, and perhaps more troubling, you’re never really going to want it.

[bluerose5]

At Your Service

Summary: After the Blight, Darrian stayed behind in Ferelden to serve the throne.

He never would have guessed how close he and Alistair would end up as a result.

Word Count: 6,186

Rating: M

Pairings: Male Tabris/Alistair Theirin, Male Tabris/Zevran Arainai (mentioned, established), Alistair Theirin/Male Tabris/Zevran Arainai

...

As much as Darrian wanted to leave Ferelden behind after the Blight, he couldn't.

His family was there. Too many loose ends were not yet tied up. New titles came with new responsibilities, and the nation was trying to heal from all of the wounds that were inflicted upon it.

The immediate concern was to mend what was broken, to stop the bleeding.

So much of what Darrian had done were mere drops in an even larger body of water. The ripples of his actions were still spreading, the future filled with promises of unforeseen consequences. It was impossible to foretell exactly how his choices would impact both the future of Ferelden and even Thedas, as a whole.

One thing was for certain, though. He couldn't leave, not now.

The only way for Ferelden to move forward was together. That was how they would recover. Darrian managed the impossible and united the lands against the bigger threat, but they needed that unity to do more than linger.

They needed it to persevere.

It was all too easy for a fire to die out when no one was there to stoke the flames.

If Darrian had to be the one to secure a better future for his home, then so be it.

After all, he could hardly trust the task to just anyone.

That was a big reason why he chose Alistair for the throne. While many of the nobility would probably take advantage of the ensuing chaos to sow doubts and reap the benefits, Alistair was a man who genuinely cared. People came first, and politics came after, as it should be.

He was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and Darrian had faith in his ability to run the country, more so than any other of Ferelden's so-called leadership.

Unlike Eamon, Darrian's sole motivator for supporting Alistair's bid for the throne didn't rest entirely on archaic ideals such as bloodlines.

Not to say Darrian’s decision wasn't selfish in its own right, because it was. He had no illusions about that.

Simply put, he could respect Anora's former position as Queen. He could respect the fact that she was the one running things while Cailan reigned, only for him to receive all the praise and glory. He could respect her undying loyalty to both her nation and her father, even as everything was falling apart around her.

Unfortunately for her, she crossed the one line that Darrian could not ignore.

No matter how influential Loghain was, no matter if the crimes were only committed by association, the fact of the matter was that slavery occurred —no, it was allowed by the ruling parties in Ferelden— under her reign.

Not only were the Tevinter slavers allowed to barge in as if they owned the place, as if they owned their people, but it was the elves specifically, Darrian’s family, who paid the ultimate price.

As if to add insult to injury, Denerim certainly made no secret of the purge that was carried out under the arl's command.

In such circumstances, inaction was as damning of a crime as the crime itself.

Rather than act against such atrocities, rather than speak out against the injustices committed, the alienage's suffering went by unopposed until it was convenient for those in power to use the tragedy for their own gain.

Once again, the elven people suffered because those in charge valued their political machinations over actual lives.

Darrian refused to let it continue.

Between the two candidates for the throne, Alistair might not have been the most politically savvy, but he was the better alternative by far. For the elves, for the mages, for the commoners, for the Wardens…

It was a biased opinion, sure, but Darrian's mind was already made up by the time they arrived at the Landsmeet.

With Loghain slain and Anora imprisoned, Alistair was crowned King of Ferelden.

After that, Darrian could hardly abandon him.

It was his fault that Alistair was all but forced into his current predicament, reluctant as he was to accept the throne. The least that Darrian could do was remain at his side and keep him true to himself, instead of leaving him under the guidance of someone like Eamon.

Of course, Darrian’s constant presence ruffled the nobility's feathers at every turn. Some adapted to seeing him at Alistair's side, simply grateful for his role in ending the Blight, but others refused to even entertain the notion. Either they appraised him with open disdain or concealed annoyance.

Regardless of what others thought, Darrian wasn't going anywhere. If anything, their ire only proved to him that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

After he moved into the castle at Alistair's request, one title quickly followed after another, again and again.

At first, he was given his boon in the wake of the archdemon's defeat, declared Chancellor to the throne.

Then, he was granted the authority to act as Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

Bann of Denerim's Alienage came next, which garnered its fair share of opposition, and Royal Arcane Advisor barely had any actual sway, besides seeking and sharing knowledge. Teyrn of Gwaren only came about because Darrian was the one coordinating the efforts to redistribute Loghain's possessions, providing for the refugees who sought food and shelter in the aftermath of the Blight.

Rumor had it that Arl of Amaranthine was next on the list, but Darrian wouldn't entertain such fool notions.

Alistair had given him more than enough.

In the eyes of the public, the king favored his commander greatly, but Darrian couldn't help but feel as if stacking all these titles was an act of retribution. Each one came with over a hundred duties to attend to, and utilizing so much power eventually took its toll.

Darrian saddled Alistair with more burdens than he was prepared to carry. Perhaps it was only fair if the reverse was true as well.

Not that it mattered. Darrian made his bed. Now, he was going to lie in it.

Waking up in the castle might have felt strange at first, but it was slowly growing on him.

Typical morning routines passed by in a daze. Silken robes cascaded down over rough skin, covered in ink and scars.

Instead of fighting with his hair, Darrian simply tossed it into a messy braid and called it a day.

He departed from his room when he was ready, strolling past the servants with warm greetings on the way to the dining hall. 

Alistair was already there, awaiting his arrival while Eamon talked his ear off about one trivial matter or another.

The second Darrian entered the room, Alistair perked up. Glazed eyes brightened, and a radiant smile lit up his face like the sun. More than likely, he was simply glad to put an end to his boredom. Listening to the former arl tended to have that effect, so Darrian could hardly blame him, even if he reacted to Darrian’s appearance with the same wide-eyed excitement as Ser Barkolomew did.

Darrian’s heart skipped a beat.

A light, fluttery sensation spread throughout his chest.

In short, Alistair was adorable, and even Darrian was not immune to his charm.

As soon as he neared, Alistair stood in greeting, rushing to pull the chair out to his right.

Darrian ignored Eamon's poorly-hidden grimace in favor of taking the seat.

"Good morning, Darrian," Alistair said, pushing him carefully back in towards the table.

Warmth flooded Darrian’s cheeks as he spared him a smile.

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

"You're late," Eamon noted, then lowered his voice into a grumble. "Again."

"I overslept," Darrian said, and left it at that.

Before Eamon could retort, Alistair cut in.

"Such a grave offense. Surely, keeping me waiting for so long is an act of treason." He released a long, drawn-out sigh, smirking playfully in spite of himself. “I think that I can pardon you, though. This time, at least.”

“What a merciful ruler you are,” Darrian deadpanned.

He could practically hear Eamon fuming inside his mind at their utter lack of formality, a speech already prepared on the tip of his tongue.

“Your Majesty, need I remind you that—”

Without once looking away from Darrian, Alistair interrupted.

“Uncle, can you excuse us for a moment, please? I wish to speak with the Chancellor alone.”

Although phrased as a question, his tone suggested that it was anything but, lined with an authority that Darrian so rarely heard from him. A slight emphasis was placed on Darrian’s title, and it took him a moment to recognize it for what it was.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that, for all of Eamon’s unsolicited advice relating to matters of the throne, Darrian held the position of Alistair’s most trusted advisor. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, apparently.

A shiver threatened to run along his spine, so Darrian quickly straightened up in his seat, his back stiff with tension as he fought back the sensation.

Eamon glanced between the two, his nose in the air.

Eventually, he pushed away from the table with a bow.

“As you wish.” The words became bitter from the cold with which they were formed. “Your Majesty.” His bow in Darrian’s direction was definitely more mocking than the one prior, the corner of his lips twisting into a slight, downward curl. “Chancellor.”

With that, he departed, and Darrian didn’t so much as breathe until the doors closed loudly behind him.

Air filled his chest once more, and his head spun.

Swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat, Darrian barely had time to even think before a servant walked into the room, sporting a wary air of confidence as they approached.

“Breakfast is served, Your Lordship,” they announced.

A tray was placed in front of Darrian. Steam billowed from the hot meal once it was revealed to him. It consisted of his usual favorites in the castle, more than he had ever dreamed of eating back in the Alienage. A basic porridge, filled with fruit, sat at the center. On one side, there were two hard-boiled eggs, along with a couple of sausage links. On the other, there was a large, buttery croissant that made his mouth water.

For him to drink, a cup of tea had been prepared, giving off an aroma of multiple spices that warmed him to the core.

Once his place was set, he thanked the servant, who grinned widely at him in turn.

“It was no problem at all, Your Lordship.” They backed away, but not before saying, “Feel free to send for me if you need anything.”

Alistair frowned after them, brow furrowed, but Darrian didn’t pay them any mind as they left.

Left alone together, Darrian could feel Alistair’s stare boring into the side of his face.

Unfolding a napkin into his lap, Darrian started to dig in when Alistair finally broke the silence.

“Your grandmother is settling in well,” he stated. He picked at the table with his nails, unable to sit still. “She definitely knows how to make things more homey around here, and the staff absolutely adores her to pieces. They respect her more than anything. Plus, she’s not afraid to come to me with any of their concerns. For which, I am grateful.”

“Good to hear,” Darrian said, once he managed to speak past a bite of food.

Not that he expected any different. Being one of the Alienage’s oldest and most experienced elders, it was hardly Velora Virdan’s first time running a ship, so to speak. If anything, being the castle’s head of staff was a breeze in comparison to the crowded, hectic life of an elder.

Yet another way that Darrian felt indebted to his king.

He knew that there were many people capable of filling the position at the time. The fact that Alistair so openly entrusted such a task to not only an elf, but also to one of the Alienage’s own, meant a lot. It sent a message, clear as day, to those who claimed to be his allies.

Both her and Darrian’s presence set the tone for his reign, and Darrian had a feeling that Alistair was only getting started.

The thought probably shouldn’t excite Darrian as much as it did, but there was no denying its effect.

Clearing his throat, he didn’t even try to remain subtle while changing the subject.

“Should we discuss your agenda for the day?” he asked, one of his many duties to attend to.

Alistair watched him closely. Piece by piece, Darrian slowly but surely polished off the remainder of his meal, savoring the explosion of flavors upon his tongue, both savory and sweet, for as long as he could.

Grumbling, Alistair said, “We should do that, shouldn’t we?”

“It would be the responsible thing to do,” Darrian answered, smiling into his cup as he took a sip.

“Okay. So, say that —hypothetically speaking, of course— I cleared out my schedule for the day without consulting with you first…”

He trailed off with a worried hum.

Oh, how quickly Darrian’s smile fell.

He set his cup aside, providing Alistair with his undivided attention.

Fingers steepled together, they rested against his lips until Darrian could manage to work through his emotions enough to form a proper response.

“I guess that, hypothetically speaking, I would just be confused.” Darrian shifted in place to angle himself more towards Alistair. “Is there something that brought this on?”

“Yes, no, well, maybe?” Scratching at his jaw, Alistair scrambled for the best response. His voice grew quieter with each word. “I might have also cleared your schedule out as well?”

He sounded more questioning than certain. His responding smile was sheepish, and he made sure to avoid Darrian’s eyes.

Good thing Darrian wasn't upset, only curious.

It would be nice to have some time off, but—

"What made you do that?" he asked, the words out before he could stop them.

Alistair chewed on his bottom lip.

"I, uh, wanted to spend time with you," he explained, stuttering. "Not as King and Chancellor, but as us again. As friends. Darrian and Alistair, that's it. I don't know, maybe I'm being foolish, but it feels like we haven't really been able to take time to do that much since the Blight ended."

When Alistair paused to catch his breath, Darrian reached out without thinking, mostly to calm Alistair's nerves before he cycled into an endless bout of rambling.

He set his hand upon Alistair's and squeezed.

Such a small gesture stopped Alistair in his tracks. He stared down at their hands, warmth spreading where their skin touched.

"It's not foolish to want that," Darrian whispered. "Although, I must admit, I didn't expect that sentiment from you."

Alistair blinked owlishly at that.

"May I ask, why not?"

Darrian shrugged.

"I simply thought you found my presence here to be tolerable at best, you know, but useful enough to keep me around." Honesty was key, Darrian reminded himself. "I thought that part of you still despised me for all that I did." He took a deep, shaky breath, ensuring that his words were low enough to be heard by their ears and their ears alone. "There was Morrigan's ritual, and then there was the fact that I tore you away from the Grey Wardens. That I pushed you into being King when you clearly didn't want—"

He choked on the words. A familiar sting of unshed tears burned at his eyes.

He tried to pull away, but Alistair quickly turned his hand over, tangling their fingers together in a silent plea for him to stay.

The first tear fell down his cheek, a brand of shame that was impossible to hide.

"For all of my talk about supporting free will and deciding one's destiny, I didn't do right by you when it mattered. I failed to take your feelings into account, all because of my own selfish desires for vengeance and change. To do that to someone I care so deeply abou—"

A hand came down over his mouth, silencing him, only long enough for Alistair to get a word in.

He searched Darrian’s golden eyes for answers. 

Whatever he found, he used it as a source of encouragement to speak his mind.

"Listen to me, and listen to me carefully, Darrian Tabris." Resolute as he was in his conviction, each word was still somehow laced with the utmost affection, a tenderness unlike any other that Darrian had experienced before. "I am a man of sound body and mind, who is more than capable of saying yes or no when I have to. You did not force me onto the throne, and I certainly hold no grudge against you for me being here."

Each word felt like a weight had been lifted off of Darrian’s shoulders, but Alistair was only getting started.

Sliding his hand away from his mouth, he cupped Darrian’s cheek. Rough, calloused fingers wiped away his tears.

"Was I upset about leaving the Wardens at first? Yes. Was I upset that we had to dance along to Morrigan's tune in order to survive? Yes. Do I despise you for any of that, though?" He scoffed at the very idea, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, of course not, because —in spite of what you might think of me— I believe that we could make this work. Together.

"We can change things for the better. We can make Ferelden an example to all others, if we set our mind to it, and I swear to you now that I will never take advantage of all that you do for me and our kingdom." There was a heat underlying his words, a passion that left no room for argument. "You are special to me, and I will not let you become to me what Anora was to Cailan. You are always free to speak your mind within these halls, to claim responsibility for your achievements. That, I promise, and anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to me directly."

At first, Darrian was speechless.

He stared at Alistair in awe. His heart both raced and stopped, all at once.

He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he inhaled, and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Both of them had been leaning in, the distance closing between them.

As soon as Darrian noticed Alistair glance down at his lips, he sprang to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him.

With a wince, he rushed to pick it up.

"I—I'm sorry!" he apologized, part of him bracing to be struck, but Alistair was right there with him in an instant.

"Are you okay?" he asked instead, his hand gentle on Darrian’s arm. 

Even through the fabric of his robes, Darrian could feel sparks light up along his skin.

It was too much. All of it was too much.

Yet it wasn't enough, all the same.

"I'm fine," he said, holding his head in hand. "I think that I just… need some air."

"Okay," Alistair replied, his face lined with concern. "In that case, perhaps you will do me the honor of joining me in the castle gardens?"

A beat passed between them; but as their days together wore on, Darrian always found it increasingly difficult to say no to him.

"Of course."

Beaming at him in response, Alistair offered out his arm, the remnants of Darrian’s breakfast long-forgotten.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Darrian eased up to his side and clung to his arm.

“Lead the way.”

They walked at a slow, leisurely pace, Alistair undeterred by the looks they received from staff and nobility alike. If anything, he held his head higher with pride, sneaking an occasional peek in Darrian’s direction. 

The latter stared up at him, deep in thought.

One step out the doors, and the pressure in his chest lightened.

Out in the gardens, sunlight rained down on them from above, its rays warm and inviting like a lover’s caress. Fragrant flowers filled the air with soft scents, blanketing them from all sides.

The trickle of the nearby fountain harmonized seamlessly with the buzzing of insects. Birds chirped their delight as they flew overhead. Their wings flapped in a flashy display.

Every now and then, Alistair would reach out and pluck a bloom that caught his eye. 

By the time they arrived at their destination, he had gathered a small yet impressive bouquet.

Alistair led Darrian deep into the private area, sequestered away in a corner of the castle grounds where few seldom visited.

An ornate, stone bench awaited them, covered in a layer of fallen leaves and fragile petals.

Before they took a seat, Alistair rushed ahead to dust off the bench.

He waved Darrian forward, refusing to sit until he did so first.

They settled in side-by-side.

Alistair placed his bundle of flowers upon his lap. One by one, he fiddled with them.

"Feeling better?" he wondered.

"Much," Darrian said, doing his best to ignore how close they were, lest he send his heart into a frenzy again.

Breathing in the fresh air at least helped clear his head a little bit.

Alistair's fingers, clumsy as they initially appeared, somehow managed to braid the flowers' delicate stems together while they talked.

"Good," he said, "because I would hate for you to miss this trip to Rivain."

Darrian’s head snapped in his direction, his mouth agape.

"Rivain?" he asked, bewildered. "You are going to Rivain?"

"We are going," he corrected, then amended his statement, "if you agree, of course. Officially, I am visiting in my capacity as a foreign dignitary. I'll be meeting with the seers in charge of the Rivaini Circle." He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into Darrian’s ear, the pointed tip twitching ever so slightly. "But I am hoping to enjoy the sights while I'm there as well."

"You don't say," Darrian breathed.

"I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping to spend some time alone with a certain someone."

"I wonder who that could be."

"I'll give you one guess."

Laughing, Darrian ducked his head, stray strands of hair falling into his face.

A blush spread across his cheeks.

"Alistair Theirin," Darrian teased, "are you trying to impress me?"

"Actually, I'm trying to do right by those in my kingdom who have been forgotten for far too long." He shrugged. "If doing that happens to impress you, too, then I'd say that's an added bonus."

Darrian smiled.

"I'd be happy to join you," he told him, "but I guess that I'm still trying to figure out why you're doing all of this." He gestured vaguely. "Giving me the titles, moving my grandmother here, taking me to my mother's homeland. You have to admit, it's a lot, and people are starting to talk."

"Then let them," Alistair stated. "Perhaps I should care more about appearances, but I don't. You taught me that most people are ultimately out for themselves, that I should prioritize my own needs more and not let others walk all over me as much. Well, this is me doing exactly that. They wanted me to be king, so this is what they get, take it or leave it. I won't sacrifice my relationships and who I am to make them feel better."

He shifted closer to Darrian until their knees and shoulders bumped. Darrian nudged him back.

"I told you before," he whispered, "I believe in what we're trying to do here. You taught me that everyone has a role to fill if they are simply given the opportunity to prove themselves, and I want to make Ferelden a place where anyone —elf, dwarf, commoner, noble— can go and find their purpose."

"How idealistic of you," Darrian commented.

"I learned from the best."

Darrian struggled to counter that, so Alistair took advantage of his silence to present him with his latest creation. The flowers from before were successfully woven together to form a circle, a little loose and lopsided, but they ultimately served their purpose well enough.

"Here," Alistair said. He took his time to brush Darrian’s hair back behind his ear, encouraged to linger when he felt Darrian lean into his touch. "A crown fit for a king."

Darrian snorted, but accepted the gift nevertheless.

"Heh, right." After Alistair placed the flowers atop his head, Darrian adjusted them to a more comfortable position, the crown a tad too big as it tended to lean to one side more so than the other. "And when was the last time you saw an elven king?"

"Easy. I'm looking at one right now."

"Uh-huh…" Better not let Eamon hear him say that, but Darrian let him have his fun for now.

They eventually settled into a comfortable silence, only the sounds of the fountain there to accompany them from afar.

Darrian plucked some flowers of his own off a nearby bush. Alistair remained at his mercy, allowing him to place a few into his hair, already longer and fuller than it was during the Blight.

The first words came unbidden, broken Elvish pouring free from Darrian’s lips to form a tender song.

Alistair watched him closely, his weight leaned back onto his hands, and melted underneath his touch.

"I love listening to you speak Elvish."

Darrian’s fingers faltered in his hair before continuing.

"Maybe, one day, I can teach you what I know," he offered.

"Maybe so." Alistair chuckled. "Although, just so you know, I make a lousy student."

"Do you now?" Once Alistair's hair was to his liking, Darrian separated several sections from the others to form a small braid off to the side. "I'll just have to whip you into shape then."

"Promises, promises," Alistair said. "But I haven't heard many elves speak the language before, not outside of the Dalish, that is."

"Would you believe me if I said that I am, in fact, Dalish?" Darrian asked, fixated on the task at hand. "Not so much in practice, but through blood, similar to Zevran. Two of my three grandparents on my mother's side reside in their Rivaini settlement, one of whom can directly trace his ancestry back to the fall of the Dales."

Alistair furrowed his brow.

"You never mentioned that before."

"I never had reason to." His expression fell. "I was born and raised in the city, and reality didn't exactly meet my expectations when I finally did meet a clan."

"The one in the Brecilian Forest," Alistair stated.

"Yeah…" Darrian pursed his lips. "Our blood, our struggles. None of that mattered. They treated me like a child. They considered me no different than a 'shem.'" He spat the word out with a shake of his head. "As much as I love my people and our culture, I tend to feel like an outsider amongst them more often than not."

"Feeling like you don't have a place where you belong? Yeah, I get that." With the braid finished, Alistair reached up and took Darrian’s hand in his. This time, Darrian took the initiative and laced their fingers together. "Darrian."

"Yes?"

"May I ask a personal question?"

"You may. Whether I answer or not will depend on the question," he decided.

Alistair hesitated, then sighed.

"The others— Leliana, Morrigan, Zevran."

Huh, Darrian certainly didn't expect to hear those names.

"What about them?" 

"Listen, let's be honest here, they were definitely interested."

Ah, Darrian had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he needed to hear Alistair say it himself.

"Interested?"

"In you."

Well, if they were being honest…

"They were." All to different degrees. But they did each approach him in some capacity during their stay at camp.

"Did—" Alistair swallowed down his doubts and held himself tall, taking a deep breath. "Did anything ever come of that?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," he said, not that they ever hid their relationship.

After a moment, it clicked.

"Right," Alistair mumbled. "You and Zevran." He barked out a bitter laugh, dragging his free hand down his face. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. You two were pretty hard to ignore most nights. Not that it is any business of mine, feel free to tell me to stay out of it, but is it—is it serious?"

"Alistair—"

"Maker, I'm so stupid!"

"No, you're not," Darrian insisted.

"I shouldn't have—"

As soon as he tried to pull his hand free, Darrian gave it a lone, desperate squeeze before letting go. Alistair stormed to his feet, pacing back and forth between freshly-trimmed hedges.

"I let myself believe that we could be together."

The confession hit Darrian like a punch to the gut.

Instinctively, he stepped into Alistair's path to stop him.

He blurted out, "I have feelings for both of you."

Alistair blinked owlishly at him, his expression cycling through one emotion after another.

"So, what?" he asked, eventually settling on pain and frustration. "You really think that you can have it both ways?"

"And why not?" Darrian countered, calm in his approach. "If you're not okay with that, then fine. We'll leave it at that, but don't act as if I'm committing some grave sin by suggesting it." 

Alistair clenched his jaw, but Darrian wasn't going to back down as if he was somehow in the wrong.

"Is it so bad that I want all of us to come out of this happy?" After all, Darrian didn't even think that Alistair wanted anything to do with him after the Blight, let alone that he could possibly be entertaining the idea of a relationship. "Is it so bad that I care for you both?"

Silence answered him and lingered, but Alistair didn't so much as budge, remaining with him for the time being.

Darrian cautiously stepped forward.

When Alistair refused to move, he reached out and took his cheeks in hand.

"I want to be honest with you," Darrian said, "because I genuinely care for you and —call me crazy, if you must— I have a feeling that you care for me, too."

Alistair met his eyes, his entire demeanor gentling.

"I understand if you would rather not be in that type of relationship," Darrian continued. "If you do want to consider it, if you want to think it over, then that's fine, too. I'd be willing to wait, but you should know that my feelings for both you and Zevran are real. And nothing that he does will ever affect how I feel about you personally."

Thinking that over for a minute, Alistair eventually managed to respond.

"I should have honestly expected this," he admitted. "You experience life so… intensely. You let yourself act on your emotions without restraint, good or bad." Alistair placed his hands over his, resting his forehead against Darrian’s. "It's one of the things that I've always admired about you."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm…" Alistair nodded. "With the Blight and everything else going on, I was just so afraid to act on how I felt. I didn't want to make things awkward between us when we were expected to save the world together. Maker's breath, I don't know. There was always some excuse I told myself, some reason on why I should wait, and now you’re telling me that I’m not too late? That there’s a chance?”

“There is.”

“I can be a jealous man,” Alistair said, filled with sorrow, as if that would somehow be the dealbreaker for him. “I can’t promise to change that.”

“I’m not asking you to change,” Darrian replied. “I’m asking that, if you feel that way, then we acknowledge it, and we work through it.” 

“That simple, huh?”

“That simple.”

Alistair considered that. “And Zevran? Have you talked this over with him?”

In spite of himself, Darrian snickered.

“What?” Alistair asked, unable to keep his own smile at bay.

“Nothing. It’s just that, you do realize that Zevran was the one that brought this up to me during the Blight, right? He said that he wouldn’t hold me back from pursuing you as well, if that’s what I truly wanted. He only wanted to make sure that it was okay with you.” Darrian didn’t think. He dragged Alistair closer, his face buried into the crook of his neck, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I insisted that you weren’t interested in me like that, so he dropped it. Well, until the coronation, that is.”

“The coronation?” Alistair parroted. “What did he say then?”

“Basically, the same thing. That, if anything happened while he was in Antiva, he was okay with me exploring our relationship further, but he expected to hear about it when he returned.”

“Every juicy detail, I’d imagine,” Alistair deadpanned.

“Would he be Zevran otherwise?” Darrian joked, pulling far enough away to press their foreheads together once again. 

“Fair point.”

“Seriously though, if you need time to think this over some more, then say the word.”

“And if I don’t need any more time?” Alistair asked. “If I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be yours? How much I want to kiss you right here, in this moment? Would I be overstepping my position as your king?”

Darrian wrapped his arms around his neck, glancing pointedly at his lips.

“Would I be overstepping my position as your commander if I said that I want that, too?”

“If you were, then frankly, I don’t care.”

“Then, kiss me.”

The words were barely out when strong hands tugged Darrian forward, muscled arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

Neither one could say for certain who leaned in first, not that it mattered.

Their lips crashed together, clumsy, frantic. 

For a brief instant, their teeth bumped, but they were quick to correct themselves.

Alistair eagerly threw himself into the kiss, but Darrian was more than happy to indulge him. Their eyes slid closed. Their breathing grew heavy. Every time the kiss was close to ending, one of them would chase after the other’s lips for more. Even the slightest distance between them felt painful, both of them unable to stand the very thought of separating.

Sweet nothings were whispered between them. Breathless gasps and needy moans slipped free.

A curious swipe of Alistair’s tongue coaxed Darrian into parting his lips.

At first, Alistair was a bit too excited when he deepened the kiss, but Darrian could understand his need for more.

With great effort, Darrian broke the kiss.

“Like this,” he instructed, only to pick up where they left off.

Alistair shivered when Darrian tangled his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots at the nape of his neck.

Slowly, gently, he explored Alistair’s mouth with his tongue, pressing himself flush against him.

Alistair whimpered against his lips, mimicking his actions in a way that made Darrian’s toes curl.

Despite his earlier words, someone was a quick learner.

They savored the taste of each other for as long as they could, finally breaking away for air.

And even then, they exchanged chaste pecks in between each breath.

“That was—”

“Perfect,” Alistair purred with a dreamy expression.

“Uh-huh,” Darrian agreed with a playful giggle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praised, dropping a kiss upon his cheek, then his jaw. Darrian clung to him when he felt his whisper brush along his throat. “You take my breath away.”

“Heh, one little kiss, and you’re already insatiable.”

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time, Commander.”

“Down, boy,” Darrian said, amused.

Alistair nipped playfully at the curve of his neck.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Darrian didn’t get a chance to question him on that before Alistair dropped to his knees before him, brown eyes hooded with desire.

Shock shot through him with a vengeance.

“Alistair,” Darrian hissed, albeit with more surprise than anger in his tone. “What if someone hears?”

While the area was meant to be private, there was still a chance that the groundskeeper or another servant could pass by at any moment.

Darrian tried his best to listen out, but he was distracted by the fingers brushing his robes aside.

“You’ll just have to be quiet then.” Of course, it didn’t take long for uncertainty to set in, Alistair quickly backtracking. “I mean, if you don’t want to…”

He trailed off, but Darrian reassured him.

“Seriously? You’re really asking me if— Of course, I want you to.”

“Then, relax.” Alistair stroked his hands along his hips and thighs. “Let me take care of you.” He shifted closer, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Darrian’s pants. “Teach me what you like.”

“Thought you were a lousy student.”

“For you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Darrian sank his teeth into his bottom lip, Alistair kissing a trail down his stomach.

He slowly started to ease the fabric down over his hips.

“Maybe,” Alistair suggested, “during our trip to Rivain, we could make a stop in Antiva as well.” With a smirk, he tried —and completely failed— to copy Zevran’s accent. “It would be a grand adventure, yes?”

Darrian laughed, but truth be told?

On that, they could agree.

[rametarin]

Doomsday preppers bore me.

Speaking a little bit about my background again.

So. It's 1995-96. I'm 11-12 years old. Parents divorced, we've since moved from where we started into a trailer so I can go to school in a new town, because the old one had a teacher that was an immovable object and destroying my mental health. Mom would either have needed to stop being an utter cunt and bringing her stress home with her to take it out on me, or my teacher would have to, and rather than just stop being a cunt at me, she chose to put me in a different school in a different town.

So we moved in with my 40-something dad after my parents divorced. She was a raging bitch again, dictating things she had no right dictating, starting screaming matches over control issues and just generally causing problems and dilemmas so no one could have any peace unless they were submitting to her and giving her attention. Just privileged (the real definition, not the sociology major one) white woman shit, knowing the law at the time would stan for her no matter how much of a raging cunt she was to everyone and everything. Any excuse to kick a man out of his own home was a good excuse, and everybody knew it.

It got so bad my father took on an obscene financial burden just to buy a house down the street and stick us in it so he'd have his space back. Since mom was hellbent on getting every dollar from him and lording ownership of his property over him while both of us, his kids, were under 18.

By 1996, she had really fallen off the deep end and was being a belligerent and aggressive bitch to everyone and everything for no reason other than they weren't doing exactly as she wanted, immediately when she wanted it. Failure to do that meant she was going to just make your life miserable as a pasttime, since women do not reap physical consequences for these actions without triggering other women's "THAT COULD BE ME! I CAN'T TOLERATE THAT HAPPENING TO ANOTHER WOMAN! SHE'S A MOOOOMM!!!" response.

She started writing down her delusions in a lined notebook. She's always believed she was some sort of psychic/sensitive spiritualist. She identifies as a Christian and sees "the occult" as bad, but she believes herself to be holyer-than-thou and thus, her self-aggrandizing brand of pseudo-spirituality is centered around receiving divine prophecy. Any stupid thing she imagines, she believes is going to happen and continues to look for it. Anything she did not personally imagine, she discredits as impossible, because she didn't foresee it.

So you can have the flu and she won't give a shit and consider you exaggerating your pain and distress, but if she "prophesices" you're going be ill, she ignores how you actually feel and projects her delusions of how sick you're going to be onto you. Just, antagonize you to try and get you to play out how she imagines reality working. It's like being aggressively Live Action Roleplayed at and being stuck in that awkward moment where you won't do what she imagined is true.

It's a kind of narcissism where she's both acting as well as deluding herself to try and convince herself and those around her of her preferred way of seeing the world. She AGGRESSIVELY tries to gaslight reality itself. That level of audaciousness and pride is just, 10/10 asshole. And it's exposure to this raging, consequence-free, insulated piece of shit that has forced me to intolerance when dealing with them. Because like any petty dictator, you can be as deluded and egotistical as you want so long as you make OTHER PEOPLE die or suffer for your delusions. She sacrificed my health, safety and future by forcing my participation in her delusions as a consequence of living around and with her, so whenever she faced setbacks, she demanded I somehow MAKE her delusions work, or not only did I get punished by the consequences of her disgusting decisions independent of her response to it, but I was given the blame for them when they failed. Like it was my ass that filled the room with canned food until the cheap plastic shelves collapsed.

So anyway. By 1997, she had a raging "I'm just, like, psychic, y'know?" boner of self-importance, and she looked around to find literature that'd compliment and play along with her delusions. She was depressed, and the only reason she wasn't suicidal was because she was too prideful to die while we, he kids, were still young and dependent. But, she was miserable. Independent of anything else, she wanted a situation where she could die but be utterly blameless for it.

In fact, she wanted to go to heaven but it be God's will, but god wasn't cooperating. Outside a few panic attacks, she was fit as a fat flabby fiddle. Dispirited, she started diving into literature that confirmed her bias and found a culture of similar doomer-boomers online, from similar backgrounds and attitudes. She found the world of Christian online rapturism.

Now, when one imagines these, they imagine a very top-down hierarchy of cultists preaching to ignorant, receptive, submissive sheep about bible scripture and what for sure is going to happen. This is not true. Each person in that room that is not the preacher has certain expectations for them to confirm their bias and say what they want said, and the preachers that would be popular have to read the room to figure out their bend, biases and what they want, in order to affirm the bias. They are only giving these supposed preachers the power over them to fit that role. If the preacher starts dictating things they don't believe, they lose their top-from-the-bottom narcsisstic flock and wind up followerless. They aren't all a bunch of Pentacostal tongue speakers babbling nonsense or Catholics LARPing demon exorcisms.

So she joined these 'prepper' forums where boomerdoomers talk about how the end for sure is coming you gais, it's prophesized in dur by-bull.

The number of nights I had to listen to this stupid bitch moaning and diatribing to herself about "the mark of the beast" being an ID chip for some dystopian cyberpunk world, and microchips in milk and other stupid shit, were far too many. Chemtrails being poison by some nebulous government agency poisoning the air (JUST FUCKING WAKES OF PLANES YOU DUMB CUNT) and, just, an endless cavalcade of confirmation biases for her delusions. And every single one gave her the confidence to fake it until she made it about The Rapture being right around the corner.

The truth was, I think, she hated the idea of "being used" by us, her kids. Me, in particular. We'd finally gotten stable to where, as a nurse, she was pulling in between 65 to 70K a year in 1990s money. She wasn't paying rent or a mortgage, because the house we lived in was owned by my father, they were divorced, and him paying the mortgage was basically like child support since it meant she didn't have to pay rent to live anywhere. That was easily $1,200 a month in savings.

So how did this selfish cunt spend the savings? Was it on securing new cars to get from A to B? Was it on college educations for us, her kids? School supplies? A second car, so I'd be able to get to and from a job in order to make my own money?

No. She blew what savings that would've come from that out of her disgusting cottage cheese ass on frivolous feel-goods. Going out to the movies every weekend, buying movies, buying junk food, driving around waaaaay more miles than was good for the car, paying automotive bills from using the car too much, throwing fistfuls of money to lord how she was "the good sister" and a martyr and oh how her sisters abused her generosity, at all her sisters.

And she expected ME to get a job, put a car in her name, buy the car, have absolutely no control over where I could go with it, no right to drive it without her explicit direction and permission, but all responsibility to take care of it from maintenance to gas money (and she loves to just ride around in circles for no other reason than to wastegas.) And wanted all my future minimum wage dollars to go towards paying her bills..

So she could, again, blow more of her own money out of her ass. Which she patted herself on the back for by taking the initiative and spending, whether we wanted her to or not, to then wail and scream about how we "owed her" and she'd expect us to fork over our income when we were making any.

So from 1997 to 2002, conveniently from the time I went from 13-18, this world class cunt became the most insufferable, entitled, antagonistic, greedy bitch in the world. Every minute of the day had to be about her, every dollar had to be about her delusions, every inch of space in the house was taken up by her spending exorbinant amounts of money on canned foods and powdered milk and other nonsense until just moving through the house was an episode of Hoarders.

No matter how much I might say, "We HAVE NO MORE FUCKING ROOM!" She'd just buy more because, "IT WAS ON SAAAAAALE. MAKE ROOM!!" and make it my responsibility to Tetris-block rearrange her shit so we could fit more into the way too small house.

It wasn't bad enough that she was keeping us poor as fuck by only investing in her delusional, "seven years of tribulations and strife" food, preceding the rapture. But that she filled the house with her shit, and forced me to participate in moving it around. Forcing other people to normalize your delusions is a power move intended to dominate and control the environment and setting in which other people live. It's a way to try and impose reality onto them by forcing them to interact with it on your terms.

I couldn't have any social life, money to go with other people, or even build my own future, because this disgusting cunt wanted to LARP out some fantasy that god would swoop down, alleviate her need to kill herself to escape reality, and bring her up to heaven while everybody she disagreed with burned in hell beneath her. But I didn't want to surrender to the state and just become homeless.

I wanted her to snap the fuck out of it. I thought she was just a proud moron, not rotten to her core evil. I know better now, but I will never, ever give anyone the benefit of the doubt like this again. You show me who you really are once, I'll believe you, even after you claim to change. Because the reality she was going to be not just worthless but a detriment to my life was too cold and horrible to imagine for teenaged me. The reality was worse than I ever could've imagined.

She never got better. Even after her date of 2000 new years when the rapture was supposed to happen, the world didn't end. Nor did it happen on new years 2001. So we go into 2001, and she's still talking about "any day now." Since she married herself to the idea Jesus was going to beam us up and there was no reason to invest in the future because God made sure heaven was going to be our future.

I was going to turn 18 in summer of 2002. I figured she'd see that she'd been foolish and just went through a rough spell, mentally, and would recover.

And then fall 2001, 9/11 happened. She got back on her bullshit and being irrational and unreasonable. With added bigotry towards Islam above and beyond the antipathy that Islamototalitarianism deserves.

Then that stupid murmuring of prophecy shit caught in her dumbass Doomsday prepper online forums, and 2012 became the next big date of global catastrophe. Which, surprise surprise to people in 2024, was another great big fat fucking nothingburger.

I have no patience or tolerance for doomerboomers. I know exactly what you are. It's ugly, it's selfish, it's ignorant, it's mentally diseased and it belongs in a god damned nuthouse.

The only reason I didn't try to have the stupid bitch committed was she was just functional enough to provide a bit of money for my grandparents (her parents) to keep them out of complete poverty.

Well. Both my grandparents are dead, now. And all her sisters and brothers (my aunts and uncles) are despicable, selfish, delusional assholes that I wouldn't piss on to put them out if they were on fire. She's no less psychotic and insufferable now than in the 00s. Less so, even. I lose nothing and hurt no one if telling the police about her would get her put on the funny farm.

Anyway. Yeah, the eclipse brought out people like her in droves, and it made me angry.

[tylertheevangelist]

Is Karma Biblical? 

“She’s going to get what she deserves.”

“What goes around comes around.”

“Oh man! Instant karma!”

These are some popular adages in American culture, repeated by nonbelievers and Christians alike. Indeed, I have heard such things said by Christians in the church, sometimes rationalized through scripture. Our pop culture conception of karma lacks an understanding of what it actually means or its origins. There is a widespread misunderstanding that equates karma to the biblical law of sowing and reaping.

So what exactly is karma? Where did it come from? And does it have anything to do with biblical teaching?

What karma is. 

The word “karma” is derived from Sanskrit and literally translated means “action” or “fate.” The Cambridge Dictionary defines karma as “the force produced by a person's actions in one life that influences what happens to them in future lives.” The Oxford Dictionary refers to it as “the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences.” Merriam Webster describes it as “the force generated by a person's actions held in Hinduism and Buddhism to perpetuate transmigration and in its ethical consequences to determine the nature of the person's next existence.”

At its core, karma is a view about the afterlife – or rather afterlives, plural. The doctrine of karma, properly understood, is inextricably linked to reincarnation. A belief in karma requires a belief in past and future lives. Karma is concerned with death and deliverance: it is the force by which the actions of your present life propel you towards your eternal fate.

In both Buddhism and Hinduism, karma is a means to achieve spiritual liberation; that is, to end the cycle of death and rebirth. When you reach this spiritually enlightened state, you transcend time, discard your sense of self, and merge with – or realize you are – the universal consciousness. Buddhism calls it nirvana; Hinduism calls it moksha (or oneness with Brahman). One of the paths to spiritual enlightenment in Hinduism is karma yoga, the path of taking “right action.” An adherent of karma yoga works toward their deliverance by acting unselfishly – that is, fulfilling their dharma (duty) without concern for the outcome of their actions.

As you can see, the American pop culture bastardization of karma – where it’s thought of as “getting what you deserve” or that the good or bad things you do come back around to you – fundamentally misunderstands the concept. Sometimes people will casually refer to an immediate realization of consequences as instant karma, without appreciating that the phrase is an oxymoron.

Karma isn’t about realizing the consequences of your actions, at least not in the present life. If you fail to reach enlightenment by the end of this life, your karma impacts what kind of life you receive in the next incarnation. But the ultimate goal on the path of karma is to transcend your individual desires and separate yourself from the realm of earthly consequences. Karma is work done to prepare for the next life, not to get what you want from this life.

Why karma isn't biblical. 

There are a number of reasons why the concept of karma is at odds with biblical teaching. First of all, it is inherently and inseparably tied to an unbiblical doctrine of death and the afterlife. The Bible teaches – notwithstanding the people Jesus raised from the dead who may have died twice – that man only dies once (Hebrews 9:7). According to the Bible, man doesn’t die over and over again, nor does he come back in different incarnations.

Second, its soteriology – or view of what saves you – is unbiblical. Karma puts forth a works-based view of salvation whereby you earn your way to nirvana or moksha by doing enough good things and suffering through enough bad things. On the other hand, the Bible teaches that you cannot earn salvation (or get to heaven or achieve oneness with God) through works. Biblical salvation is an unmerited and free gift of God’s favor (Titus 3:4-7, Romans 3:28, Romans 4:5, Galatians 2:16, Galatians 2:21, Ephesians 2:8-9, Philippians 3:9).

Third, not only does karma have a false soteriology, but – as hinted at above – it has a false savior. In karmic doctrine, you are ultimately your own savior. This, however, doesn’t work because no matter how many lives you live, you are not able to be your own sacrifice; imperfect sacrifices offered repeatedly cannot save (Hebrews 10:1-3). Imperfect lives, no matter how close to perfection they come, cannot deliver. Even with an infinite number of retries, you would fall short every single time (Romans 3:23).

The christ of karma is a false messiah. What we need is a sacrifice without blemish (1 Peter 1:19) – one who can live a singularly perfect life; one who can pay for our sins. We are blemished lambs, by our sinful nature unfit for that purpose. Jesus is the unblemished lamb who has no sins of His own to atone for and can therefore atone for ours (Hebrews 7:27). Only He can be the savior, not us. The contrast between karma and the Bible has been summarized well: “Karma is you getting what you deserve; the Gospel is Jesus getting what you deserve.”

Finally, karma demands that we take active measures to achieve our salvation. But the Bible reveals that we are transferred by God into His kingdom (Colossians 1:13.) It tells us that we are the passive—not the active—participant in our salvation and our rescue from the kingdom of darkness is wholly the product of God’s grace.

The difference between karma and the law of sowing and reaping  

Is the law of sowing and reaping a biblical nod towards karma? There are multiple references in the New Testament to a person reaping consequences for what they sow (1 Corinthians 3:6, 2 Corinthians 9:6, Galatians 6:7-8). Despite the superficial similarity, this is not at all similar to karma, for the following reasons:

The law of sowing and reaping has nothing to do with reincarnation and is primarily concerned with rewards for the present life.

The law of sowing and reaping is for the salvation of others, not your own salvation.

The law of sowing and reaping is not for earning salvation, getting into heaven, or attaining oneness with God. 

The Bible says that we reap without sowing and that we reap up to 100 times that which we do sow; this is not equal reward for equal action.       

Let’s go through each point: 

The law of sowing and reaping has nothing to do with reincarnation and is primarily concerned with rewards for the present life. 

In the Bible, sowing and reaping is never tied to reincarnation, and it is often used to describe the reaping of rewards in the present life as opposed to the afterlife. The apostles both sowed the word of God and reaped its harvest within their lifetimes (1 Corinthians 3:6). The Corinthians were told that if they sow generously (2 Corinthians 9:6), they will reap in this life (2 Corinthians 9:8,11). God abundantly blesses and provides for the needs of these “cheerful givers,” and their generosity enlarges the harvest of righteousness in the form of souls being saved. While these effects do endure in eternity (v. 9), nevertheless the souls are saved – the harvest is reaped – during their earthly lives.

The law of sowing and reaping is for the salvation of others, not your own salvation.

It is noteworthy that, in reference to salvation, the aim of sowing and reaping in 2 Corinthians 9 is the salvation of others and not your own salvation. The idea that you would sow for somebody else’s salvation rather than your own is diametrically opposed to the doctrine of karma. This is because sowing to the poor, when done by those who adhere to karma, isn't about the salvation of the poor but their own salvation. Giving selflessly without thought or desire of return aids in their advancement to nirvana or moksha. And some sects discourage giving to the poor because it prevents the poor from paying off their karmic debt and thus prolongs their process of samsara.

Both of these are very different from the biblical concept of sowing and reaping. Biblical sowing and reaping encourages caring for the poor for the sake of the poor’s physical and spiritual needs. Taking care of the poor for the sake of one’s own enlightenment under the guise of selfless detachment is antithetical to biblical teaching, as is neglecting them so they can pay off their karmic debts.

The law of sowing and reaping is not for earning salvation, getting into heaven, or attaining oneness with God. 

Galatians 6:7-8 says, "if you sow to the flesh you will reap corruption, but if you sow to the Spirit you will reap eternal life." Does this contradict the idea that sowing and reaping is not about working for your personal salvation, given the phrase "you will reap eternal life"?

On the contrary, similar to 2 Corinthians 9, these verses also refer to the salvation of others. They specifically speak of ministering to others and not of personal salvation. This is made clear by reading the passage in context. The preceding verses say “But let each one test his own work” (v. 4) and “Let the one who is taught the word share all good things with the one who teaches. Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (v. 6). Teaching and sharing the word are references to ministry work. Sowing to the Spirit means that through your ministry, others will receive eternal life by believing. We are personally saved by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8-9), not by the acts of sowing and reaping themselves.

The Bible says that we reap without sowing and that we reap up to 100 times that which we do sow. 

In stark contrast to karmic philosophy, God provides for us out of grace without us having sowed anything (Luke 12:24). Because of God’s grace, we reap in much greater proportion to what we sow: “a crop thirty, sixty, and a hundred times what was sown” (Matthew 13:8). Not karma – grace. 

Doesn’t God give people what they deserve on judgment day? 

For the unbeliever who rejects God, they absolutely will receive from God what they deserve according to their sins (Hebrews 10:29-30, Revelation 16:6, Revelation 2:23, 2 Timothy 4:14, 2 Thessalonians 1:6, Romans 12:19, Revelation 18:6). But believers will be judged not for what they deserve – they deserve death and hell – but rather for what they have done (Revelation 22:12, Matthew 16:27). In His grace, God accepts the believers’ service and rewards them for their deeds performed in service to Him. 

Doesn’t it say that believers will receive their due for the good and the bad they did? 

2 Corinthians 5:10 states that all believers must stand before the judgment seat of Christ and receive their due for what was done in the body – whether good or bad.  However, “whether good or bad” does not mean that the believer will be punished on judgment day for their bad deeds; rather, they “suffer loss” for them (1 Corinthians 3:15).

Bad deeds are compared to wood, hay, and stubble; good deeds are compared to gold. The analogy concludes with fire thrown onto all their works, where the bad is burnt up and only the good remains. But, because the wood, hay, and stubble could have been gold – i.e. the bad could have been good – they suffer loss. As such, they are rewarded according to their good works, but not at all punished for their bad ones.

Bad karma does not accumulate and carry over to a terrible next life: Jesus already took the punishment. The gospel is that Jesus gets what you deserve for bad deeds; you get rewarded for the good. Perhaps (per Matthew 13:8) you will receive much more for the good you’ve done than you even deserve – 30, 60, or 100 times more.

What about the proverbs? 

Sometimes proverbs are invoked by way of describing karma biblically. The problem is that proverbs are general principles, not laws without exception. For example, the proverbs stress that working hard leads to wealth, while sloth and laziness lead to poverty. These concepts are true generally, but not always. Certainly there are very lazy people who are rich and very hard working people who have basically nothing based on extenuating circumstances. This is why we must approach the book of Proverbs with consideration for nuances and exceptions. These are not hard and fast rules from which doctrinal claims should be carelessly extracted.

That being said, let’s consider two verses from the book of Proverbs: Proverbs 22:8 and Proverbs 11:8. The first says that “whoever sows injustice will reap calamity;” the second, “the one who sows righteousness gets a sure reward.” Are these the biblical equivalents to karma? No, and for a few reasons.

Firstly, as aforementioned, these are not to be taken as dogma, unlike karma which is a dogmatic principle. Some people who sow injustice do not reap calamity because they place their faith in God; God’s mercy delivers them from calamity. The grace and mercy of God isn’t a consideration in karmic philosophy.

Secondly, the calamity and rewards reaped are not for the next life, multiple lives, or reincarnation. That cannot possibly be what is intended here, given the total absence of such concepts from the Bible.

Lastly, it is possible or even likely that – as with 2 Corinthians 9 and Galatians 6 – Proverbs 11:8 refers to sowing for the righteousness of others and not your own righteousness. As explained above, this notion is contrary to karmic philosophy.

Karma is thoroughly unbiblical. It posits a false view of the afterlife, a false view of salvation, and a false savior.

“I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel – not that there is another one, but there are some who trouble you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said before, so now I say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed.” -Galatians 1:6-9

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Mia Deserved Better: An Analysis of RE8's Themes/Symbolism

Foreword: I would like to thank @lepusrufus for posting about both Mia and Miranda, and at one point directly saying that Mia deserved better, which is a large part of what caused me to start examining her role in the canon story. Now, I will say that this post, like some of my previous explorations of Village (such as my attempt to determine Donna's age), will not be the best organized. My ADHD makes such things rather difficult for me. However, I have tried more than usual, and have broken up this "essay" into several distinct sections. Still, I am worried that my thoughts will not be as concise or coherent as they were inside my head.

Under read-more for length and spoilers for RE8: Village.

Introduction:

Village is, inarguably, about parenthood. Is it a horror game? Yes. Is it also science fiction? Also yes. But is it still, at its core, a story, and therefore contains imagery, symbolism, and themes? Yes. Now, you may be wondering what this has to do with Mia deserving better. My proposal is as follows: While Village is overall about parenthood, it is more about motherhood than fatherhood. Furthermore, Mia's background + actions from the previous game tie her story directly with Mother Miranda's, making their potential interactions massively important to the story... and could have served the theme beautifully. The missed potential in her involvement in the story is honestly a little bit absurd.

Now, let's examine each of the Four Lords + their sections, as the beginning of analyzing the game's theme.

Lady Dimitrescu + Castle:

Ah, perhaps the clearest (albeit unimportant) bits of theme within the whole game. We are immediately presented with another parent, with three daughters she loves very, very much. Initially they work as a team to capture Ethan, easily overpowering him. When they do split up, each still has dialogue regarding their family members. Each of the daughters expresses a desire to be like their mother/make their mother proud. Lady Dimitrescu herself gets very upset every time one of her daughters perishes, and delivers some important dialogue about this in her final confrontation with Ethan.

To paraphrase, Lady D says that Ethan has done something unforgiveable, caused damage that can never heal, and deserves to die before his daughter. That last part is interesting, in the sense that Lady D seems to believe that outlasting your own child is a fate so terrible that she would not wish it upon anyone, including the person who killed her daughters.

Throughout her dialogue and actions, Lady D serves as an important figure of a living mother. What do I mean by that? Well, the only other mothers we see in game are Mia and Miranda. The former doesn't show up until almost the end of the game (seeing as the "Mia" at the start is not actually the real Mia), while the latter does not have a living child, and her behavior has (presumably) changed quite a bit since that loss. As Ethan goes through Castle Dimitrescu, he watches (he causes) Lady D to go through what Miranda did all those decades ago. When we see her loss, when we experience her loss, it is something we connect with, even comparing it (as Lady D does) to Ethan's loss of Rose.

For the more visual side of symbolism, we can turn to Lady Dimitrescu herself. She is very tall, is visibly older than the majority of the Village cast, and has a fairly classic (old-school) motherly look. Everything about her reinforces her position as an example of a mother, especially when she's with her daughters and becomes such a strong figure of protection. Her height allows her to seem the caretaker for her children, even though they are scary/intimidating in their own right.

Donna Beneviento + Waterfall House:

Yes, the baby/fetus/monstrosity is part of this. No, it is not the only bit of thematic work in this section of the game.

To begin, you can find out that Donna is officially the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda. Her birth parents are dead, implied to be from especially tragic causes (more than is the norm when it comes to "orphan making"), and she has suffered greatly from it. We see that she has been seemingly neglected by Miranda, and is incredibly isolated. The tragedy of her loss, along with the consequences presented by it, are something to keep in mind further down the road, when we inevitably deal with Ethan's own death.

One of the consequences of the environment Donna was raised in is, arguably, her reliance on Angie. While interpretations of their exact relationship (aka how much control Donna actually has at any given point) vary, the two very clearly have something akin to a mother/daughter vibe. Alternatively an older sister/younger sister sort of thing. This shows in the way that Donna holds/carries Angie, as well as the contrast in their demeanors. Moreso, the fact that Donna gave a part of herself to create Angie is almost enough to make the symbolism nonnegotiable.

We also see that Donna has a strong understanding of family/family dynamics, through the way that she uses her powers to manipulate Ethan. She dissects his connections to Mia and Rose, taunts him with the lengths he's willing to go to save his child, then shows him a grotesque version of parenthood: The aforementioned fetus monster. Does the monster represent Ethan's fears, or Donna's?

What if the monster is how Donna sees herself, in some way, perhaps thinking that it's her fault her parents died? Bit of a stretch, but it's not a keystone of my theory, so I'm just throwing it out there. We could, however, go a step further and ask ourselves if Donna has noticed the way Miranda neglects her, and the fetus monster is how Donna thinks Miranda sees her. A baby, true, but grotesque, so terribly imperfect compared to her "real daughter" (Eva, obvs).

Regardless, the monster presents an ugly side of parenthood. It shows us the blood, the hunger (with the way it repeatedly attempts to swallow Ethan whole), the wailing. If Lady D shows us the love of parenthood, the bond, Donna in turn shows us the hate, the misery. Everything that one must endure to reap the rewards of family.

Lastly, we get one last bit of symbolism with Donna's death: We play a game with Angie. A childhood classic, hide and seek. Ethan chases her down repeatedly, stabbing away, seemingly only hurting the doll. But what happens when he kills Angie? It turns out that he killed Donna. You kill the child, you kill the parent. A reinforcement of the connection that comes with parenthood, along with another notch in Ethan's family-murdering belt (not saying that he's the "true antagonist" or anything, just keeping track for one of my later points).

Moreau + The Reservoir

Let's get the worst possibility out of the way: Moreau, weakest and sickest of the four lords, lives in a reservoir, where he is relatively safe. To defeat him, you have to drain the water, forcing him onto dry(ish) land. Paired with the main ideas of his section (which I will detail after this nightmare), one could theorize that he's meant to represent birth itself. Again, he's safe in his ("womb") water, and becomes vulnerable when he leaves (like a fragile newborn). Kinda gross, in my opinion, and also not a strong enough connection for me to care much about. It was merely an interesting (albeit horrifying) enough thought that I felt it warranted sharing.

Moving on to the big stuff with Moreau: He's a baby. Evidence: Whiny, has difficulty moving around, struggles to adapt to his growth, throws up a bunch, loves his mother very much, cries for his mother when he's in trouble, etc. Although Mother Miranda does not care for him, he clearly cares for her, and plays yet another role of an abandoned child (like Donna). Without Miranda there to protect him, he perishes terribly, crying out for someone who does not care to answer.

Hearing him cry out for Miranda, over and over, only for her to continue ignoring him is a key piece in the build-up to our confrontation between Ethan and Miranda. The game, in many ways, centers around the comparison between the two. In my humble opinion, Mia should have been involved in this comparison, as opposed to supplying the solution to the result of said comparison. Yes, I know that was a lot of words that don't mean much yet, but trust me, I'm getting there.

Heisenberg + The Factory

Ironically, of the four lords, Heisenberg is the most similar to Mother Miranda. In his massive factory, he is alone except for his numerous experiments, the results of decades of playing God. In comparison to Ethan + Mia, Heisenberg represents artificial parentage, or more accurately, the artificial creation of "life". While the others Lords also performed experiments, they used living subjects. Heisenberg instead chose to use corpses, which he then "brought back to life" with cybernetics + his powers, a somewhat futuristic version of Dr. Frankenstein.

Together, Miranda and him show a rotten side of parenthood (whereas Donna + Moreau showed us the uglier side of the children themselves). To put it simply, they are bad parents. They throw their "children"/experiments into the fray, uncaring, using them as pawns for their own greater gain. The most important part of this is that Heisenberg offers to "help" Ethan: By using Rose as a weapon. In his act of refusal, Ethan demonstrates one of several important distinctions between himself and Mother Miranda. Where she is willing to use her "children" (read: lives that she is responsible for) as tools, he is not.

Miscellaneous Symbolism/Imagery:

The old hag is one of my favorite parts of Village. She's seemingly nuts, has a crazy old lady laugh, wears bones that make soothing bone noises when she moves, and she draws lots of symbols in the dirt. If you look closely (I can provide screenshots if anyone desires, but it will take a bit of work to get them onto my computer), she's drawing one of the most iconic images in the titular village: The winged unborn. This symbol acts as the key you build up after every fight with a Lord, understandably called the Unborn Key (which turns into the Winged Unborn Key). Whether this counts as foreshadowing towards the hag's identity reveal is technically irrelevant, but I like to think it does.

In essence, you build up the key, this depiction of an infant, to progress in the game. The more wings it gains, the closer you are to your goal of rescuing your child.

The cadou itself is very clearly fetus-shaped. Furthermore, the only place within the human body that we know it ever gets implanted is in the "tummy" (thanks Moreau), aka roughly where someone's womb is/would be. Every infected person we see presumably had the Cadou implanted there (though I think it would be interesting if implanting it in different spots caused different mutations. of course, that is a discussion for another day). To become immortal, you have to "bear" a "child". Does it get more direct than that?

Mother Miranda gained her immortality in part for her grief at the loss of her child. She embodied the despair that Lady D spoke of, becoming an eternal source of anguish. Just as the loss of a child is a wound that lasts forever, so too would Miranda last forever (well, until Ethan comes along).

Mia is a loving mother, who puts up with the BSAA making her move across the world, deals with the complications of having a mold husband and mold baby, and has proved herself (see her section in RE7) to be an immense badass. Previously I had forgotten that, and even embarrassed myself in the comments of another person's post by implying she wasn't a tough, ass-kicking machine. Y'all remember feral Mia? People talk about "poor Ethan's arms", but sometimes we forget that Mia was one of the people who did a number on them. Furthermore, she's one of the only living people (from outside the village) to have any connections (pun intended) to Mother Miranda. They worked together, although possibly not directly, on Evelyn. If anyone in Village has a chance of really understanding Miranda's plight, or knowing the truth behind it, it would be Mia. Yet we don't see them interact a single time. Which leads me to the next section...

Conclusion On Theme + Missed Potential:

Okay, okay, so it's pretty obvious at this point that, as previously stated, the game's theme is parenthood. Every section has its symbolism, the story is very obviously about a man trying to rescue his daughter, etc, etc, but what's the point? Is there a lesson, or a more focused interpretation of the central theme? Let's take one last step back, and focus on something I've mentioned a few times now: The comparison between Ethan and Mother Miranda.

Recurring dialogue from Ethan, Alcina, and Mother Miranda all point towards the developers acknowledging that the characters are similar, but there's nowhere near as much conversation about it as I would like. Several times we have the antagonists ask Ethan how he's so willing to kill someone else's child, or prevent them from (essentially) doing what he's doing (aka saving his daughter). While Ethan responds with a mix of "well you started it" and "aghhh fuck-a-you, bitch", there's a much more solid, unspoken difference: Mother Miranda sends her underlings to kill, so that she may revive her daughter. Ethan kills (read: does the work himself) to get his daughter. The difference is much bigger, and more important, at the end of the game, when we realize just how far it goes. Ethan dies to save his daughter. Time and time again Mother Miranda has killed others for her work, but in the end she is stopped when someone willingly dies to stop her.

Where does Mia come in? Mia, the badass mother, the one who once worked alongside Mother Miranda, should have been the nail in the coffin. She is the one who survives, who lives on to raise Rose, she is the silent solution to Ethan's sacrifice. Miranda, you fool, what could you have accomplished if you had held onto your makeshift family? Through Mia (and Chris, to a lesser degree), his "loss" becomes a victory. There's a certain poetic justice that comes with Rose's full family being instrumental in saving her, when Miranda so readily spurned her own family.

Mia could have had an actual conversation with Miranda, their history giving the latter a reason to actually listen. I'm not saying that Miranda would have changed her mind/plans, but the conversation would have been a well-needed contrast to Ethan's "arggg what the fuck is happening, I only have two reactions to things. agg fuck you". Additionally, I feel that Mia (who was captured and had to endure who-knows-what) deserves the opportunity to be the one who points out Miranda's mistakes, who delivers the final "fuck you" to her. More than that, she's the one at the end who can say that hey, maybe she can understand some of what Miranda did. Was there anything her and Ethan wouldn't have done to save Rose? As much as Ethan is a foil to Miranda, Mia could (and should) have played a similar role.

When so much of the story and symbolism revolves around Miranda's experience as a mother, it only would have been fair to shine a light on her equivalent. Her better.

There's more I wanted to say/feel like I didn't properly get across, and I might add more to this at some point, but it's 5:40 AM right now, and I'm starting to feel like my brain is slowing down, so... Feel free to reblog/comment and add your own thoughts!

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part three: Click this, Rumtumtugger.

Part four: you're here, jennyanydots

Part five: Clicky dicky here, buddy

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Those words left my mouth without much thought. I wasn't thinking of the damned consequences at the moment.

Behind me was Kunal, an iron grip on my leg, bawling his eyes out. "Y/N! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T GO!" he pleaded, his cries getting louder by the second. 

My hand ruffled his strawberry blonde hair, messing it up. "Let go, Nal," I said in the calmest tone I could muster. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, I cleared my dry throat, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry as if I just ate a handful of salt, which was honestly a luxury.

My face remained stoic, the moment I show a sign of distress I know the people in the Capitol would eat it up like good bread. It entertains them, our suffering entertains them. 

His hands slipped from my leg, gripping on my pants before he was finally taken away from me. "Up you go, Owl eyes," said Gale, his voice trying hard to remain steady. Beside him was Katniss, who was holding Kunal by the shoulders. She nodded, "Good luck, Y/n,"

I nodded, before looking back at the temporary stage. "Oh well, Bravo!" Effie exclaimed. "That's the spirit of the games!"

She was thrilled, finally seeing some action from this district. It made a pit in my stomach, I clenched my jaw. If only the roles were reversed, Capitol people fighting for their lives instead of us.

Oh, how funny that would be.

I strode to the stage, trying my best to look collected. The foreboding feeling in my stomach only grew with each step I took, my hands sweating as if they've just been dipped into water once I finally took my place.

"Do tell us your name," Effie said, her grin widening as she nodded, encouraging me to talk. It took all the will power I had to not strangle her.

"Y/n Greyback," I replied dryly, hoping it would set her off.

“I bet my buttons that was your brother. Don’t want him to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” she trilled, making me clench my fists.

Her words were met with silence. No one clapped, not a noise can be heard. Even the ones who would usually bet on who would wound up as a tribute didn't do anything.

I held back a smile, a surge of hope flowing through me. This was the most rebellious thing they could do without getting punishment of any sort. Silence.

Silence doesn't mean fear or that we're cowards. It meant that we do not accept this, we do not condone.

Just as my father always said, one does not need to shout to make a change.

The next thing that happened was even more of a surprise. Maybe it was because I was a son of a "rebel", maybe they pitied my family or maybe it was because I talked to the mayor's daughter.

Just one, then two, then a group almost all of the crowd put the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

My tense hands relaxed a sense of calm washing over me. We were united in a strange way, something I thought would only happen in my dreams.

"Look at him! Look at this one!" Hollered Haymitch, throwing an arm around my shoulder. His arm was quite heavy, understandable, he's a wreck. "I like him!"

The scent of alcohol from his breath was strong, or maybe he just smelled of alcohol. "Lots of. . ." He paused, trying to think of a word.

I cringed as he slightly swayed around, trying my best to not touch him. "Spunk!" he declared triumphantly. "More than you!"

He released me, staggering to the front of the stage. "More than you!" He declared once more, pointing towards the camera.

Was he talking to the audience? Or maybe he was addressing the Capitol. I wish it's the latter, that would be funny.

Just as he opened his mouth to continue, he fell down the stage, knocking himself unconscious in the process. I snickered slightly, my face scrunching up right after.

Thankfully, the cameras were all pointed towards him, watching as they whisked him away into a stretcher. I took this moment to glare back into the distance, watching the scenery.

There was the hill that me, Katniss and Gale were just at. It looked so peaceful, contrary to my day.

"What an exciting day!" Effie warbled, trying to fix her tilted wig. It looked ridiculous. Why would Capitol people, no, why would anyone wear that?

It looks ugly, like a beaten up squirrel. Though I'd be lying if I said it wasn't eye-catching, though, beaten up squirrels are also eye-catching. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our next tribute!” she continued, putting one hand to the second bowl.

Her fingertips grab the first slip it encounters. I hoped it wasn't Gale or Katniss. I didn't want to kill them, not that I'd ever stand a chance.

Katniss was extremely skilled with the bow, she could probably shoot my head from miles away. Gale, on the other hand, was strong, compared to him, I had the strength of a broken twig.

"Peeta Mellark," She read. Oh no. Why him? Of all the people in this district. His father just "introduced" me to him this morning, not just that, I knew him.

I watched him make his way up the stage, I had a clear look at him this time. He had a stocky build, medium height,  ashy blonde hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the situation registered on his face, though you could tell that he was alarmed by the way his blue eyes looked.

Like a prey knowing it'd be hunted.

Despite this, he still manages to climb up the small flight of stairs calmly.

Effie Trinket then asked for volunteers, but no one spoke up. He has two older brothers, I've seen them. But one is probably too old to volunteer, and the other just wouldn't. This was standard family devotion, what I'd done was a radical thing.

The mayor began to say the same old words he always says every reaping day. I couldn't help but think, why him?

I remember it all too well, that day, it was raining up a storm, the wind was howling. My mother and my brother were left at home, I was tasked to find food for us since my mother couldn't bear to show her face to the district.

How could she? Her husband has been executed for rebellion against the Capitol. One of the peacekeepers found weapons under his possession and he was killed. He managed to convince them to spare us, though sometimes I wished it hadn't worked.

Within a week of his death, we began to lose money, and therefore, food. Nobody wanted to help us, nobody wanted to associate with the family of a tyrant.

Shame, the family name bared shame. My mother didn't have the gall to go out and sell any of my father's things, my brother was too young to even understand what was going on.

I was angry. How could they have just taken everything away from us that easy? Who gave them the right to do that?

But at that moment, I couldn't afford to sit still and wallow in my resentment. That was a luxury I couldn't afford. not many could afford it either.

Starvation was a fairly common thing in district 12, though the amount of covering up the peacekeepers do no one a favour and fools no one.

There I was, a boy who wasn't even old enough to be registered into the pile walking around in the harsh weather, stripped away from my dignity and whatever money we had.

I found myself in the Mellark's bakery, being told off by the baker's wife, who was tired of having brats from the Seam paw through her trash. I would've screamed back then, but I didn't want the Peacekeepers called on me.

So I left without another word, sitting at a tree for some sort of cover from the harsh rain.  I remember the snorts of the pigs beside me, and that was when I realized I'm no better than cattle; the people of Panim were no better than cattle.

My knees buckles as I collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering from the cold and the harsh reality. Maybe I had gone insane then, but I vaguely remember talking to the pigs, ranting to them.

They didn't listen, they were too busy rolling in the mud. Looking back, I find this extremely funny, but maybe that's because I don't want to pity myself.

I didn't even notice a boy until the pigs actually rose to eat the pieces of bread thrown at them. I stared at him for a long while, mainly because of the burnt bread, the crust was scorched black.

But a red mark on his cheekbone caught my attention. Had they hit him for burning the bread? My parents have never hit me, I couldn't even imagine what that would feel like.

He took one look at the bakery as if checking if the coast was clear before he turned back to the pigs. Though instead of feeding the pigs he tossed the loaves of bread to me.

I watched him walk towards the bakery and closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. All I could do was stay silent, before shoving them up to my shirt, muttering a broken thank you as I ran home.

The loaves had cooled by the time I got home, but that didn't matter. We had something to eat. Mother looked at me, relieved I didn't die. She hugged me, apologizing.

I didn't care though, we had food, that's what's important.

And for the first time in weeks, we had a proper meal.

I was thankful, the fact that he'd probably burnt the bread on purpose never occurred to me until I crawled onto the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. An act of kindness, someone still cared.

It was as if spring came overnight, fluffy clouds, blue sky, the warm sweet air. At school, we would always catch each other's gazes. I felt a tad bit bad, his cheek was swollen and his eye had blackened.

I couldn't come up to say thank you, instead, I watched him from a distance, contemplating whether I should. When I went to fetch Nal, out eyes met once more, I was about to mouth a thank you until Nal tugged my shirt.

He handed me a dandelion. He's always loved flowers. His love for it made me realize how I would get the food we needed. All that time I and my father spent in the forest won't be for nothing.

To this day, I still feel as if I owe my family's life to him. I had honestly given up, but he gave me something. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread and the dandelion, both gave me hope.

Maybe if I had said thank you all those years ago I wouldn't be feeling so guilty now. I could always say it but something about thanking him whilst I'm practically holding a knife against his throat seems dishonest.

The mayor finished his speech, telling us to shake hands. His were as warm and firm as those loaves of bread. He squeezed me as if reassuring me. Or maybe those were just nervous spasms.

We turn back to the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

There are twenty-four of us fighting in that arena, as grim as it is, let's just hope someone kills him before I'm forced to. I don't wanna kill the reason I've survived all those years.

Word count: 2026

Tags:

@nin3s

Sorry for the late update my exams are next week and im rushing to finish my requirements at school. :"

[vajranam]

Cup Of Tea

What Tea Can Teach You

There was a Japanese Zen master named Nan-in who lived during the Meiji era (1868-1912). During his days as a teacher, he was visited by a university professor curious about Zen.

Being polite, Nan-in served the professor a cup of tea.

As he poured, the professor’s cup became full, but Nan-in kept on pouring. As the professor watched the cup overflow, he could no longer contain himself and said, “It is overfull. No more will go in!”

Nan-in turned to the professor and said, “Like the cup, you are too full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

The Beginning :

first things first I am Ngakpa Konchok Dorje Tsondon, this blog had several life’s because sometimes the provider played update tricks sometimes was myself who wanted different things.

I am a yogi from the Drikung Kagyu Lineage but my roots of Buddha Dharma are from Karma Kagyu, Nigmapas, Gulugpas and Shaigon, Zen I had lot of different teachers, because my view was build on Jagung Kuntrul Rinpoche teaching and Kalu Rinpoche teaching “Rimey”. After lot of chaos and tones of challenges one day I found Garchen Rinpoche who became my vajra master.

Let have a cup of tea

I heard that a lot why do you teach? My answers are on my Ngakpa vows there is some point about that but my real answer is Bodhicitta that why I teach, I am just an insect compare to the big Rinpoche but if one of my text help one being I rejoice in it.

Attitude To Dharma

The Buddha teach about the three pots, this teaching is extremely important because learn us the right view we need to take. The Tea teaching is another one why is before all of the teachings. Well not just because I love Koan and I love do Koan but more because today we are all full as a cup of tea.

Recently I heard something on the radio about a scientific who been to India talked with the Swamies and Lamas. He was surprised about the full effect of meditation but he forgot one thing to empty is a cup.

Like that scientist, we all come with a massive cup full of judgement, views, information and mostly let’s call it massive ego.

When I touch the holy land of India I had a simple question in my head how to stop suffering but even with that, I had to learn to empty my cup because not doing it will be like asking the Dalai Lama for help and not take any of his advice.

Dharma whatever dharma you take isn’t like going to church and eat kinda truth and everyone happy, whatever you take Vedic, Buddha or Sikh dharma be ready for the ride. That means dharma is base on experience a teacher will show you the way but you got to do 100% of the efforts to get there.

No one will save you from your “mistakes” Christian call that sin we call that non virtue, non virtues are like putting a mine in road that you drive and forgot about it. The problem when the mine gonna to explode that when the problem start.

The right attitude to dharma well whatever level we are we always learn, new ways there for we should develop the student attitude. Keep mind open and keep humble.

50 Verses of Guru Devotion

Composed by Ashvagosha

L1. Bowing in the proper way to the lotus feet of my Guru, who is the cause for me to attain the state of a glorious Vajrasattva, I shall condense and explain in brief what has been said in many stainless tantric texts about Guru-devotion. (Therefore) listen with respect.

2. All the Buddhas of the past, present and future, residing in every land in the ten directions, have paid homage to the Tantric Masters from whom they have received the highest initiations. (Is there need to mention that you should too?)

3. Three times each day, with supreme faith, you must show your respect to your Guru who teaches you (the tantric path), by pressing your palms together, offering a mandala as well as flowers and prostrating (touching) your head to his feet.

4. Those who hold ordination vows, if (your Guru) is a layman or your junior, prostrate (in public) while facing such things as his scriptural texts in order to avoid worldly scorn. But in your mind (prostrate to your Guru).

5. As for serving (your Guru) and showing him respect, such as obeying what he says, standing up (when he comes) and showing him to his seat — these should be done even by those with ordination vows (whose Gurus are laymen or their juniors). But (in public), avoid prostrating and unorthodox actions (such as washing his feet).

6. In order for the words of honour of neither the Guru nor the disciple to degenerate, there must be a mutual examination beforehand (to determine if each can) brave a Guru-disciple relationship.

7. A disciple with sense should not accept as his Guru someone who lacks compassion or who is angersome, vicious or arrogant, possessive, undisciplined or boasts of his knowledge.

8. (A Guru should be) stable (in his actions), cultivated (in his speech), wise, patient and honest. He should neither conceal his shortcomings, nor pretend to possess qualities he lacks. He should be an expert in the meanings (of tantra) and in its ritual procedures (of medicine and turning back obstacles). Also he should have loving compassion and a complete knowledge of the scriptures.

9. He should have full experience in all ten fields, skill in the drawing of mandalas, full knowledge of how to explain the tantras, supreme faith and his senses fully under control.

10. Having become the disciple of such a protecting (Guru), should you then despise him from your heart, you will reap continual suffering as if you had disparaged all the Buddhas.

11. If you are so foolish as to despise your Guru, you will contract contagious diseases and those caused by harmful spirits. You will die (a horrible death) caused by demons, plagues or poison.

12. You will be killed by (wicked) kings or fire, by poisonous snakes, water, witches or bandits, by harmful spirits or savages, and then be reborn in a hell.

13. Never disturb you Guru’s mind. Should you be foolish and happen to do this, you will surely boil in hell.

14. Whatever fearful hells have been taught, such as Avici, the Hell of Uninterrupted pain, it is clearly explained that those who disparage their Gurus will have to remain there (a very long time).

15. Therefore, exert yourself wholeheartedly never to belittle your Tantric Master who makes no display of his great wisdom and virtues.

16. (If from a lack of awareness you have shown disrespect) to your Guru, reverently present an offering to him and seek his forgiveness. Then in the future such harms and plagues will not befall you.

17. It has been taught that for the Guru to whom you have pledged your word of honour (to visualize as one with your meditational deity), you should willingly sacrifice your wife, children and even your life, although these are not (easy) to give away. Is there need to mention your fleeting weath?

18. (Such practice of offering) can confer even Buddhahood on a zealous (disciple) in his very lifetime, which otherwise might be difficult to attain even in countless millions of eons.

19. Always keep your word of honour. Always make offerings to the Enlightened Ones. Always make offerings also to your Guru, for he is the same as all the Buddhas.

20. Those who wish (to attain) the inexhaustible (state of a Buddha’s Wisdom Body) should give to their Guru whatever they themselves find pleasing, from the most trifling objects to those of best quality.

21. Giving (to your Guru) is the same as making continual offerings to all the Buddhas. From such giving, much merit is gathered. From such collection comes the supreme powerful attainment (of Buddhahood).

22. Therefore, a disciple with the good qualities of compassion, generosity, moral self-control and patience should never regard his Guru and the Buddha Vajradhara as different.

23. If you should never tread even on (your Guru’s) shadow, because the fearsome consequences are the same as destroying a stupa, is there need to mention never stepping on or over his shoes or seat, (sitting in his place or riding) his mount?

24. (A disciple) having great sense should obey the words of his Guru joyfully and with enthusiasm. If you lack the knowledge or ability (to do what he says), explain in (polite) words why you cannot (comply).

25. It is from your Guru that powerful attainments, higher rebirth and happiness come. Therefore, make a wholehearted effort never to transgress your Guru’s advice.

26. (Guard) your Guru’s belongings as you would your own life. Treat even your Guru’s beloved (family) with the same (respect you show for him). (Have affectionate regard for) those closely around him as if they were your own dearest kin. Single-mindedly think (in this way) at all times.

27. Never sit on the (same) bed or seat (as your Guru), nor walk ahead of him. (At teachings do not) wear your hair in a top-knot, (a hat, shoes or any weapons). Never touch a seat (before he sits down), or if he happens to sits on the ground. Do not place your hands (proudly) on your hips or wring them (before him).

28. Never sit or recline while your Guru is standing (nor lie while he is sitting). Always be ready to stand up and serve him skillfully in an excellent manner.

29. In the presence of your Guru, never do such things as spit, (cough or sneeze without covering your mouth). Never stretch out your legs when at your seat, nor walk back and forth (without reason before him), and never argue.

30. Never massage or rub your limbs. Do not sing, dance or play musical instruments (for other than religious purposes). And never chatter idly or speak in excess (or too loudly) within the range of (your Guru’s) hearing.

31. (When your Guru enters the room) get up from your seat and bow your head slightly. Sit (in his presence) respectfully. At night, at rivers or on dangerous paths, with (your Guru’s) permission, you may walk before him.

32. In the direct sight of his Guru, (a disciple) with sense should not (sit) with his body twisted around, nor lean (casually) against pillars and such. Never crack your knuckles, (play with your fingers or clean your nails).

33. When washing (your Guru’s) feet or his body, drying, massaging (or shaving) him, precede such actions with (three) prostrations and at their conclusion do the same. Then attend (to yourself) as much as you like.

34. Should you need to address (your Guru) by his name, add the title “Your Presence” after it. To generate respect for him in others, further honorifics may also be used.

35. When asking for your Guru’s advice, first announce why you have come. With palms pressed together at your heart, listen to what he tells you, without (letting your mind) wander about. Then (when he has spoken), you should reply, “I shall do exactly as you have said.”

36. After doing (what your Guru has told you), report (what has happened) in polite, gentle words. Should you yawn or cough, (clear your throat or laugh in his presence), cover your mouth with your hand.

37. If you wish to receive a certain teaching, request three times with your palms pressed together, while before him on your (right) knee. (Then at his discourse), sit humbly and with respect, wearing appropriate clothing that is neat (and clean, without ornaments, jewelry or cosmetics).

38. Whatever you do to serve (your Guru) or show him respect, should never be done with an arrogant mind. Instead you should be like a newlywed bride, timid, bashful and very subdued.

39. In the presence of (the Guru) who teaches you (the Path), stop acting in a conceited, coquettish manner. As for boasting to others what you have done (for your Guru), examine (your conscience) and discard all such acts.

40. If you are (requested) to perform a consecration, (an initiation into) a mandala, a fire puja or to gather disciples and deliver a discourse, you may not do so if your Guru resides in that area, unless you receive his prior permission.

41. Whatever offerings you receive from performing such rites as (the consecration known as) “Opening the Eyes”, you should present all these to your Guru. Once he has taken a token portion, you may use the rest for whatever you like.

42. In the presence of his Guru, a disciple should not act (as a Guru) to his own disciples and they should not act towards him as their Guru. Therefore (before your own Guru), stop (your disciples) from showing you respect such as rising (when you come) and making prostrations.

43. Whenever you make an offering to your Guru, or whenever your Guru presents you with something, a disciple with sense will (present and) receive this, using both hands and with his head slightly bent.

44. Be diligent in all your actions, (alert and) mindful never to forget (your word of honour). If fellow disciples transgress (what is proper) in their behaviour, correct each other in a friendly manner.

45. If because of sickness you are physically (unable) to bow to your Guru and must do what normally would be prohibited, even without (his explicit) permission, there will be no unfortunate consequences if you have a virtuous mind.

46. What need is there to say much more. Do whatever pleases your Guru and avoid doing anything he would not like. Be diligent in both of these.

47. “Powerful attainments follow from (doing what) your Guru (likes).” This has been said by (the Buddha) Vajradhara himself. Knowing this, try to please your Guru fully with all the actions (of your body, speech and mind).

48. After a disciple has taken refuge in the Triple Gem and developed a pure (Enlightened) motive, he should be given this (text) to take to his heart (how to abandon his own arrogant self-will and) follow in his Guru’s footsteps (along the Graded Path to Enlightenment).

49. (By studying the prerequisite trainings of Guru-devotion and the Graded Path, common to both the Sutra and Tantra,) you will become a (suitable) vessel (to hold) the pure Dharma. You may then be given such teachings as Tantra. (After receiving the proper initiations,) recite out loud the fourteen root vows and take them sincerely to your heart.

50. As I have not made the mistake (of adding my personal interpretation) when writing this work, may this be of infinite benefit to all disciples who would follow their Guru. By the limitless merit I have gathered in this way, may all sentient beings quickly attain Buddhahood

[bigbadredpanda]

Chapter 111: Wangxian - Everyday means everyday (extended)

I noticed when I received my MDZS box set in Traditional Chinese that the ‘Everyday’ sex scene was a bit longer than what I had previously read so... here we are ^^

Overall it’s written in more explicit language and rearranged differently compared to the other existing version. The first half of the fragment below is almost entirely new and features Wei Wuxian riling up Lan Wangji while the rest is interspersed with more details.

If you notice inaccuracies or mistakes, please feel free to point them out!

Warning: Explicit sexual content

I strongly advise reading the beginning of the chapter first to refresh your mind and continue here when you reach the first line below. Else it will probably be a bit disjointed.

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

[...] "... Does it feel good? Inside me?"

Lan Wangji was a man of action rather than someone inclined to flirtation. His words were scarce but his strength was tremendous. Biting his lower lip, his onslaught turned fiercer to answer this question. Soaked with sweat from the forceful thrusts, Wei Wuxian mumbled, "Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… I like you to death. I'm yours, yours alone… Gently!"

He had been rejoicing too soon and implored again, "Gently, that part is sensitive, don't thrust so vigorously, your strength is too much, your thrusts are too powerful, it hurts a bit… yes… like this…"

Gripping Lan Wangji's shoulders, Wei Wuxian deliberately wrapped his legs around his waist. Lying on the ground, his body was getting worked up in the wake of Lan Wangji’s undulating movements. The continuous grinding against his insides and the brushing of the grass on his skin elicited a low moan from him. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he resumed running off at the mouth, "Lan Zhan, you're really great. How can such a gorgeous beauty play the guqin so well, have such proper penmanship, possess such strong spiritual energy, be endowed with such high cultivation base and even be so amazing in bed? How can you be so outstanding? Tell me how I could not love you…"

Lan Wangji, "..."

Wei Wuxian seemed to be blessed with the innate ability to not feel the least bit ashamed at a moment like this. The more unequivocally he spoke, the more excited he became. "I only want to be fucked by you alone, you can thrust as deep as you want…"

As he spoke frankly, he spread his legs even wider apart and continued, "A bit deeper. All of me is yours through and through, the deeper you go the more I enjoy it. You can also come inside me… Oh!"

Just as he was getting carried away, he suddenly felt the person above him prodding him in a distressingly deep place that had never been reached before. Wei Wuxian's eyes instantly widened. He had never expected that Lan Wangji could in fact go even deeper. He let out a wail and faltered, "Ooh... Hmmn, help, not, not like this, it's too much."

He wanted to curl up to avoid being pounded again but there was no way Lan Wangji would allow him to escape. Pulling out and implacably pushing in, Lan Wangji kept doing him like this and angrily retorted, "You… reap what you sow!"

Wei Wuxian opened his legs in earnest to withstand the rough fucking while whimpering, "Ge, er-gege, I'm going to die, you'll screw me to death. I was wrong, my mistake, don't punish me like this. I'm a virgin, treat me better…"

Drops of sweat dripped down from the ends of Lan Wangji's hair. This person habitually impassive to the point of coldness betrayed at that moment a discomfit expression as if he was on the brink of falling apart, "Are you really begging or are you… purposely… Your hips! Stop writhing!"

Wei Wuxian raised his head and yelled at the top of his voice, "Someone! Help! Hanguang-Jun is… ah! Hanguang-Jun… I can't anymore…"

As Lan Wangji kissed away the tears he had wrung from Wei Wuxian, he uttered through gritted teeth, "... Wei Ying, I am… speaking seriously, do not do that again. I… I will truly... lose control. I fear I… Sorry."

Even at such a time, with a flush spread across his face, he did not forget to apologise, his brows were slightly knitted and his countenance remorseful. Hearing this, Wei Wuxian's heart softened and ached from the havoc he had wreaked, he said gently, "Why are you saying sorry? Even if it hurts, I'm still glad because it's you doing it… aah..."

The two of them were drenched all over in glistening sweat. Wei Wuxian had always forgotten the taste of pain as soon as his injuries had healed. Despite having just suffered the consequences of his actions, he soon opened his mouth again to pant some more nonsense, "Hey, Lan Zhan… I just remembered, you are done for. We're still missing the last of the three bows, we're not married yet. Do you know what is called doing this kind of thing outside marriage? If your uncle knew… ah… he'd drown you in a pond."

Lan Wangji's tone was almost ferocious, "... I was done for long ago!"

His words were accompanied with an abrupt thrust. Wei Wuxian flung his head back in both discomfort and pleasure, exposing his vulnerable throat. Lan Wangji latched onto it to bite him.

The overwhelming pleasure triggered Wei Wuxian’s climax. His mind blanked out for a moment before a fit of lightheadedness set in. The first thought that crossed his mind was, "... I can't believe it, damn it, why didn't my 15-year old self do this kind of stuff with Lan Zhan? My time really went to waste…"

At the same moment, Lan Wangji held him even tighter and released deep inside him.

Lifting his slightly limp and sore arms, Wei Wuxian held him close in return. The two of them remained locked in this peaceful embrace for a while. Wei Wuxian regained some strength and feeling perfectly contented, he wiped away with his hand the smudges of come he had left on Lan Wangji’s body. As he did, he asked, "Second young master Lan, when did you start liking me?"

He was rubbing an inappropriate place at an inopportune time and Lan Wangji's expression turned strange.

Wei Wuxian continued, "If you liked me before, why didn't you do me a long time ago? The back mountain of your home in the Cloud Recesses is a nice location. If you took advantage of the times I sneaked away alone to hunt wild game to tie me up and drag me away, you could have pinned me to the grass just like now and do whatever you desired to me… aah... Gently..."

Lan Wangji had not yet pulled out completely before he started pumping again.

Wei Wuxian became aware that a warm liquid was trickling down from the part of his lower body where they were connected together but he kept rambling a steady torrent of obscenities in Lan Wangji's ear, "Your strength is so great that I would have had no way to resist. If I shouted, you could have silenced me and no one would have heard my muffled cries. Your Sect's Library Pavilion isn’t bad either, we could have spread some books on the floor and rolled around on them. We could have laid out some erotic pictures and compared positions, any position would have been fine. I would bully you during the day and you would bully me at night. You'd fuck my brains out as soon as the door closed... Ge! Ge! Er-gege! Spare me! Mercy, please spare me. Fine, fine, I'll stop talking, you're amazing, you're the best. I can't bear it anymore, I really can't, don't be like this..."

Lan Wangji was incapable of withstanding his teasing at a time like this. This last dozen thrusts seemed to scramble Wei Wuxian's insides, making him beg for mercy in a pitying tone but Lan Wangji exerted more strength instead. Wei Wuxian had been pinned down for almost an hour without changing position. His waist and ass felt numb from the constant pounding. The numbness was then replaced by a tingling pain as if countless insects were gnawing his bones. The pleasure that had coursed through him subsided and gave way to the spreading sensation of being stretched painfully open. Facing at last retribution, Wei Wuxian kissed him cajolingly while pleading without a shred of dignity, "Er-gege, please have a heart and let me off, we have ample time together, let's fuck another time, you can lift me up and fuck me next time, all right? Please won't you spare this inexperienced one today? Mighty Hanguang-Jun, Yiling Laozu has suffered a crushing defeat. Come on, hurry up and come inside me again, let's fight another day."

The veins lining Lan Wangji’s forehead slightly stood out. He forced his words out, articulating clearly each of them, "... If you truly wish to stop… then hold your tongue and stop talking…"

Wei Wuxian said, "But I have a tongue so I can't help using it. Lan Zhan, what I've said before about me wanting to go to bed with you everyday, can you pretend you never heard it?"

Lan Wangji replied, "I cannot."

Wei Wuxian's heart shattered at this, "How can you be like this? You've never refused me anything before."

Lan Wangji smiled faintly, "I cannot."

At the sight of this smile, Wei Wuxian's eyes lit up, he felt for an instant as if he had ascended and he lost track of his surroundings.

However, the next moment, a stream of tears was forced out of the corners of Wei Wuxian’s eyes by the fierce movements that were at odds with this smile like the pure light reflected by the snow.

Hands clutching the grass, he shouted himself hoarse, "Then four days, let's make it once every four days, all right? If four days won't do then three is also fine!"

Finally, Lan Wangji concluded in a powerfully resolute voice, "Everyday means everyday."

[amedetoiles]

give me a character meme! wwx please!!

[All gifs made by me. No stealing or reposting, thank you. ♥︎]

★ How I feel about this character

I love wwx so much and he deserves so much!!! My feelings for him can be summed up by my first ever meta in this fandom, this half-crack half-shitpost, and the many many meta tears scattered across all the tags on my page that various people have yelled at me for. I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him. No character has wrecked me as much as this stupid chaotic ass, who is so inherently good and selfishly selfless it fucking hurts. Yet, for all the love and care he gives freely to everyone else, he can’t for the life of him compute any that others have given to him. He tries so hard to be good, to make the right choices even in impossible, horrendous circumstances, and it’s excruciatingly painful watching him realize again and again that even good choices paved with good intentions can cause destruction. He suffers so much because of it. He suffers before we even really meet him. @cangse-sanren​ wrote “Your parents were bright smears of color and laughter to you, but little more” in this beautiful fic, and I still weep about it daily.

I love how immensely protective he is of both his siblings. He just tries so goddamn hard to be what everyone needs. I could and have and will continue to cry about him every day. How his pathological tendency to repress all things that hurt him, to cover up his pain in humor and obnoxiousness and bravado, and his internalized belief that he is worth much less than everyone else, all converged into the most awful way possible. How despite losing his sect, his siblings, his friends, he was still trying up until the very end. God, what a fantastically complex fucking character. To watch him bloom again after that deluge of rage and grief and insanity 13/16 years later was the most satisfying journey anyone could possibly depict. To know that he has the chance to heal, to recover, to grow with all the different parts of his family he once thought lost forever now back in his reach (yes! even our angry grape!!). Truly amazing.

★ All the people I ship romantically with this character

WangXian!!!! These kids who came out of endless tragedy and trauma to find a love, a trust in each other–theirs is a love story that truly extends across space and time. It warms my heart to watch them rebuild their lives together into something warmer, and brighter, and happier than either of them ever grew up knowing. To watch them shed the psychological trauma on what it means to love and be loved given to them by their terrible parental figures and say, “No. We’re going to be better than that.” I love how they complement one another. How loudly and quietly they love each other. How in the warm security of each other’s embrace, they are each able to work through their own internalized traumas without judgement. Lan Wangji’s uncompromising devotion. Wei Wuxian’s fierce protectiveness. It’s hard to say who else could fit together so perfectly. What a joy it is to watch Wei Wuxian realize that he is no longer alone, that Lan Wangji is and will always be standing beside him. What a joy it is to watch Lan Wangji realize that this is not the dream he’s spent years suffering through, that Wei Ying has returned to him against all odds. What a fucking joy it is to watch them both learn to trust happiness, to trust love, to trust each other. GOD. *wails*

★ My non-romantic OTP for this character

YUNMENG SHUANGJIE. YUNMENG SIBS. YILING SIBS. A-YUAN AND HIS TWO DADS. All the different found families that permeated the story was just breathtakingly beautiful. They all fucking gutted me. It all at once makes Wei Wuxian’s story that much more beautiful and that much more tragic. For a child who lost his parents before he even had time to remember them, who then had to rebuild his family again and again, only to lose them each time in increasingly horrifying ways–it truly fucked me up. Wei Wuxian stood on that cliff in Nightless City, and it was visibly clear that he wanted nothing more than to join all the families he loved and watched die (because of him).

The beauty of his story of course is that for all the tragedy that he is subsumed by, for all the ways that he is wronged and has wronged, there are equal, if not more, number of ways that he is lifted, is healed, is shone a light through all the darkness. In the end, his families return to him. Wen Ning, who lived despite it all, carrying the memory of his sister, the best doctor in the world. His shijie shining through his bratty nephew’s heart of gold. His very own A-Yuan, kept safe and protected all these years by his soulmate, his zhiji. His angry grape of a little brother who can’t say I forgive you but tosses him Chenqing that he’s kept safe all these years and says I trust you. They’re all a little broken, a little worse for wear, but there’s something extraordinarily beautiful about these families who find each other again through the bridges they rebuild towards something better.

★ My unpopular opinion about this character

Oh man, I’ve seen a lot of debate about wwx that I try not to get into (I type this of course as I ready myself to do exactly that). Probably the most unpopular opinion (possibly?) I have is that I don’t personally feel like the addition of a second flautist and expanding Jin Guangyao’s villain-ry in CQL detracted or reduced Wei Wuxian’s complex morality–one of my favorite and best parts to his character. I still think he is very gray. His tragedy is still contingent on his naive idealism and his willful blindness that a person only needs to be righteous and honorable regardless of reputation and politics. This clearly isn’t the case. Not just for him, but for all the characters. You can do everything right and still be punished. You can do everything right and still cause others pain. You can be the most hypocritical, loudmouthed piece of judgmental shit and still remain unpunished and available to share your stupid ass ignorant opinions on matters that have nothing to do with you. (Whoops that got away from me.) Wei Wuxian learns this repeatedly. It’s excellent and heartbreaking.

The thing about Wei Wuxian is that for all that he has imposter syndrome, for all that he is unable to see that he is a person worthy of the love he receives, he is still not only extremely confident in his own abilities and in his beliefs of what is right and what is wrong, but also that he is the person who can decide that line between justice and evil. An arrogant assumption, and one that causes not only him but the people he strives to protect a significant amount of pain. This wasn’t lost in CQL. While the plot technically does absolve him of all of his crimes on a surface level, it’s clearly not as simple for Wei Wuxian himself. In the Ancestral Hall, Wei Wuxian stares at the names of Jiang Fengmian, Madam Yu, and Jiang Yanli, whose lives are heavily felt on his shoulders, and he tells Lan Wangji, “After all, the Stygian Tiger Seal was created by me. Whether Jin Guangyao was there or not, that fact can’t be changed.” The show despite its censorship still asks the audience to evaluate his actions and the role he played, both willing and unwillingly, in the deaths of so many people.

It is also shown clearly that the cultivation world only stops trying to kill him because there was now another target, another scapegoat to blame. This is something that Wei Wuxian knows and expresses on multiple occasions on the show. For all that the show may have change things, I don’t think it’s necessarily correct or fair to say that it completely washed away the nuance that was present in the novel. The overarching conflicts and questions are still there. What is moral and what isn’t, what is justified and what isn’t, who is at fault for unforeseen consequences and who isn’t, and the role of external factors and circumstances in all of this. As someone who watched the drama first, I didn’t feel that the complexity of all the characters and their decisions was lost at all in comparison to the novel I later read. The show was honestly superb and still the best version for me overall. (Please don’t send pitchforks.) I have so much more to say about this, and Jin Guangyao still being a great nuanced character foil, but alas, this is already too long.

Other things: Wei Wuxian is a good brother actually, and he knows Jiang Cheng very well. He tried his best under the worst possible circumstances, and it was a great big shit show. I hate discussions where people try to hold one brother more responsible than the other. They both very nobly (and very recklessly) sacrificed a great deal for each other, and they both, frankly, fucked up. They’re Twin Idiots, and I’ll love and drag them both equally dammit! With that in mind, Wei Wuxian’s happy ending isn’t just him joining GusuLan sect, novel be fucking damned (yes, I said it!). His home can be in Gusu and Yunmeng. *SLAMS FISTS* Let 👏 Wei 👏 Wuxian 👏 go 👏 home 👏. (Talking to you, my grape guy. Jin Ling is going to show up in Lotus Pier one day with his da-jiu, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.)

★ One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

WEI WUXIAN PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HUG YOUR DIDI. Jiang Cheng has been waiting 16+ years for your hug, and he damn well deserves one, especially since he gave you such a great octopus hug, all limbs and burrowed scrunchy faces. Like, I know, I know, you were distraught, and traumatized, half-beaten to death after three days of intense surgery, then reaped by ten thousand undead souls calling for revenge, but guess who told your favorite (only) angry grape little brother that in the next life, let’s be brothers again okay? GUESS WHO IS LIVING HIS NEXT LIFE??????? Bruh. Chop chop. Hop fucking to it.

[professional-danish]

A Response to The Last of Us Part II Ending (Obvious Spoilers)

I’ve been seeing a lot of people who didn’t like the game say that they understand the ending perfectly, they already know revenge is bad, they didn’t need Naughty Dog to tell them this, etc etc but...for most of them, you’re still really not getting it.

This game is not about revenge at all, and it’s really not even about Abby, although she does teach us some important lessons. This game is still entirely about Joel and Ellie, and it is completely based on the premise of forgiveness. But not for Abby!! Ellie DOES NOT forgive Abby, and she never will. No one, in my opinion, would or even could forgive the brutal murder of their loved one, and it’s a haunting, human problem that plagues not only every protagonist of The Last of Us, but our own reality. There is something within our nature that simply cannot stomach it. We see it in the pain and anger of Joel when he loses Sarah, we see it in Abby when she loses her father, and we see it in Ellie, not only when she loses Joel, but when Joel reveals that he sacrificed the world at her expense. 

Let’s take a look at the ending again, specifically the final fight. I’ve seen so many people upset at the fact that it all seems to be for nothing, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The ending of this story is everything, and for me, it’s what makes the game, and the entirety of what comes before it cannot be understood without the very last cutscene of Joel and Ellie’s final conversation. This is where all the anger, the bitterness, the brutality, and the pain stems from. 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that,” Ellie says, as Joel tells her he would pick to save her and doom the world again and again, no matter the circumstances, “but I would like to try.” 

Ellie never gets this chance to work through her issues with Joel, and that’s why his death festers within her so painfully. Abby takes that from her, and it is so grievous a crime that Ellie becomes fixed in place, incapable of moving on from it. She sees the loss all around her, a wound that demands to be healed and yet cannot be stitched by any tools she knows of or has, and so she is forced on this quest to heal herself by destroying the surface issue and refusing to acknowledge the root.  

She’s going to kill Abby, and that will take away the pain. 

Of course, we know this isn’t true, and Naughty Dog shows us this early on by thrusting us into Abby’s shoes. Murdering Joel has brought her no relief or satisfaction. The people she loves are further away from her than ever (and soon to be dead), and have been forced there as a consequence of her unshakeable need for revenge. And furthermore, she’s still living in the same hell, where she constantly returns via flashbacks to find her father dead on the floor of the hospital. Killing Joel has not eased that pain, nor healed her emotional wounds. The only thing that has changed is that Abby has no purpose any longer, and no attachments, much in the same way we find Joel in the first game. He’s just going through the motions, trying to survive, empty and in pain. Only when he finds Ellie does he begin to regain his humanity, and the same is said for Abby, who only begins to come back to life and heal from what happened when she meets and helps Lev and Yara. You see, the story of The Last of Us Part One is retold in this sequel, though through a much narrower platform, with Abby standing in for Joel, Yara for Tess, and Lev for Ellie. And at the very end, Ellie, and by extension the player, seems to recognize this. 

When we reach the final fight, both women have committed numerous atrocities, and both have lost parts of themselves and the most important people in their lives to their vengeance. When they meet on the water, Ellie is fully prepared to end Abby’s life, something that the player fully accepts, which is another interesting beat, because a lot of complaints about Abby killing Joel stem from the fact that Joel saves Abby’s life. Abby has now also overpowered and spared Ellie twice, and yet most players still can’t seem to see through the thick fog of anger that clouds around Abby and her actions. Again, Abby is not “one of us” the way Ellie and Joel are, so I do understand it, but I think the irony is worth mentioning. 

When it comes time for the final kill, Ellie can’t. Why? She’s got Abby under that water, and Lev is far too incapacitated to help. Everything she’s been heading towards, everything she needs to fix herself and what has happened is literally right between her hands (or what’s left of them). So why can’t she do it? Is she too weak? 

No. Joel comes flooding through in a brief, single second snap of the night of their last conversation, and in that moment, Ellie achieves catharsis. When the scene progresses forward, into that final conversation, we as the player finally understand. This hasn’t been about Ellie hating Abby. This hasn’t been about Abby at all. While Abby acts as the inciting incident, this game and journey has always been about Joel. 

Ellie, while loving him, hated him for his actions, his weakness, his selfishness. Joel strips not only a cure from the world, but Ellie from her sense of self. Ellie wanted to die in that hospital. No one can say different. She was prepared for her life, and for all of the people she had lost—Riley, Tess, Henry and Sam, Marlene⁠—to mean something. Ellie can’t bear the guilt that that meaning has been permanently stripped away because Joel can’t bear to be without her. When Joel takes that decision away from her, she loses her guiding light, and all sight of herself, and what is important. All around her people continue to suffer and die, and she knows deep down she could have prevented it, but Joel robbed her of that choice. 

She can’t stomach it. 

But she loves Joel, and while she hates what he did, she understands him, and understands, to some extent, his actions, much like we do as observers of both stories. She recognizes an inability to change the past, sees Joel for who he is, and asks to start over, to ease this pain she carries. 

In the moment she relives this scene, she knows what she has to do. It hasn’t been about Abby, not this entire time. It’s been about accepting what Joel did, and the consequences of his actions. It’s been about accepting his love for her, and that it drove him to do something horrible, and that she’s in danger of doing something horrible too, of repeating this unforgiving cycle all in the name of what is just, what is right, and what we are supposed to do for the people we love.

But this isn’t right.  

There’s no justice in killing this feeble, starved, broken woman in front of her. There’s no honor in leaving a young boy to die. Ellie refuses to become that catalyst, refuses to further an agenda of hate, fear, violence, and revenge. In that moment, she accepts Joel for who he was and what he did, and she forgives him. She lets Abby up, and she lets her and Lev go, and in the process, frees herself, and closes the wound that has been slowly killing her this entire game. 

So, was it all for nothing? Absolutely not. It’s a painful journey, and it’s an emotional one, but it’s one profoundly reflective of reality, and one that, despite the brutality, is about healing, forgiveness, and love.

In choosing to break the cycle of violence, the game actually ends on an incredible note of hope, at least in my opinion. In keeping Abby alive, she allows for her and Lev to go off and find the Fireflies, as opposed to murdering Abby and creating the potential for Lev to survive and try to enact revenge on Ellie. And while Ellie has been physically maimed by her journey (a direct metaphor for reaping what you sow), she has found herself again and she is at peace with Joel and his actions. Even more than that, she knows that he died knowing she loved him. When she returns to her empty farmhouse, there are certain indicators here that all is not lost. Clean sheets remain behind in case of her return, and Dina’s favorite album lies on top of her guitar, a reminder of their love, and in my mind, a symbol of forgiveness all in itself, and a call to come back home. In a game solely focused on forgiveness, I see no other alternative than Ellie finding her way back to Jackson, and to Dina and her potato, to finally live the life she’s been trying to get back to for so long, since the very day she was bitten. 

You can be angry that they killed Joel. You can be angry that you have to live within Abby’s perspective. You’re supposed to be, and I know that I was. But these are not reasons to call this a bad game, because it isn’t, and if you give it a chance, you can see what this game is trying to say to you through these decisions. It’s done something to me that I’ve never experienced through another piece of media EVER. It’s a dynamic, masterful story set within the very best performance a gaming system can currently offer. It’s painful, emotional, and so very human, and it is currently my all time favorite game, of which the characters and stories it contains will stay with me always. 

Endure and survive...love and forgive. 

[jamestaylorswift]

The Archer - Analysis

I was nudged to write out my thoughts about “The Archer” and I’m honestly glad for the push. This song is so beautiful yet haunting. I don’t see people appreciating it as much as I think it should be appreciated.

Standard disclaimer that this is my own personal reading of the song. You are free to disagree with any or all of what I say. There are many good interpretations of this song out there. It helps that it’s a very evocative track 5!

This analysis is not short. Sorry.

——

Combat, I’m ready for combat

I say I don’t want that, but what if I do?

‘Cause cruelty wins in the movies

I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

——

Unlike other tracks on Lover, there’s no concrete imagery such as a garden gate or prom dress in this song. Taylor is sharing what only exists in her mind. This is a story told purely with metaphors. It’s important to lean into them.

The purpose of the first verse is to contextualize the rest of the song. She introduces the idea of being torn about wanting a fight. She would only want to fight someone if she has a really good reason to do so. Her driving force is “cruelty winning in the movies.” Her thrown-out speeches are the thing that would start the fight. Tossing the speeches implies that she is unsure not of the content of the speeches but of entering the fray of battle that would ensue after delivering them.

It’s very hard for me to see these speeches as anything but coming out speeches. Coming out (even as a non-celebrity) is often stressful. Cruelty winning in the movies is a nod to the fact that mainstream media depicts LGBTQ characters meeting tragic ends. Taylor, as a wildly famous celebrity, has cultural influence. Her coming out would impact the culture; it could change the endings of those movies. But her impact would only be measurable years in the future. 

This verse is also where she first addresses the “you” in the song. I think the “you” is essentially a random observer/everyday Joe Schmoe. It’s nobody in particular because it could be anybody. The only thing remarkable about “you” is that she’s directly addressing them. That makes this story personal.

——

Easy they come, easy they go

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

I never grew up, it’s getting so old

Help me hold onto you

——

If the “you” in this song is a random person who has some benign preexisting opinion (whatever that may be, including a non-opinion) about Taylor Swift, then the “they” refers to arbitrary people who are on the fan/hate train. “They” come and go easily and represent flux in interest in her. I read the metaphor about a train with momentum as the implication that general interest in Taylor waxes and wanes but is inherently self-sustaining because of her celebrity. In this song, “they” aren’t necessarily the enemy like the public was, for example, in reputation. She just doesn’t concern herself with “them” anymore. It’s the “you” who has her full attention and who is sticking around to hear the story.

Finally, we get the first of many “help me hold onto you”s. This one is her articulating why she’s telling this story in the first place. It’s “I want you listen to this story and try to understand.” It’s “help me,” but in a chill way.

——

I’ve been the archer

I’ve been the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling?

But who could stay?

——

The archer is the zodiac symbol for Sagittarius, the centaur, Taylor’s astrological sign. Taylor exists in parts, just like a centaur: she is part her celebrity persona and part her real self, an amalgamation who is a Taylor different than either of the constituent halves. To the “you” it’s Taylor in her purest form. It’s impossible to completely separate her celebrity from her person at this point.

The chorus is about the duality of Taylor’s being, her actions, and others’ investment in any part of her. As the archer (hunter) she has aggressively exercised control over her public persona. As the prey (hunted) she has been a passive victim chewed up and spit out by the public/industry/etc. for things outside of her control. Sometimes it is her own actions that drive people away or attract people to her. Sometimes it is by individual choice that people board or leave the train.

The archer, Sagittarius, is also symbolic of a prophet who can predict fate. The prey is a victim of a terrible fate that, by nature, cannot be changed. I prefer to think of the archer/prey metaphor as commentary about the duality of fate rather than intense combat (for which a bow and arrow would probably be insufficient). This song is Taylor trying to reconcile the certainty of her future with distress about the unknown consequences of present-time decisions.

(Note that this first chorus is where the bass drum beat starts. It represents anxiety about the future. The first part of the song is exposition. The drum only comes in when she starts worrying about the “what ifs.”)

——

Dark side, I search for your dark side

But what if I’m alright, right, right, right here?

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face

Then I hate my reflection for years and years

——

Nobody Joe Schmoe has no obvious reason to hate Taylor for anything that she just said. But Taylor knows what comes next in the story. She’s anxious about Joe Schmoe’s reaction to what she’s about to say.

Taylor admits to doing self-destructive things. Because of the context she provided at the beginning of the song, I believe this is a reference to staying closeted. The “reflection” could be the literal reflection of her now-noseless face. Hating it is pure personal regret for self-destructive actions. The “reflection” could also be the mirror which her fans/the public hold up to her. Her self-destructive choices manifest in others’ toxicity. Hating what they’ve become starts with hating the ways she enables that behavior. (It’s really both “reflections.” The duality of man, yadda, yadda, yadda…)

More important than blaming herself for any (*cough*) past decisions, she articulates the pain of being in the closet in two simple lines. Burying a significant part of yourself by hiding behind a carefully constructed lie is exhausting. It’s sad. It also provides protection and safety and it’s unfortunately all too common. Cruelty wins in the movies, thus people are cruel to themselves.

——

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost

The room is on fire, invisible smoke

And all of my heroes die all alone

Help me hold onto you

——

I think people consistently underestimate just how morbid “The Archer” is. Taylor reveals that her prophetic future is death—specifically, becoming a ghost, thus leaving an imperceptible trace of herself. She already feels suffocated by that possibility. Her suffering is invisible. She might just be left to die a slow, agonizing death via asphyxiation. Worse yet, what happens afterwards? Asphyxiation from invisible smoke would make it seem like she just dropped dead of her own accord. Or if the smoke somehow became visible….well, if you could see a ghost in the first place, a smoke-filled room would make that impossible. The implications are staggering and they’re all sad.

Few, if any, of Taylor’s heroes have literally died alone. I’m going to go out on a short limb here and say that Taylor probably sees parts of herself in her heroes. Therefore, the “heroes” in a song supposedly about the dilemma of coming out are other famous people who were/still are closeted. Taylor identifies herself as a potential role model for the younger generation like her heroes are for her. Her heroes’ lonely metaphorical deaths are exactly what she fears. Dying alone is being in the closet indefinitely. It’s being misunderstood and not having any way to rectify that situation. Perhaps this song is about the mortifying ordeal of remaining unknown.

As evidenced by the invisible smoke in the room, she thinks her metaphorical death is certain and imminent. The “help me hold onto you” is now “help me,” but in a very unchill way.

——

‘Cause they see right through me

Can you see right through me

I see right through me

——

As a reminder, “they” = random people in the public and “you” = nice, ordinary Joe Schmoe whom she wishes could understand her predicament. Being see-through is being seen without substance. Therefore, what the bridge is not saying is “don’t you see how obvious it is, isn’t it wild that people don’t pick up on me and/or my lover being loud in public?” It is saying “I am literally a ghost to ‘them’ because ‘they’ look at me and don’t see any of this pain, I’m basically dead to myself too because I feel like I’m already doomed, you’re my last hope so please say you see me.” Who cares about reaping the benefits (love, adoration) from the mortifying ordeal of being known? At this point she’s pleading simply to be seen as herself. “I see right through me” is her worst fear. This is why this line breaks out of the bridge and bleeds into the surrounding choruses.

(The bridge, to me, is where it becomes clear that treating the “you” as her lover with whom she could come out does a serious disservice to the rest of the song. Her lover as “you” inverts the meaning of the bridge. This makes the story inconsistent. I appreciate the gravity of the “help me hold onto you” line if it were spoken to a secret lover. However, being seen/understood is more intimately tethered to being out as an individual than being out with another person. In my mind, it makes more sense for this attitude to be an invariant of the song.)

——

All the king’s horses, all the king’s men

Couldn’t put me together again

‘Cause all of my enemies started out friends

Help me hold onto you

——

The Humpty Dumpty rhyme is basically “anthropomorphized egg sits on top of a high wall, anthropomorphized egg falls off the wall and shatters irreparably.” Taylor as Humpty Dumpty makes the wall she’s on top of the pedestal of fame/success. She’s saying that coming out would topple her from her pedestal. Her image as a woman who became famous for writing heterosexual love songs is as fragile as an eggshell. When it breaks, what is left behind?

“All the king’s horses, all the king’s men” might be a reference to her fans whom she once considered as friends but whom can also be incredibly toxic. I read it as a catch-all for anyone who isn’t Taylor. The key of this verse is her musing on why an eggshell can’t be repaired. It’s not for lack of manpower. It’s that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—everyone, literally—are enemies and don’t want to reconstruct Humpty Dumpty. They simply don’t believe Humpty’s death is so tragic that they would spend effort to change his fate.

Taylor fears that darling Joe Schmoe, a friend to whom she is addressing this story, could become an enemy by conscious choice. She can give Joe Schmoe the truth and plead to be seen, but Joe Schmoe can still choose to see right through her anyways. It’s terribly frightening to be honest yet have that vulnerability go unacknowledged. Taylor coming out is her facing the prospect of instant confirmation that good people do not care. She could die a ghost despite efforts to be visible.

——

Who could stay?

You could stay

Combat, I’m ready for combat

——

Coming out is a choice but being gay is not—it is fate. She has no control over how others react to that. Taylor slowly acknowledges throughout the song that her future isn’t in her hands. She ultimately shifts away from the prophet/victim binary by reiterating that she’s sure of herself and that whatever happens, she’s not going down without a fight.

Lover the album isn’t just about romantic love. This song is not construing an inherently unequal and sometimes toxic relationship with fans/the public as love. “The Archer” romanticizes the possibility of someone reacting to honesty with kindness and understanding. Love is being seen.

[gukptune]

— phase one, the reap (m.)

Pairing: jungkook x reader

Genre: hungergames!au, hungergames!bts, tribute!jk, career tribute!reader

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of death, brutality, murder, all things hunger games, very mean/ very cold y/n, angst, smut

Summary: twenty five years after the fall of the second rebellion comes the fourth quarter quell. two different people from two different worlds stand out like sore thumbs within the pool of tributes―catching the eyes of others, sponsors and most importantly...each-other.

Words: 3.4k+

Note: a shorty for the first part of the series!!!! super excited for this and I hope you all like it toooo!

SERIES INDEX: one last breath

       — phase one: the reap

SERIES MASTERLIST

The dreadful day has come again, the day that many feared, despised, suffered from—the reap, the games.

Your district, a powerful one, important to the Capitol, stood with the president even to your dismay. Again comes the grim day, the skies had turned a dark gray, even nature was unhappy.

It was visible to you, outside your home the tides roared with anger and hatred for the reap, you could hear the planes and jets ripping the sky open forewarning to you to ready.

Your mother had knew the day would come, the day that you’d step ahead and join the games. Your whole life was built on this, this game. Your mother hadn’t cared much for the chance of her child’s death, of course she didn’t, you were her eldest of four. Your father had died during the games before you were born, your mother had remarried and birthed more children for her pathetic husband. 

The two of them agreed that to better the finances of their family that you should enter the career training and provide for them when you’d win the games, if you would.It was good for them, apparently, truly it was one less mouth to feed even if your district was drowned with food. They didn’t want to bother with you, mother must’ve hated you—she loved the others and would never want them to join the games. Maybe it was because you reminded her of father so much, she was angry that he left her, yet here she was forcing you away.

You were never home anymore, when you were five you were sent to the career camp, living your life training with your fellow future tributes—with the occasional visit from your family, mother and her husband standing by the gates as your kind siblings would embrace you with their love.

But today was different, you were home, readying up for the reap—for the quarter quell.You were uneasy, feeling tense, what could the twist be this time—which twist will be chosen from the glass of many.

Without a word spoken you got on your stupid dress and forwarded towards the courtyard, all the children settled in their spots as well as you. Your younger brother had reached the age of reap and he stood with the boys, looking over at you worry in his eyes. He was worried, why, there was no reason to be, many careers lurked amongst the crowd and never had a child in your district be chosen by force.

The Capitol’s representative had made her way up the stage, looking over the crowd with an obnoxious grin, “Welcome, welcome.”

You could already sense the annoyance she had caused amongst the crowd, people kicking at the pebbles by their feet or rolling their eyes. All you could think was: Uh, get to the point.

“I welcome you all to the reap of the Annual Hunger Games! This year is a little different, as you all may know this year marks the hundredth year since the fall of the Rebels, which means that this year is our fourth Quarter Quell!” Her high pitched voice scratches your ear drums with such pain that makes you wince.

She continues after she pauses for you to take in what she had said, “You all look very young, must’ve missed the last Quarter Quell. During a Quarter Quell the President shall pick a twist that changes up the reap, exciting isn’t it!”

With that you see the screen behind her light up with the Capitol’s anthem. You shifted your weight, kicking out your legs from standing for this long.

“Now let’s listen as our President joins us.”

The music plays for a few seconds before you could see the face of your relatively new president. President Snow, which is Coriolanus Snow’s son who was born just before his father’s death. Many could say the previous President was cruel, his son was no different.

“Thank you, thank you all.” You could hear the cheering through the speakers, which means that the President had an audience of very excited citizens of the Capitol, lucky them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! This is the hundredth year of the Hunger Games.” The man spoke as with such pride and excitement, the type of pride and excitement that was only felt in the Capitol.

Other districts alike yourself, apart of the alliance has benefits. You didn’t hate the Capitol but you wouldn’t help but dislike the delusional retards that live there. Little do they know they’re easily played by the President.

“It was written in the charter of the games that every twenty five years there would be a quarter quell, to keep fresh for each new generation—the memory of those who died and the uprisings against the Capitol,” he spoke with such authority and venom laced in his tongue as he spoke about the rebels, “Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of a special significance and now on the hundredth Anniversary of the defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the fourth Quarter Quell—”

Cheers, claps and joy from the audience was loud and clear. A large glass sphere was brought out with what seemed like hundreds of folded parchment, all written with different twists made by the game-makers.

The President reached his hand into the sphere, his hand all the way to the bottom. He grins as he pulls his hand out with a choice in it. He waves the paper around as the crowd roared with excitement, you were excited to, twists are always a new change to the games.

You’ve watched nearly all the previous games, most being exciting. It was normal for the other Careers to not fear the games too, your whole life trained for the games. The only thing you worried about were the other tributes but when you watched the games, the Career pack managed to outwit each other instead of out-power, and you’d say you’ve got a lot of wits.

The President opened the paper, and began to read out the writing, “—as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this—the fourth Quarter Quell game, the male and female tributes are to be reaped—only through volunteering.”

The crowd grew silent within an instant, you could sense the air shifting as the children lessened with worry. An Career district were cheering inside, it was easy, the most capably at the time would volunteer and you knew this year it would be you. 

Yet, at the back of your mind you wondered how the other districts would do, how they would every come to a conclusion, maybe there wouldn’t even be a choice. God, who would ever volunteer to die.

“But of course, I wouldn’t imagine many of you would think of volunteering but you must—or the game would not happen, and without a game how would we remind the rebels that due to their ways their children must suffer their consequences—suffer the consequences of the actions of which their foolish, grandparents and parents did,” there wasn’t a cheer after this, the crowd seemed shocked to say the least, “Without a volunteer of a male and female tribute from each District, the District shall be punished—punished by the hour, with each hour the punishment getting worse until someone breaks and does the right thing. I’d hope we wouldn’t have to come to that, happy reaping, and may the odds be every in your favour.”

As the screen shuts off, you could hear the clapping, no cheering. The smug face on the President could possibly anger so many that feared losing their child or their own lives but not here, here it was easier, but still who in their right mind would want to jump into death—not even you, but what were you going to do, the right thing.

As the representative stepped back into the centre of the stage you could see her give the crowd a nervous smile, “Well, then. We’re going to need a male and female tribute from District four, let’s take a female volunteer first shall we?”

You blankly stared back at the woman, who waved her hand about as if welcoming whoever would step out, of course that person would be you. It was agreed upon before the Reap began, since forever really. You’d have a time frame of which you may have to volunteer as tribute, this year just so happened that your mentor decided you were ready.

The ground crunched loudly through the silence, as the woman’s face lit up as you stepped out of the crowd, “I volunteer.”

“Ah! There she is, come bring her up.”

The guards shining in white escorted you up without another word, it was the usual. Nothing new around your district during the reap, it was an illegal practice for careers to exist but of course, having connections to the Capitol allowed anything to get by.

“What a beautiful girl, what’s your name dear?” The woman eased you towards the microphone as you got up the stairs.

“Y/n.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” The crowd clapped, as the woman took you away from the microphone to announce the boys.

You were pretty sure who’d be your partner, it was agreed.

“Now for the boys, I’d like—”

“I volunteer!” The crowd ripped their head around to the boy who interrupted.

Are you fucking kidding. He’s—this wasn’t his year, what was he doing. Your chosen district partner was shocked, he looked around for our mentor who didn’t say a word at all, he only looked at the boy making his way up the stage with a grin on his face.

“Oh, of course, come then let’s introduce you.”

As the boy took his stance up close to the microphone you were confused to say the least, “I’m Kim Taehyung.”

“Cute name for a cute boy,” she compliments again, ushering you over to stand next to him.

Which you did as you kept looking over, wondering what was going through the damn boy’s head. He stood there proud for some reason, smiling ear to ear like a freak.

“There we have it, our tributes for the hundredth Hunger Games, good luck within the Quarter Quell children—there are always twists in the game, may the odds be ever in your favour.”

The crowd repeated her last line as it repeated in your head like an ominous hymn.

Within the victor’s camp you two marched towards the main building for your mentor, ready to leave for the Capitol in an hour.

Blasting the door open you ran towards your mentor, screaming your ears off, “Why did he volunteer? He wasn’t suppose to volunteer this year!”

The victor of the eighty-second Hunger Games, Min Yoongi of District Four places his drink down on the table with a blank expression, “I don’t know, y/n, he just did it.”

“Why did you do it?” This time you directed the question to him, Taehyung.

The boy looked over at Yoongi before he looks back at you, shrugging, “I wanted to be in the Quarter Quell, nothings wrong with that.”

He sat himself down, rolling his shoulders out, you couldn’t believe it. How were you suppose to win the games with a twat like him, who’s so overly narcissistic and self centred—the boy who refused to pick a female partner to train with and trained all by himself. A selfish prick.

“He’s going to get me killed.” You pointed at him.

Yoongi sighs, getting up of his seat, he places his hands on your shoulder looking into your eyes, “We both know, you’re best fit to win the game. He’s not a worry for you, he won’t pull you down, he’s good on his own. He’s fast, light and will hide well, you on the other hand—you can take people down and that’s what you’re going to do, that’s what your whole life worked towards—killing everyone in the game.”

“We have no worries for most districts. You have the Career pact, use your charm, your wits, y/n. Manipulate them, make them fall for you, them and the people of the Capitol—then rip them out from underneath. We’ll get a message of the tributes soon, mostly from the Career Districts—I’d imagine it’ll take a while for the rest to push someone into killing themselves,” Yoongi walked towards the desk as he held up a tablet, “One, Two, Four, you’ll make the boys want you—make the girls want to be you or be scared of you. The rest well, they don’t stand a chance.”

Yoongi looked tapped his fingers against the screen, awaiting the messages, yet he seemed reluctant, worried.

“But I do fear for more twists, they’d do anything to make the games interesting. Don’t let your guard down, both of you, make friends, make enemies, know who you can trust, want to trust, want to kill.”

With that Taehyung looked towards you and nodded.

“We could pretend to be lovers,” Taehyung spoke, he kicked his feet up to prop against the table in between you two as you sat quietly in the train, “Like those stupid twelves years ago, who even believed that shit.”

You chuckled, wondering the same thing, maybe he wasn’t so bad. He was realistic, at least.

“We could pretend to hate each other,” You suggested, “During the training we make alliances with different people, making them thing we’d want each other dead first and then we make them kill each other.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened, he twirled the knife in his hand stopping as he grinned, “I like that, I think we’ll get along very well.”

“I think so too.”

“You all remember what I’ve said right?” Yoongi watched as the two of you nod, “This is your first day of training, make it count.”

He stands back and he allows the two of your to enter into the training room. Littered with tributes chit chatting, training, picking on eachother. The tributes all sported the same outfit, very skin-tight athletics wear in different cuts. Some wore shorts, some wore pants, some had long sleeves, some had short sleeves. 

You opted for sleeveless, and loose pants, all in black and your arm guards that laced your fingers like gloves and ran up to your underarm, with the elbows being much more flexible. Reminiscent of swimmer’s wear, it helped you with being faster in the water keeping your body tight, though the pants were a comfort choice—it wouldn’t be legible for the games being so loose and able to get caught on things.

As you both entered you saw the rest of the tributes look at you, immediately getting into the role you glared at Taehyung as you left his side. Him seemingly growling and also going away.

Great job.

You had it set out, maybe you’d intimidate, then see who you’d like to create a pact with—even if there was an automatic alliance with the Careers you weren’t so sure you’d let them free load so easily, as you looked at the tributes sporting the numbers they looked back seemingly giving you a nod, especially the boys.

You looked away, your way towards an empty mat, getting on your bum you began to stretch out. Fully splitting and taking out all the tight spots. Your eyes were closed for the most part, trying to feel it out, then you felt some sort of presence. A weight shifted the mat and you whipped your head towards it, making the culprit bolt back.

District thirteen. A godly pathetic District in the eyes of everyone.

You were surprised to see the boy so fit, muscle in all the right places and slim in all the good places too. His doe eyes blinking as he tries to catch his breath, you looked around to see no one was getting a look at this bold thirteen getting all up in your space.

“What do you want?” You spat, glaring at him as you began to stretch your waist.

He clears his throat, pointing at your body lazily, “You’re doing it wrong.”

Your raised your eyebrow at him, stopping in your tracks.

“The way you’re stretching, it’s only going to make you more tense,” He explained, you dropped your shield, seeing that he was stepping closer.

You opted to make friends first then, “So what am I doing wrong?”

“You’re—uh, putting against the muscle, you should pull with it—” He sat down next to you, feeling the heat that came off his sweaty body, he must’ve been training for a while already, “—can I?”

He motioned towards you with his hands out, he wanted to show you how. You didn’t argue, letting the boy do what he wants. He mumbled a cute thank you, pulling you at the waist flush against him boldly.

Your breath hitched, hoping no one was seeing this. He eases you into the position he sees fit and well, it was kind of better. You couldn’t feel your muscle fighting you and instead feeling your muscle relax under his touch.

After a few minutes of this, he finished, stopping as his hands stayed put around you.

“I’m Jungkook, from District Thirteen, and you are?” He asked you.

Making you feel as if this was all a part of a plan. You turned to face the boy, your face merely a few centimetres away from his own, “An alliance you want, right?”

His face froze for a second, knowing that you already saw right through him.

“You don’t want an alliance with me, nor my district partner. If you know who I am I don’t make friends, I make a list of those I want to kill. Your mentor may think that being in my pact makes your chances better, it doesn’t you’re better off hiding until the game’s over—”

“You’re a career, of course being in your pact would make my chances better,” He interrupts, again boldly, “This may mean nothing to you, but I at least want to hope I can make it to the end—to win maybe, to go home and help my family.”

His words struck you, you completely forgot that these tributes all volunteered—every year there would be an unlucky tribute from each District that got chosen but this year, he put himself here—why would he do that if he knows he’s needed at home.

“You know how it went right? We all had to volunteer...it may have been easy for you but I didn’t want to be here...” You could see his eyes wavering, you just kept quiet listening to him, “No one volunteered at first, then they took our water, then our food, they beat our old and then they began to execute them—think of that, killing our family because we didn’t want to die.”

His ears ran freely down his face at this point, you wanted to, you really wanted to just wash them away. Somehow help him, somehow just give him hope—but it was the Hunger Games, people win or they die, it was just the truth.

Before you could usher another word, those previous Career boys came up to you guys, snickering and laughing, “Look at that, a twelve trying to get a four on his side, how sad, did it work?”

District one, Jung Hoseok, a man of such a vile tongue and cocky attitude, you looked between the two, choosing a side. You shrugged, getting up and pushing Jungkook’s hand away from you, “Not really.”

You made your way towards Hoseok, who smirked with his arms out to embrace you. You pushed your back against his front as he wrapped his hand around your waist, his head leaning against your shoulder, “Did you feel bad, about it, about how they killed all those wastes of space.”

“No—they deserved it, why would you rebel against the Capitol. They died because they made mistakes, I wish they would’ve killed more of you, pity they’d have to waste such a potential like you to sacrifice himself for those old pieces of shit’s mistakes.” Your vile tongue slipped out, knowing that it would hurt him but you needed to make Hoseok know, he can trust you.

“No one forced me, I—”

“They did though, because if you didn’t volunteer, I bet no one else would and you’d feel bad for letting people die. At least you had honour, I watched your reap, you’re the only brave one—even your bitch of a district partner had to be dragged up the stage and forced to join before more casualties could occur, pathetic.”

You didn’t stay to see him respond. Hearing the laughter that came out of Hoseok’s lips was enough to take your mind of the damn Thirteen. You can’t be having your heart pick your allies during a game like this, no.

© archangegguk, 28 may 2019