#Sees forgiveness as a virtue and a necessity

[radley-writes]

Unpopular opinion time: a 'forgiving abusers' storyline isn't automatically bad.

I say this as someone with Trauma Credentials and as someone with a debut coming out soon which very much celebrates NOT forgiving your abusers.

You can write a story about a character choosing to forgive someone who was abusive but has since put in the time and effort to improve themselves, without making it seem like this is always the 'right' thing to do. Without implying that anyone who doesn't forgive their abusers is wrong. Without implying that abusers in any way deserve forgiveness and reconciliation if they become better people.

The problem is not inherent to the idea of an abusive person being redeemed and forgiven. It's with how that arc is portrayed, and with ensuring that the victim is always centred and that their comfort and choice is prioritised.

If you write a survivor-centric narrative that shows genuine change and contrition from their abuser - and recognition from the abuser that they are not owed jack shit - you can have the survivor react however they please with full autonomy. Whether that is walking away and telling their abuser to never contact them again, or establishing clear boundaries and letting them back into their life.

People do genuinely forgive people who have abused them irl, and they are not saints for doing so. But they're not gullible fools asking to be hurt again either. They're not 'bad representation' of survivors.

Forgiveness and the lack of forgiveness are both equally without moral value. They are a personal choice that each survivor can make individually, whether in fiction or irl. What matters is that this choice is their own, that it is informed, and that they are empowered to decide how much they want the person who abused them to be in their life.

[shalotttower]

Yandere!Joseph Seed Headcanons

Type: General Headcanons Characters: Joseph Seed x Reader (afab) Word count: 700+ Notes: Manipulation, coercion, isolation, captivity, emotional abuse, forced proximity, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamics, brief mention of suicide possibility, implied possibility of pregnancy.

- Joseph is calm, patient, and calculating with you. He won't rush into things or make impulsive decisions. As someone who is skilled at manipulation, he understands the necessity of waiting (and patience is a virtue). He is persistent and determined, but in a very quiet and measured way, like a rock steadily going down the hill.

- Joseph sees you as his ultimate test of faith and a reward shall he pass it. The Voice told him, he saw it in his dreams, every little sign points to you being the one he was meant to find. And once Joseph decides on something, he won't change his mind. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try to run or hide, Joseph will find you and bring you home.

- He wins your affection through misplaced empathy, touch (because there's no shame in closeness), and by simply being there whenever you need it - even if sometimes you wish he wasn't.

- Joseph views your reluctance as the result of Pride speaking in you and a part of his own trial. And trials exist to be overcome.

- Joseph knows people. He can read them, hopes and fears, weaknesses and strengths, virtues and vices, what they love and hate. He utilizes it with you, observes your habits and behavioral patterns. Joseph doesn't force - he nudges and encourages, planting the seeds and hints in your head and letting them grow; he manipulates you by making you come to desired conclusions on your own.

- If you're stubborn, Joseph will deprive you of sleep, but in a way that seems natural (there's suddenly a lot of work he needs your help with or he keeps you awake longer and wakes you up earlier, because this and that). He will increase the time of his lectures or restrict access to certain areas until you waver. The book you're reading will disappear and he has no idea where it is, etc.

- However, don't think Joseph is passive. Yes, he prefers a gentler approach with you, but understands the necessity of harsher methods too. Even God has to punish his children, after all, and it's always for their sake. If you push him too much (and it takes a lot to achieve that), he will "teach you humility" and his methods are often connected to the feeling of shame. He may restrain you and make you ask for basic needs like food, toilet or water; lock you up in an empty room without sustenance for a few days and sit by your door, reading the Bible aloud; wash you/feed you himself, denying you autonomy. If looks is something you value about yourself, he might cut your hair short. Making you watch as he burns something you cherish is also not off the table. He will not beat you, but if having your buttocks smacked will get the point across and make you feel ashamed, then Joseph will do it.

- Hurting you, however, doesn't give him pleasure and he will later spend the hours in prayer asking God for forgiveness for his temper, even if that was necessary. He won't be apologetic towards you, but later when you've both calmed down he will console you and provide whatever comfort you need: a hug, a touch (which feels increasingly familiar), stroking your hair and telling you a biblical story as an analogy for your behavior.

- It's Joseph's responsibility to protect you from yourself and guide you on the right path, because you're lost and confused in his mind. There's only one truth - Eden's Gate - and he will do his best to save your soul before it's too late.

- If it's the Bunker, you're sharing a bed, period. Joseph isn't letting you out of his sight and will be sleeping next to you. He can't risk you offing yourself and leaving him alone.

- If it's somewhere else, like the compound or wherever he keeps you, you will have your own room if he trusts you enough. Your room will have its own bathroom and Joseph won't be intruding, unless you give him a reason to. He'll grant you permission to move freely within the compound, but two faithful will always follow behind.

- Joseph doesn't force himself on you, though he'll take any opportunity to initiate physical contact. Taking your hands in his, kissing your forehead, loosely putting an arm around your waist. He watches how you react, whether you're leaning in or pulling away. If the latter is the case, he'll be more subtle, but won't stop.

- Joseph wants a family with you. A future together after the Collapse.

[shorthaltsjester]

taliesin and laura remain truly so fantastic at making characters who… don’t necessarily have something extremely and inherently in common but do have experiences that were caused by similar sources and that lead them to have quite different opinions/ideas about things but in ways that are typically very reconcilable? which is a lot of qualifiers but it’s a through line of vex/percy with nobility, jester & cad with loneliness (and also god stuff but in a different post maybe someday i’ll talk about how actually their god stuff is intensely related to their different experiences of loneliness), and now imogen & ashton with being left behind.

like vex was this character who technically had a claim to nobility due to her blood but at the same time was burdened because of that same claim. and percy who was born into and raised by nobility but that nobility ended up making his family the targets of a massacre. and then vex who lets down her walls and Do I Look Like I Come From Money? and percy giving her the title grand mistress of the grey hunt because it has nothing to do with blood, or his love for her, or anything aside from the fact that it’s something she can prove herself worthy of simply by virtue of who she Is, not who someone makes her. and percy and vex’s conversation about forgiveness and it’s necessity for growth as probably two of the characters most inclined to hold grudges.

and caduceus clay who gets left behind with nothing but his Belief while his family goes off into the world. and jester lavorre who gets shut inside with no company except her Belief as her mother protects her from the world. and they both get the burden of loneliness and the understanding of love’s nonmalicious imperfection. and caduceus having a panic attack on a ship and jester telling him that the world is a lot bigger than his cemetery and that means he has to break out of his comfort zone to find his path. and caduceus telling jester that he doesn’t think she gets as much credit as she ought to and she deserves more pastries. and jester thanking caduceus for showing her how cool it is to actually heal people and caduceus asking if she wants to use his shield while he doesn’t need it.

and ashton who was left broken and dying on the ground and was given inescapable pain as their means of survival. and imogen who was left behind by the only person who could provide true understanding of the pain she’d one day come to feel. and ashton who’s a barbarian, who wields their rage casually and unapologetically and who sees the Shittiness of the world but is unrelenting in his version of optimism. and imogen who is weighed down by pessimism she doesn’t Want to have but hasn’t cracked how to undo and who doesn’t admit her anger until it comes up again and again and again and carries it like a burden or like guilt, who we only see really Grasp and feel Confidence about her anger being something good in front of others when she has those conversations with ashton. and like. ashton who looks at imogen and sees a superhero. imogen venturing through ashton’s mind and holding his bleeding and exhausted head and saying i’m sorry. i’m sorry. and imogen who looks at ashton and sees someone special. and fucking “we got him killed.” and “no, we didn’t. don’t you dare. […] we are not what fucking killed that man. […] we are his eventual victory. we are his fucking revenge.” and “i’ll be his revenge.” and “i have no fucking doubt.”

and in general rp wise they both tend to make some of my favourite characters (also typically the ones i find most frustrating) because they both tend to make flaws that are easy to hate and they make those flaws very central to their characters but i think that’s also what makes their character interactions so deeply compelling because so frequently it’s like. yes yes these two characters have like. a helix of things they have in common but also things they deeply disagree on but they’re going to spider-man point at the things that are the same and they’re going to honour their differences while doing so. and it’s just. i always enjoy it so much and i was psyched when i heard about an imogen and ashton side pit stop in last nights episode and i was not let down when i watched the episode today.

[blakebow]

For me, what bugs me about the tragedy of Arkos, the darkness of rwby, and Bumbleby over BlackSun is the Self-Righteous Martyr/God-Complex of toxic contingent within these fandoms, to me they seem to ultimately not care the message these stories are trying to convey, but rather enjoy them and flaunt them for their own self-righteous megalomania

With the deaths of Pyrrha, and Penny respectively.

As soon as that happened, many among the fandom would come out and theatrically proclaim the necessity of these tragic deaths, how it is so realistic an shows “thats life”, and brag how ultimately hopeful the stories still are and how it taught them how to be oh-so hopeful despite the odds.

In any these cases, these people act as if they themselves were righteous martyrs, prophets of God,Life,Reality, usually the latter two because they claim "that's life" or "that's reality" all in a tone that reeks of holier-than-thou arrogance and vanity

Same with the Wasps over Bumbleby because “BEST SAPPHIC REPRESENTATION EVAR!!!” and taunting BlackSun fans for being “heteronormative”

They’re like Claude Frollo in a sense

"Of my virtue, I am justly proud..."

Or worse, they speak with ghoulish glee and bragging about it gives them a feeling of power over these fictional characters as if they themselves are God almighty and it bleeds into how they treat real people who didn't like it by passive aggressively or belligerently belittling, judging, shaming, gaslighting, and sneering at them, implying the worse reasons of their distaste, and tell them to go watch a sitcom or slice-of-life anime or something

Then they brag about what story was told with these ideas and concepts to be the end-all-be-all of these concepts in any fantasy/sci-fi epics that have even the slightest tinge of darkness and conflict and Representation and, lock them down into little theories, formulas, dogmas, and rule out everything else as a corruption, heresy, or a worthless little parasite, because they themselves are the infallible, all-knowing, and all-seeing “literary experts” who got everything all figured out and everyone else, wether the majority or minority, as peon reprobates.

Forgive my Catholicism talking, but it reminds me of the Pharisees

“They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”-Matthew 23:4

These self righteous people seem to only enjoy these stories not because of the message the tragedy and suffering is trying to convey, thats just a shield for them, but rather for their moral superiority and the thrill of power over others and being the measure of all things, for they know how life exactly works for specific individuals in specific genres and they know how to carry it out exactly.

Or with Bumbleby, how they are righteous champions of queer culture against eeeeevilllll heteronormative culture which reeks of resentiment

And that's why I am so irritable about Tragedy in these kinds of stories, it feels like they are no longer enjoyed out of humility, compassion, truth, goodness, and beauty.

But rather out of pride, vanity, power, cruelty, and moral superiority

While Bumbleby over BlackSun and the whole Adam fight enrages me because it feels like some sick power fantasy of LGBTQ+ Revenge against “Heterosexuality” while Sun is supposed to be kind of humble cuck

and sometimes it tempts me want to write my rwby au fanfic and original stuff inspired by it in a way that gives them all the finger rather than for what I saw these ideas and concepts could have been, just so I can give them a taste of their own medicine

I know that's wrong, but these people test my patience, especially when they keep invading other people's spaces, bypass other people's "curations" because "there's nothing subjective about this, I need to correct and educate you", and getting away with this kind of nasty behavior

you totally lost me on all the religious stuff, i don't subscribe to that by-weekly at all, fam.

on that note though, i do agree for the most part with the idea that the wasps have taken advantage of the canonization of bees to appoint themselves to some kind of sainthood, like they're holier-than-though over the rest of the fandom. and frankly, i can't stand those insufferable type of people.

they over project themselves onto terrible ships and even though people tell them how toxic and dysfunctional it is, it goes in one ear and out the other. they don't listen. they live in a detached bubble in a separate reality.

sad to say, that's not the first time that i've encountered fans like this in a fandom. some people really should be on a no fly list because they're clearly mentally unstable and a danger to others, but i don't get to make that call, unfortunately...

i want someone from crwby to come out and tell them that bees was never planned, because i think it would utterly shatter their delusional reality if they felt so betrayed by the hand that fed them. they should be soundly slapped several dozen times until they lose all coherrence.

[arcstral]

—  Fire Emblem: Engage, The Emblem Marth Retrospective.  —

Marth in FE: Engage plays a fascinating supporting role.

He has a dynamic presence on the boxart though he’s not a character native to this installment; enlarged and immediately able to be seen on the left where the eyes tend to be first attracted. His title 'Emblem of Beginnings' implicates his role as the first emblem to be summoned on Elyos. He serves as the spokesman for the emblem family in a lot of cases, and provides worldly exposition for the ancient artifacts and plot detail uprisings.

If you acknowledge his role as a witness to every phase of Alear's life from beginning to end- the parts we see in game to the invisible sections we don't see a thousand years before- he suddenly becomes larger than life. The figure that has been with Alear longer than even Lumera. Someone who has seen everything there is to see about our protagonist, to an extent where if an omniscient narrator was ever needed to narrate the events of the game, the only qualified individual by necessity would have to be the ‘Emblem Marth’.

With that that said, I was initially willing to go into Engage thinking of its Marth as an offhand spinoff version. No different from the inconsequential single-beat portrayals of Smash or even Warriors. But this idea is wrong. Engage surprised me by putting a very human, very special Marth into my hands. An echo of the original Hero-King, Emblem Marth recognizes that he is only an emblem from the very first beat of his first appearance, and yet he's unaware of how faithful of a homage he is to the individual he's extracted from.

How much he takes the foundation and honors it elsewhere.

The Emblem Marth as set apart from simply Marth is a purely loyal existence from humble beginnings to bitter end. A millennial being who answers Alear’s call for aid at every cost and asks for nothing in return but to be remembered. His duty to protect this world is equal to his desire to be at Alear’s side. It's that enduring spirit of nobility, loyalty, and devotion to his friends, even forgiveness, that places him on par with his original.

It’s the adversities that best place these traits on show.

Chapter 10 happens and brings the sky crashing down. Suffering on that course, as the last and latest emblem ring to be reclaimed from enemy hands- utterly miserable to be torn apart from Alear and company as Veyle aptly put it- still he serves to provide nothing but love and forgiveness for Alear on their long awaited reunion. The fact that chapter 10's devastation happened at all despite the counsel he’s spared. His even greater forgiveness of Veyle is extended in the aftermath, a compassionate empathy toward her circumstances that reflects the kind he shows for others in his time- his enemies. Hardin and Katarina. Camus and Michalis.

When Veyle returns the ring of the Hero-King to Alear in Chapter 22, she observes that “it was lying by your side, as if it wanted to be with you”, and to me this statement was the most touching. Marth no matter the circumstance will never, ever leave Alear behind if he can help it. But that situation, and that tragic day, arrives. And his reception to the cold fact is graceful.

Accepting his death without complaint, he quells Alear's fears with the reiterated admission of duty, no longer to Altea or to Archanea, but to Elyos. The Emblems exist to protect this world and in that call to existence is a reason worth dying for. His cessation means nothing, Marth nobly says. 'I am of no consequence' he remarks to Velyle tangentially in his paralogue when she laments at the idea of fighting him, with words that resemble humility but in actuality prioritizes the things that he sees as truly important--others.

Duty is the overpowering virtue of Marth’s character. Whereas the original Hero-King cites himself a prince before a son or a brother, this one would call himself an Emblem above all else. That sense of duty to a world not his own even manifests in many different ways. From that unique perspective of both an emblem and a king comes his wisdom, the utmost belief that a world placed in Alear’s hands will know peace and prosperity, that it would be a beautiful place.

This interaction speaks of the telling final thoughts that the Emblem Marth possesses in the last chapter of his life; a dutiful onus to realize a successor to the emblems’ legacy, someone to watch over the lands they have protected for eons. To pick up the torch in their stead. This desire is coupled with his love and peace of mind. He is proud of Alear’s growth, has seen it himself over the course of a thousand years and then some. Of all Marth’s fond observations for the Divine One, such words might be the highest level of his praise.

Such words reflect the caliber of a noble and positive existence who is aware of his bitter end and smells only the flowers. An everbright future with or without the emblems.

When the Pact Ring paralogue finally rolls around, we begin with Marth’s explication about the origins of the ring which even Vander does not know. Detailing Lumera’s mysterious history as its previous owner, and the familiarity of the local surroundings to him, it ends with his sound advice that Alear think carefully on which ally to give it. He is more than aware of the special meaning of this ring and how it will strengthen the bonds between two people.

That knowledge conjoined with his long history as Alear’s partner and a Lythos emblem posits an important side to the conversation:

He is consistently a voice of wisdom yet this example is special; it is in the late Queen Lumera’s place that Marth acts, informing her child about the ring most conducive to their happiness, second only in importance to the emblems and the birthday ring staving off Alear’s corruption. Marth, as always, is watching over the Divine One, nudging them toward their own betterment. Once a long-standing guardian to Alear’s slumber, he watches over them in the innocent and unassuming manner of this guidance as well.

Ultimately, by the game’s ending I thought very deeply about what endeared me so much to this Marth. Why I mourned so much at his loss as a 'phony' version of the original and I think I can finally put it into words. It’s about how much he exemplifies the loyal Hachiko paradigm but ten times magnified. Waiting and watching at the side of his sleeping 'owner' for a thousand years, never failing to sally to Alear's side, and even when corrupted by the fell dragon incantation- even when unable to verbalize or express any component of free will- he's able to muster the scantest smile for Alear in their darkest hour.

Marth is the emblematic mascot who goes through a dozen different redesigns and cameos in the most offshoot games- the most of any existing FE protagonist in both aspects, all differing in appearance from one another in various degrees. In terms of those many portrayals that define Marth, FE17 is nevertheless set apart in this regard by its depth. Showing more than anything that a Marth of a vastly different premise and belonging to an alienated universe is still, well, Marth.

Someone who is dutiful to extremes and deeply appreciative of his bonds, unfailingly kind. Someone who has 'always been kind' as Alear puts it.

Marth's words that Sombron's Emblem will never come back to him again is mirrored for himself. He, too, will never return, and what’s left in the wake of this knowledge is a unique iteration worth mourning. Engage teaches me nothing new about Marth but it does tell me one thing. The hero known as 'Marth' is as much a character as well as the allegoric ideal that puts greater duty and lordly goodness on the table.

Marth is Marth says Engage and that will always be an immutable worldly comfort.

[ceekbee]

FRIENDSHIP

is a mirror to presence and a testament to forgiveness. Friendship not only helps us to see ourselves through another’s eyes, but can be sustained over the years only with someone who has repeatedly forgiven us for our trespasses as we must find it in ourselves to forgive them in turn.

A friend knows our difficulties and shadows and remains in sight, a companion to our vulnerabilities more than our triumphs, when we are under the strange illusion we do not need them. An undercurrent of real friendship is a blessing exactly because its elemental form is rediscovered again and again through understanding and mercy. All friendships of any length are based on a continued, mutual forgiveness. Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

In the course of the years a close friendship will always reveal the shadow in the other as much as ourselves, to remain friends we must know the other and their difficulties and even their sins and encourage the best in them, not through critique but through addressing the better part of them, the leading creative edge of their incarnation, thus subtly discouraging what makes them smaller, less generous, less of themselves.

Friendship is the great hidden transmuter of all relationship: it can transform a troubled marriage, make honorable a professional rivalry, make sense of heartbreak and unrequited love and become the newly discovered ground for a mature parent-child relationship.

The dynamic of friendship is almost always underestimated as a constant force in human life: a diminishing circle of friends is the first terrible diagnostic of a life in deep trouble: of overwork, of too much emphasis on a professional identity of forgetting who will be there when our armored personalities run into the inevitable natural disasters and vulnerabilities found in even the most ordinary existence…

Friendship transcends disappearance: an enduring friendship goes on after death, the exchange only transmuted by absence, the relationship advancing and maturing in a silent internal conversational way even after one half of the bond has passed on.

But no matter the medicinal virtues of being a true friend or sustaining a long close relationship with another, the ultimate touchstone of friendship is not improvement, neither of the self nor of the other, the ultimate touchstone is witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another, to have walked with them and to have believed in them, and sometimes just to have accompanied them for however brief a span, on a journey impossible to accomplish alone.

...

‘FRIENDSHIP’ From

CONSOLATIONS:

The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning

of Everyday Words. © David Whyte:

Many Rivers Press REVISED EDITION 2020

…

Talking All Day.

Photo © David Whyte

The River Cong. Co Mayo. Ireland

The celebrations marking the return of the light and the possibility of new birth at this momentous time of the year brings their close parallel, friendship to mind and the closeness of the lives of our friends, no matter their geographical or emotional distance from us. We think of our friends at this time of year and at the beginning of a new year because every friendship is a testament to the possibility of new beginnings and new adventures shared physically or at a distance. Above all, the sense of having been seen and continuing to be seen, no matter if it is from far away, a witness no only to our flowering and our successes but our disappearances and our griefs. Friendship is the conversation between our intuitions of the joyous eternal and the necessities of being in a body and a life and the pain of a life that needs another to see it, to acknowledge it and most of all, to accept the hand of necessary help when needed. DW.

- David Whyte

[spiritualsoull1969]

The Spiritual Tapestry of Relationships: Navigating the Thorns to Find Fragrance

सभी रिश्ते...

              गुलाबों की तरह खुशबू नहीं देते

               कुछ ऐसे भी तो होते हैं जो .....

                    कांटे छोड़ जाते हैं

English Translation

"All relationships...

do not give the fragrance of roses.

There are some that...

leave behind thorns."

Prelude:

The poetic expression "सभी रिश्ते, गुलाबों की तरह खुशबू नहीं देते, कुछ ऐसे भी तो होते हैं जो कांटे छोड़ जाते हैं" (Not all relationships give fragrance like roses; some leave thorns behind) encapsulates the intricate nature of human connections. Unlike the idealized notion of relationships akin to fragrant roses, it acknowledges that some relationships are akin to thorns, leaving behind challenges and difficulties. In the vast landscape of spirituality, this profound concept unravels the deeper meanings embedded in relationships that traverse both joyous and challenging terrain.

The Metaphor of Roses and Thorns in Relationships:

The metaphor of roses and thorns is a timeless representation of the dual nature of relationships. While roses symbolize beauty, love, and joy, thorns represent challenges, pain, and difficulties. Spirituality embraces the idea that relationships, like the intertwining vines of a rose bush, encompass both elements.

Spiritual Perspective on Relationships:

Spirituality views relationships as mirrors reflecting the soul's journey towards self-realization. Each interaction, whether harmonious or challenging, becomes an opportunity for growth and spiritual evolution. By embracing the duality inherent in relationships, individuals embark on a transformative path.

The Illusion of Perfection in Relationships:

The expectation that all relationships should resemble fragrant roses creates an illusion of perfection. Spirituality dismantles this illusion, urging individuals to see the inherent beauty in both joy and adversity. The imperfections of relationships become the very soil in which spiritual seeds of understanding and compassion are sown.

The Fragrance of Positive Relationships:

Positive relationships, akin to fragrant roses, exude love, joy, and a sense of fulfillment. In the context of spirituality, these connections become a source of inspiration and support on the spiritual journey. They serve as reminders of the divine love that permeates all aspects of existence.

Challenges as Spiritual Catalysts:

Relationships that leave behind thorns, challenges, and difficulties are viewed through the lens of spirituality as catalysts for spiritual growth. The friction and discomfort encountered in such relationships become opportunities for self-reflection, resilience, and the development of virtues like patience and forgiveness.

Spiritual Alchemy of Transformative Relationships:

Spirituality introduces the concept of alchemy in relationships — the transformation of base elements into spiritual gold. Relationships that initially seem challenging and thorny have the potential to undergo profound transformation, transmuting adversity into spiritual wisdom and understanding.

The Karmic Tapestry of Relationships:

The concept of karma in spirituality suggests that relationships are intricately woven into the fabric of one's destiny. Every encounter, whether sweet or challenging, is considered a result of past actions. Viewing relationships through this karmic lens fosters acceptance and a deeper understanding of life's intricate design.

The Necessity of Boundaries:

Thorns in relationships often arise from the lack of boundaries. Spirituality teaches the importance of setting healthy boundaries to protect one's spiritual well-being while fostering genuine connections. Recognizing and addressing toxic dynamics becomes an integral part of the spiritual journey.

Forgiveness as a Spiritual Practice:

Thorns in relationships may embed themselves in the form of grievances and conflicts. Spirituality places a significant emphasis on forgiveness as a transformative spiritual practice. Letting go of resentment and embracing forgiveness becomes a means to release the grip of thorns and cultivate a garden of spiritual harmony.

The Role of Detachment:

Detachment is a cornerstone of spiritual teachings. It does not imply emotional disengagement but rather a healthy understanding that the essence of relationships is not bound by external circumstances. Detachment from the outcomes of relationships allows individuals to navigate the thorny paths with grace and resilience.

Cultivating Compassion for Ourselves and Others:

The awareness that not all relationships are fragrant roses invites individuals to cultivate compassion, both for themselves and others. Spirituality teaches that everyone is on their unique journey, and understanding the diverse challenges each person faces fosters empathy and compassion.

The Symbolism of the Lotus in Muddy Waters:

Spirituality often uses the symbolism of the lotus, which emerges pristine and beautiful from muddy waters, to illustrate the potential for spiritual awakening amid life's challenges. Relationships, even those with thorns, provide the fertile ground for the lotus of spiritual insight to blossom.

Learning from Nature:

Nature itself offers profound spiritual lessons. In the wilderness of relationships, individuals can draw inspiration from resilient plants that thrive in challenging environments. Just as a cactus blooms in the desert, relationships can yield beauty and wisdom even in arduous conditions.

Transcending Dualities:

The concept of roses and thorns embodies duality, a fundamental aspect of the material world. Spirituality encourages individuals to transcend dualities, recognizing that both joy and sorrow, love and pain, are interconnected facets of the human experience. This transcendence leads to a more profound understanding of relationships.

The Essence of Unconditional Love:

At the heart of spiritual teachings is the concept of unconditional love. While fragrant roses represent the joyous aspects of love, relationships with thorns challenge individuals to love unconditionally — to love despite imperfections and difficulties. Unconditional love becomes a transformative force that transcends the limitations of the human ego.

Wrap-Up:

In the intricate dance of relationships, the metaphor of roses and thorns becomes a symbolic guide on the spiritual journey. Spirituality invites individuals to embrace both fragrant and thorny aspects of connections, recognizing that each relationship contributes to the soul's evolution. By navigating the garden of relationships with mindfulness, compassion, and spiritual wisdom, individuals can find the fragrance even in the midst of thorns. The spiritual alchemy within relationships transforms challenges into opportunities, inviting individuals to unfold the petals of understanding, forgiveness, and unconditional love. Ultimately, the journey through both roses and thorns becomes a sacred pilgrimage towards the essence of the human spirit.

[anangelofheaven]

Sermon 15

It's a delightful weekend!

Before you say that every weekend is a delightful weekend when you're an angel, I would remind you that even angels weep. We do feel wrath. But it is righteous wrath, sympathetic sorrow, experienced at the behest of God.

Most of the time, you're right. Assured in our purpose, we are grateful to be instruments of the Lord. Each day I saunter into the Serpent's Tavern and swing up onto the dance pole, I praise God for giving me a life of bringing pleasure to others.

But it was especially so this weekend. The Feast of Indulgence was so splendid and pleasant, it reminded me of Romans 14:17-19:

"17 For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, 18 because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval. 19 Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification."

Put plainly, it says that though material sustenance is important, it's spiritual sustenance that really fuels our lives. That was evident at the Feast this week, as Dorothy made a special gesture to not only please the crowd, but make me feel special as well.

It's those little gestures of gratitude, generosity and praise that feed the spirit. They make us believe in ourselves. They remind us that we're on the right track and encourage us to keep forging along it. They brighten our days, which all of us, even those who spend them walking on sunshine, can use.

Yet, we often forget this kind of sustenance. We forget to feed ourselves and we forget to feed others. As essential as nourishing the spirit is, we too often lose sight of that necessity and neglect it.

This is an oft-unspoken sorrow, for two distinct reasons.

When it comes to feeding others' souls, it's a meal for them that costs nothing. Perhaps a few seconds, and no more. Sometimes, it costs humility, and sometimes, courage, but both are virtues. And if it costs forgiveness, that's all the better. Extending a kind word to others who have been your enemies is what God Himself recommends for a life lived with a lighter spirit, a happier soul.

So the next time you have a chance to say something nice, or take an interest, or lift the spirits of somebody, especially someone who you feel has wronged you, do so. It's not just a gift for them, it's going to make you feel lighter and better. God knows what He's talking about.

As for the other reason it's sad that we don't see to feeding the spirit, we can give ourselves that kind of care. We can do things that foster our sense of wonder, kindle our dreams and increase that all-important inner peace.

This might be spending time by oneself reading or meditating or gazing at the clouds. It could be doing charity work, learning about philosophical or spiritual matters, or even exercising to better oneself. For me, I often meditate, I pray, and I do tours of Pandemonium. And, as should surprise nobody who's met me, I love spending hours creating a new look for myself or the place I live.

So why don't we? Usually, we surrender to anxiety, thinking we have to do something else than care for our spirit. We race from one obligation to the next, as if we could ever be entirely done. Guess what; we can't. Man plans and God laughs.

We can only work with what the Lord sets before us, and He usually gives us mysteries. But He's also given us a soul to listen to, and minds to listen to it with. If we let ourselves be quiet, we can hear it.

I danced with my friend the other day, talked with a very nice demon, and made magic in many a garden. I know my life is blessed. I bless it all the more by sharing those blessings.

A big heart floats, my friends. A helping hand helps both ways. But we must remember to set aside time specially to feed that heart. And we must remember that helping others, through just a friendly word to friend and enemies alike, takes almost no time at all.

[yhwhrulz]

Today's Daily Encounter Monday, August 7, 2023

The Consequences of Pride

"Then if my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sins and restore their land."1

I love how President Abraham Lincoln pointed out to Americans that our pride can cause our nation to suffer:

"We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of heaven; we have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity; we have grown in numbers, wealth, and power as no other nation has ever grown. But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us."2

Every time something bad happens in our world, I've heard people use that as an excuse as to why they don't believe in God. I'm sure you've heard, "If God is good, then why do bad things happen?" But until people are willing to see the root of the problem, they will never understand. You see, it is we who stepped away from God. It is we who have disobeyed over and over. It is we who were so caught up in sin, without hope, and in desperate need of salvation. It was because of us that Jesus died on the cross. When we step out of God's protection by disobeying His Word, there are natural consequences to our disobedience.

However, instead of us realizing our fault, we allow pride to sink in and we fail to take responsibility for our part in the chaos our world is in. God's blessings are always available to His children when we choose to submit to His will and walk in obedience to His Word. As Christians, we should be the first ones falling on our knees in humility and crying out to God for forgiveness – not only for ourselves, but for our nation. When Jesus was being crucified, he asked his Father to forgive those who were crucifying him because they didn't know what they were doing (Luke 23:34). We have the certainty that Jesus will come again, so we should daily be seeking God's face, praying for our land, and asking God to use us to reach as many as possible with the gift of His Salvation.

Suggested prayer: Dear God, our world needs You. Until you come again, please use me to share the Good News with others and live in such a way that will bring honor and glory to you. Forgive me for acting in disobedience to Your Word. Restore our hearts and our land we pray. In Jesus' name, Amen.

2 Chronicles 7:14 (NLT).

A. Lincoln, Proclamation of a day of National Humiliation, Fasting and Prayer, 1863.

Today's Encounter was written by: Crystal B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

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[elsyrel]

Arcana headcanons: main 6 and which heavenly virtue are they

I saw that the devs said which of the seven deadly sins would the main 6 be (Nadia is Pride, Asra is Lust, Portia is Envy, Lucio is Gluttony, Julian is Wrath, and Muriel is Sloth if I remember correctly and MC is Greed cause they want all the LIs lmao)... but what about the seven heavenly virtues?? These are my headcanons!:

Asra - Patience The opposite of Wrath. He tries his best to be understanding and forgiving, he responds with a calm behaviour to other people’s bad reactions, and rarely we see him angry (and even in those circumstances, he never “explodes”, it’s a calm anger).

Nadia - Diligence The opposite of Sloth. She tries her best to prove herself, working hard with a very solid work ethic (tries her best in ruling Vesuvia, implanting a more fair justice system...). Careful and persistent, never gives up.

Julian -  Kindness The opposite of Envy. He is very considerate, always concerned about others wellbeing and necessities, even sacrificing himself in the process. (He could be generosity too, though... although he wants all the drama for himself, so maybe he is actually greedy, lmao)

Muriel - Temperance The opposite of Gluttony. He is moderate and self-restrained, doesn’t indulge himself in too many pleasures, excesses and luxuries (even when he can, for example in the Masquerade) and doesn’t like frivolity. 

Portia - Humility The opposite of Pride. She is humble, doesn’t consider herself better than others, doesn’t think she is more important than anyone else, and treats everyone like equals (I think that she even has a hard time cause she is just a servant and nothing else).

Lucio - Generosity The opposite of Greed. I know, I know, listen. I know he seems greedy, cause he hoards lots of luxuries... but that is actually his gluttony for pleasure. He’s really willing to  constantly share anything he has with his loved ones, he is generous with physical affection, and is constantly promising gifts.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GETOU X FEM READER

Some people have embarrassing exes, ones who are too childish, or overly controlling, or just downright way under their league. You have Getou, a mass murderer and criminal on the run. You are not coping well with that information. 

wc — 12.2k 

contains — Gojo My Favorite Deus Ex Machina Satoru, mention of kids (sorry), my blatant favoritism of Utahime and Nanami, angst with a happy ending, deviates from canon, death, violence, suicidal tendencies for a bit, grief, loss, mourning, imo most of this is happy though, i’m not joking like 50% of this is just jujutsu high shenanigans idk why the tags are like this

One of the primary purposes of education at sorcery school was to beat mercy out of it’s child soldiers. It sounded brutal, but in reality, it was an understood necessity - brutality was what kept you alive in your line of work.

That meant it was surprising when your classmate took his foot off your windpipe in the middle of sparring, having only rested it there briefly without crushing it hard enough to leave bruises. You blink up at him from your position in the dirt, winded but already preparing for another fight. That was the way sparring worked - fight until you either beat him or collapsed. At least this time, you hadn’t been paired against Gojo or Yuki. Yuki wasn’t even a student anymore, she just liked coming back to train the new generation. In your opinion, she enjoyed the fights a little too much, but no one had asked.

Getou kneels beside you and against your training, you close your eyes, only to snap them back open when you remember. It’s always better to be able to see a hit coming, even if you can’t avoid it. His hand comes towards your face. With sick humor, you think mockingly of how the bruise will at least match the black eye already blooming over your left eye, when his hand skirts past your cheek entirely and places itself on your shoulder, steadying you. 

“You need a break.” 

The first thing you learn about Getou Suguru is that he is not a typical sorcerer. Anyone else, even your mother, would have pressed you to keep going. Growth only comes from being pushed to your limits, but for some reason, Getou spares you the exhaustion and puking your guts out over the toilet from overexertion. 

Ignoring your protests about your ability to still fight (complete lies, which he’s aware of, since you’re barely able to stand), he pulls your arm over your shoulder and half carries, half walks you to the dorm. He knows which room is yours. 

“Creep,” you accuse, which isn’t really fair because he’s trying to help you out, but admittedly, it is a little weird. 

“Don’t go thinking you’re special,” he snorts. “I remember everyone’s room numbers.” 

“We’re having a rematch later,” you demand. You don’t understand why he would show you mercy, but you’re determined to make it count. He’s going to regret letting you off easy when you kick his ass. That’s just how sorcery works - empathy isn’t rewarded. 

He looks amused when he tells you that he doesn’t fight the weak. His kindness stings more than an outright insult. 

You’re surprised Getou’s succeeding so well in class when he so flagrantly ignores the most important rules of sorcery. Kindness is forgivable. Generosity isn’t, and yet Getou shows no end of it. He’s always willing to give up a snack he loves because someone else was looking at it, to brace Utahime when she trips over her skirts in a fight, to sit with Gojo when no one else can bear how annoying he is. You suppose it’s a virtue of the strong - they can afford to be empathetic without worrying what it might cost them.

In the few weeks since you first joined Jujutsu Academy, you've learned a few more truths about sorcerers, besides needing to be vicious. All sorcerers have terrible sleeping habits. They might as well be nocturnal. 

This gives you free reign of the campus, with no one to bother you, if you can get up early enough in the mornings, but Getou surprises you by also being in the kitchen when you walk in. He’s always doing that, the unexpected, ever since your very first week here. 

“Hey,” he greets you like he didn’t attempt to choke the life from you again yesterday. To be fair, he had held back, which is more than you can say for your other classmates. You wince, thinking of Yuki’s arms as strong as iron, the way one hit from her felt like it had cracked your ribs open. You’re still a little miserable at your easy defeat, and it probably shows on your face. 

He slides a piece of warm, buttered waffle dipped in syrup in your mouth before you can greet him back. Your eyebrows raise before you can control your expression. He looks amused when you say, “You can cook?” 

“Even better,” he says, bending down to check the oven. “I can bake. While we wait, can you come with me for a second? I want to show you something.” 

He takes your hand without argument - his skin is so warm, probably from the heat of the stove - and guides you out the back of the dorms. 

You walk a bit, and then he turns around, forcing you to stop or bump into him. “Do you trust me?” 

Your first instinct is to say, “Not at all.” You don’t trust anyone that’s not from your clan, and you’ve only known Getou for a few weeks, but the sudden memory of him anxiously peering over you while checking your face for injuries stops you in your tracks. If he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve done so already, and without punishment. 

Wordlessly, you nod, though you’re still cautious. He covers your eyes with his hands and directs you, “A little left, a little right, good, now straight forward.”

When his hands leave your eyes, you’re standing in a clearing, surrounded by a grove of trees. Their branches are woven together in a dome overhead, various flowers and vines clinging to their lengths, and wildflowers beneath your feet. It’s beautiful, and not something you would’ve expected from Jujutsu Academy. 

Getou looks pleased with himself. “It’s pretty, right? Yaga-sensei told me about this place. He got engaged here.” 

Pretty isn’t enough to describe it. It feels like you walked into the set of a movie. Getou laughs at your awestruck expression. 

“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, almost afraid to break the peaceful atmosphere. 

“It’s not far from the campus itself, but I think the woods are a good insulator. It’s a nice place to think, right?” He reaches his hands out to brush the trunks. With his long black hair, his white pajamas, he looks almost like he belongs there. A forest sprite, something not quite human, destined always for something beyond you. 

“Thank you for showing me this.” 

He shrugs off your gratitude, and you fall into awkward silence. Itching to break it, you cast around for anything, any topic of conversation to be interesting. He did bring you here after all. It’s an olive branch. You want to offer him something too, but instead you insult his best friend, because that’s the kind of person you are. He laughs it off, because that’s the kind of person he is. 

“I kind of wish Gojo wouldn’t find out about this. He’d hog it every day and then we’d never get this silence again.” 

He looks at you in consideration. “Okay, so don’t tell him.” 

“But he’s your best friend.” 

“My best friend, for what, two weeks? If you want me to keep this a secret, I will.” 

A moment of tense silence stretches between you two. He’s waiting for a reply, you realize. “I want you to.” 

He smiles. 

When you return, Utahime is up, and her expression is thunderous. “Which one of you left this-“ she holds up a charred, unrecognizable black lump of coal, “in the oven?” 

You and Getou realize at the same time that you’d neglected to set a timer.

Utahime taps her foot impatiently. “I’m waiting. You could’ve burned the house down!”

Out of the corner of your eye, Getou, ever responsible and kind, steps forward to take responsibility. Maybe you’re paying him back for the breakfast or the shared secret, maybe you’re just sick of him being so good all the time, but you take the burned remains from Utahime’s hands. “I did it. Sorry. I wanted Getou to accompany me on a walk and I just forgot.” 

She sighs but melts somewhat. “As long as you don’t do it again.” She perks up again at the mention of a walk. Even though you’ve both been on campus for at least a few weeks, you’ve been too busy training to really explore. “Did you at least see anything interesting?” 

You feel Getou’s eyes on your back, curious, but you refuse to turn around and meet his gaze. 

“No, not at all.” 

Shoko comes later in the year, having been exempt from the earlier classes as a non-combatant, but she’s immediately taken under Utahime’s wing, just like you are. You’re grateful that your upperclassman takes such good care of you, and a little surprised - your mother had always told you that kindness was weakness - but she’s adamant in her doting. 

“Yuki Tsukumo did it for me, and now I’ll do it for you,” she says. Yuki graduated already, but occasionally she comes back to wreak havoc, cause more of Yaga’s gray hairs, and train Gojo as the one of the few people in the world that can put up a fight for him, though perhaps not for long, at the rate he’s improving. 

It’s not just in classes though. You’ve never had friends like Shoko and Utahime, not back home, where your mother had kept you separated from the Three Great Families, and by extension, the rest of Jujutsu Society. Utahime insists on sleepovers and parties and all the things friends do, and you’re glad to indulge her. You can admit, even if it’s only to yourself, that the one that’s really being spoiled is you. 

She barely complains when you throw yourself over her on the mattress, lying across her stomach. Shoko climbs up after you, though she’s much more dignified, choosing to sit at the foot of your bed instead. She pulls out a cigarette, but reconsiders after Utahime’s furious face. “You haven’t perfected your technique yet. Put that away.” 

It’s easy to fall into inane conversation with your girls - the bodies in Shoko’s morgue, your attempts to master swordplay, Utahime’s constant fighting with Gojo. 

“Speaking of,” Shoko says, the gleam in her eyes signifying she’s up to her usual mischief. “Are you sure there isn’t something else there, Utahime?”

Turning bright red doesn’t help her case, but she tries to play it off anyways. “What are you talking about?” 

“Just that you’re awfully cozy lately,” she hums. “Yeah, you fight all the time, but no one can get under your skin like he can, huh? And you’re really touchy with each other.” 

“I’m disciplining him. Are you really going to call it touchy if I’m slapping his hand? It’s not like that!” 

Shoko grins. “Yeah, but it’s different if he likes it. What, you can’t tell? He’s always making excuses for you to touch him.” 

Come to think of it, Shoko’s right. You chime in, “Remember this morning? He’s always grumpy when he’s just woken up, but Shoko, what did we walk in on?” 

Utahime throws her hands up. “Stop, stop!” She pushes you off her, but you keep going. 

In unison with Shoko, you strike. “Who was that sprawled over your lap like a large cat, Utahime? You know, the one you were petting, your hand in his hair?” 

Utahime blows her bangs out of her face in a frustrated huff. “Fine, you want to play that game? What about you and Getou? And Shoko, don’t think I haven’t noticed the massive crush you have on Yuki.”

“What crush,” Shoko says, as collected as always, though the effect is lessened by the light blush covering her cheeks. “I just think she’s interesting. A good fighter.” 

“Getou and I,” you start, then hesitate. What are you and Getou? You’re certainly closer than you are with anyone barring Shoko and Utahime, and you do hang out a lot alone, but still, you pause. It’s a deadly mistake that Utahime intends to make use out of. 

“You’re whipped,” she marvels. 

“What? No, I’m not! We’re just friends.” 

“Come on,” Shoko says. “You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed the tension between the two of you. When you had him pinned down on the mat this morning, didn’t you see the way he was looking at you?” 

You remember all too well, which is the problem. He had been the one that taught you the move you used on him. Ever since he realized you were frustrated with being unable to keep up with the more physical aspects of fighting, he had taken it upon himself to personally train you, leading to spending hours stretching into the night wrestling and sparring with him. The feeling of his body under yours, the shocked look on his face when you managed to throw him off his feet for the first time - your veins still sang with pleasure. You flex your hand, his phantom touch lingering, the way he had guided your movements. 

Shoko gags. “Ugh, look at her face, Utahime. This isn’t fun if you’re going to get all lovesick about it.” 

“I’m not in love!” Your protests fall on deaf ears. 

Taking on missions is usually reserved for the upperclassmen, but with fewer and fewer sorcerers being born, they've accelerated the curriculum. You're only a second year when you get your first solo mission, in a few years, perhaps they'll be giving them to first years. 

You shudder at the thought. You're very fond of your new underclassmen, Nanami and Yuu. Imagining them fighting curses alone is horrifying, especially sweet Yuu, whose empathetic nature always leaves him crying right alongside the mourning mothers of victims. 

The special grades, on the other hand, were taking solo missions by the end of their first year. Utahime had been green with envy. You had taken one look at Gojo (you had thought he was invincible before this), freshly back from a mission and bleeding profusely, and decided that you were more than happy to wait your turn. 

You had never seen Gojo's blood before that. Thinking about your classmates in various states of distress isn't the way you'd prefer to go to bed, but it's been several hours already, and your eyes have yet to shut. You toss and turn in your bed for thirty more minutes before you get up and head to the kitchen, resigned to the fact that you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

It’s normally easy to find everything you need for your sleeping tea because Utahime meticulously organizes the kitchen when she wants to destress, but someone’s ransacked it. There’s a trail of blood leading from the front door to in front of the white cabinets, where it pools, like the unknown person had stood there for a while. The cabinet itself is thrown open and the first aid kit is missing. Following the trail, the light of the bathroom shines under the crack of the door. 

You did say the box with the bandaids and alcohol should be kept in the bathroom, but no one wanted to listen to you because Gojo always cut himself when he cooked and he couldn’t be bothered to make the five foot journey. 

Mentally, you run through a list of who was out on missions tonight - almost everyone but you and the first years. If it was Utahime in the bathroom, you’d keep her company while she cleaned herself up. If it was Gojo, you would either laugh at him, or, if it was really bad, distract him from the pain. 

The door swings open, leaving you blinking in the harsh light. It’s Getou, white towel pressed to a gash on his forearm, hair slicked back from his forehead with sweat.

“Need a hand with that?” You nod at his arm. Judging by the defiled kitchen and the way the towel is quickly turning brown-red, he’s lost a lot of blood. Shoko’s off scamming admissions officers to let her into medical school, and won’t be back before dawn. That means it’s up to you, the second best nurse besides Utahime, who’s good at everything, to tend to him. You aren’t really giving him a choice, just being polite. 

He turns you down anyways, like the headstrong idiot he is. He hates being compared to Gojo, but in some ways, he really is. They’re both too proud to accept help, and often, they don’t need it. Not today, though. 

“I wasn’t really offering. Give me your arm.” He almost snatches it back out of your grip as soon as you grab it, but it must really hurt, because when you tighten your grip, his face goes white and he bites back a groan. 

“Sorry.” You’re not really. Serves him right. 

Up close, the wound doesn’t look as bad as all the bleeding suggests. Whoever cut him must have been terrible, missing all the important veins. 

“Want stitches?” 

He gives you a horrified look and resumes trying to yank his arm out of your grasp, making you regret your little joke. 

“I was just kidding, it’s not that deep. You’re still going to need to disinfect and bandage it though.” 

“It’s alright. I can do it myself. You should go back to bed - don’t you have a mission tomorrow?” 

“I can’t sleep anyways. ” 

Taking a clean towel from the stack set aside specifically for this purpose, you set to work washing the wound as gently as you can, doing your best to ignore the fact that he’s pale and sweaty and barely biting back whimpers. 

“Hey.” You touch the back of his hand. “Are you still with me?” 

“It’s not that deep,” he says, parroting your words back to you. 

“That doesn’t mean you have to just suffer through it.” You’re almost amused with the childishness of it. “If you had just asked me for help, you know I’d be more than glad to. Here, take this.” 

Dutifully, he dry swallows the pills you give him and makes a face. You wonder if it tastes like curses. 

“You can complain, you know. I’d be mad if Gojo did it, but it’s okay if you want to. I know it hurts.” 

“It’s fine,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Just finish, please.” 

“Actually, it’s not a choice anymore. Doctor’s orders. Stop trying to chew through your lip, you idiot. If it hurts, just say so.” 

“That won’t help it heal.” 

“But it feels better.” 

You get through it together, Getou squeezing his eyes shut against the burning pain of you pouring disinfectant into his cut. True to your words, he doesn’t try to muffle himself anymore. By the time you’re done bandaging him up (it’s not deep but it’s long, white cloth now covering his entire forearm), he looks like he’s about to pass out. 

He’s gross and dirty from the mission, but this is probably the best you’re getting out of him for tonight. It’s not like you haven’t slept in worse conditions before. Coming home tired enough to sleep in barely cleaned off monster guts and sweat is unfortunately just part of being a sorcerer. 

“Come on,” you say, letting him lean on you as you guide him to his room. “Get some sleep. When you wake up, Shoko will be here and everything will be better.” 

You ease him into his bed with a sigh of relief. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

He mumbles something into his pillow, but since he’s speaking with cloth in his mouth, you don’t understand. 

“What was that?” 

“Thank you.” 

He peers at you over the covers, eyes exhausted and dark circles prominent, but you can tell from the way the corners of his eyes crease that he’s smiling. His hand reaches for yours, clutches it, brings it to his lips. 

“Thank you,” he says again, his breath ghosting over your skin. It tingles where he’s touched you. 

You head back to your own room feeling faintly pleased, but also uncomfortable for a reason you can’t quite place until later that night. The last thought you have before you fall asleep is of Getou. Doesn’t he know there are other options to suffering? 

Apparently not, because he’s fresh-faced and ready to accompany you on your mission tomorrow, sitting at the breakfast table chewing a slice of toast while Yaga debriefs him on the details. 

“You’re not coming. Yaga, tell him he’s not coming.” 

Your teacher looks apologetic. “Sorry.” 

“Are you kidding me? He just got back!” 

Shoko twirls her hair around her finger thoughtfully. You have no idea why she’s looking at you like that, but her expression is a little like a cat who's found a particularly interesting mouse to play with. “It’ll be fine, calm down. It’s not like he’s actually fighting. You’ll be doing all the real work, he just has to swallow the curse at the end.” 

In the end, it’s 3 against 1, and Getou ends up with you on the train to Osaka. It’s supposed to be a simple exorcism, but the town the site is located in has cats running all along the streets, and you can’t help but stop and feed them. Getou brings out the dried fish he packed as a snack, so they’re all over him. Watching them bat at his shoelaces makes you laugh so hard you almost fall over in your unbalanced crouch, and he slides an arm over your shoulders to steady you. 

Shoko watches you and Getou play with the cats with a smug look on her face, like she knows something you don’t. 

“You have a thing for taking in strays, don’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You raise an eyebrow at her, but she just brushes off her cryptic comment.

“Nothing. You’ll figure it out eventually. Probably.” 

You fall asleep on the train ride back and wake up with your head pillowed on Getou’s shoulder. It’s such a small, simple thing. You had always thought if you ever fell in love, it would be something monumental, like the fairytales your mother used to read to you when you were little. You would see them and know that they were right for you, know that this is who you were meant to be with. Instead, your heart stutters in your chest because you’re realizing what Shoko meant, a series of small realizations piling on top of each other until it’s impossible to ignore. 

You’re in love with Getou. 

A quick glance at his face tells you he’s still asleep and so is Shoko, but it’s now or never. You can’t wait, or you’ll lose your nerve.

“Getou.” He grumbles and slouches further into his seat. “Getou. Hey! Wake up!” 

His eyes snap open. “Who am I fighting? What is it?” His voice is still drowsy. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

“What?” He shakes his head slowly, like a large dog waking up. “Hang on, what was that? I think I misheard you.” 

“I’m in love with you.” 

His jaw drops open. “Are you serious? Is this a prank? You’re not funny.”

“I’m in love with you.” It’s like it’s the only thing you can say, all the nerves in your brain completely burned out in the all encompassing fear that he might say no, that he might laugh at you - but you can’t stop yourself. You don’t regret it. You had to tell him. 

He hangs his head and peers up at you through his eyelashes. “You’re hopeless.” 

Your heart drops into your stomach. “So you don’t-“ 

And then he’s kissing you, and it’s the most right feeling in the world, like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be. You sigh into his mouth; the kiss more like a fight, like the way it started between you two, him stealing your air, you biting his lips. He kisses you, and kisses you, and doesn’t stop until the moon is fully bright in the sky and your lips are bruised, eyes bright. 

Across from you, Shoko says, “Gross.” 

You start dating the next morning. 

As soon as you walk into class, Gojo can’t help himself. Shoko’s a horrible gossip. He jeers, “Look at the two lovebirds! Can you manage to keep your hands to yourself during class, at least?” 

“Says the man who can’t even get a girlfriend,” your boyfriend comments, casually getting his writing utensils out of his bag. 

Gojo blinks, and then turns his attention to you. “Can you get your dog? I don’t like when it bites back.” 

Dating Getou doesn’t change much. You’re the same as you’ve always been, teasing, fighting, laughing together, but the knowledge that you love him, and he loves you, is always there. Love is always present, in the way your heart flutters when you wake him up for breakfast and his voice is rough, in the lump in your throat when he presses his lips to your neck as you cuddle. 

You’re in bed together, since he’s taken to sleeping in your room. Strange conversations always happen at night, your idle mind wandering, but he humors you and your weird, stray thoughts. 

“Would you want kids?” You murmur against the crown of his head, the stray hairs tickling your face. He stills in your arms (you’re the big spoon today), then rolls over so you’re face to face, breath to breath. His eyes are half closed, watching you with languid pleasure. It makes you restless, wanting to kiss each eyelid, scatter your love across his cheekbones and nose bridge and all of him, until he’s squirming away from you in laughter. 

“Do you?” 

You consider it. Kids, adulthood, even marriage are all things that seem so far away, like death. Eventually you’ll grow up and perhaps you’ll decide to start your own family, just like eventually you’ll die, but in the warm light of your room, shadows of butterflies scattered over the walls from the lampshade Getou cut shapes out of and presented to you as a gift, everything feels so hazy and far away. It’s just the two of you in this moment, you can’t even begin to imagine what tomorrow might look like, much less years later. 

“I’m not sure. I haven’t decided.” 

He hums in agreement. “I want whatever you want.” 

“You better,” you laugh, and slap his arm playfully. “But have you ever thought about it?” 

His fingers ghost over your hips, tap a steady rhythm on your ribs as he thinks. “Maybe two girls. I think I’d like daughters.” 

“You would,” you agree. “You’d spoil them rotten.” 

It all feels so far away. The conversation slides from your mind as easily as the memory of the day’s breakfast, only to stab you in the back in the not so distant future. 

Nothing changes between you and Getou, but that doesn’t mean the world around you doesn’t shift to accommodate this new thing blooming between the two of you. 

You meet Getou in the hall. “Any idea why Yaga wants us?” 

He shakes his head. “Not a clue.” 

You’re ambushed as soon as you step into his office. 

“I’ve heard you’re dating.” Yaga turns his steel gaze on you. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to laugh, but this feels like a joke. 

“Sir, with all due respect-“ 

“In my experience, people usually say that before something disrespectful,“ he says. 

“I feel like you have better things to do than meddle in your student’s love lives. Do you need us to set you up?” 

He stiffens at the last bit. Getou raises his eyebrows, but before he can ask, Yaga recovers. “As impertinent as ever,” he sighs. “I’m just looking out for you. Love for a jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the same as other people’s, you know. You will live and die alone.” 

You’ve heard this bit before, but he continues. “I’ve seen husbands and wives torn apart. The anguish of being the one left behind -“ the way he looks at you sends chills down your spine. “I hope you never experience it. I would rather you not.” 

“Speaking of kids,” Getou cuts in. “Shouldn’t you be encouraging us? God knows we need more sorcerers.” 

Yaga’s face goes white. “Are you-?” He can’t finish his sentence. “Tell me you’re being safe.” 

You shoot Getou a horrified look. Is this his idea of helping? “We’re not!”

“You’re not?” Yaga looks furious. 

“We’re not doing anything,” you amend. “Yaga,” your tone softens. “Thank you. I appreciate it. But I’ve already chosen him.” 

He sniffs. “You're both so young. What do you know of love? What happens when Getou dies and you’re left behind? What then?”

Getou cuts in again, face deadly serious in a way that it hadn’t been before. “I can love her from beyond the grave.” 

Yaga says nothing. The way he’s looking at you makes you so uncomfortable, like he’s already seeing the future, one where you have to live without each other, separated by the greatest divide in the world. You’re reminded that your teacher, for his youthful appearance, is old. He’s taught and watched as hundreds of sorcerers, his students, came and left and died. His face is unhappy, but he touches both of your brows, brushes back your hair, and says, “Then you have my blessing. I want happiness for you both.” 

The conversation with your teacher stirs something in you, apprehension lurking under your skin, but all that disappears when you return to the dorms. 

It’s one of the rare days when none of you have missions - you suspect Yaga saw the schedule and took on Utahime’s mission for himself so you’d all be together - and everyone is in the common room: Gojo, sprawled across the top of the couch like a particularly annoying cat; Nanami, sitting on the bean bag Gojo had begged Yaga to get for you all; Yuu, reclining against the bean bag with his back braced against Nanami’s thighs; Utahime, flicking idly through channels on the TV, seated on the sofa and ignoring the imminent threat of being crushed by Gojo; and Shoko, head in Utahime’s lap and legs dangling off the couch. Utahime smiles up at you when you walk in. Getou selects a paperback from the shelf and collapses in on himself like a deflated soufflé in the armchair, absorbed in an instant. You join them, sitting at the foot of Getou’s chair, head pillowed against his knee. 

For a while, everything is peaceful, then, as always, Gojo stirs things up. He’s been talking incessantly about his failed attempts to master purple for what feels like hours. You’ve long since tuned him out, but every once in a while you check back in to see how much more frequently Utahime’s eye twitches. You're running an experiment to analyze the number of twitches it’ll take before she loses it, but surprisingly, it’s Shoko that snaps first. 

You watch in amusement as she gets up. “I’m not listening to this drivel anymore.” 

“Shut up, yes you are,” Gojo hauls her back. Shoko thwacks him on the head, but he tosses a ten dollar bill and a fistful of candy pulled from his pocket in her lap. 

You make a face. “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you. It probably has lint on it.” 

“Gojo germs,” Getou says agreeably. 

“Gojo,” Yuu says, horrified, “you don’t have to pay her to listen to you. I’m listening, don’t worry.” 

It’s him that should be worried, you think. Somehow he’s gotten the idea into his head that Gojo’s being bullied by the four of you (being Utahime, Getou, Shoko, and you) and is determined to give him support and attention so he can flourish and stand up for himself. Gojo, of course, is eating it up, and takes every chance to burst into theatrics in front of the boy when he can remember he’s supposed to be a victim. 

Above you, Getou snorts. “What’s so funny?” You tilt your head back to see his smile. 

“Nothing. Just wishing we could be like this forever.” 

No one’s listening to you in the middle of the full on war of words being waged between Gojo and Utahime, but you rest your head back against Getou’s leg again. “Yeah. Me too.” 

Nanami rolls his eyes at Shoko. While you weren’t paying attention, somehow they started fighting. “Don’t get me started on you.” 

“Oh yeah? Guess all that respect for your upperclassmen is just an act. Hey, Gojo! Ask him what his cat’s name is.” 

“You have a cat?” Gojo blinks. 

“His parents got one a week ago!”

Nanami flushes. “Haibara!” 

“What’s the cat’s name?” Getou plays along.

“None of your business.” 

“Either you tell them or I will,” Shoko teases, her voice sing-song. 

You take pity on poor Nanami, if he gets any redder he’ll burst into flames. Just as you open your mouth to settle the tension, Shoko shakes her head in mock pity. 

“Ding! Times up. He named his cat-“ she pauses for dramatic effect. Nanami scrambles over his seat to try to get to her and slam his hand over her mouth, but she’s faster. “Gojo!” 

Gojo blinks, and then he’s the one blushing. None of you expected the mortified expression on his face. “You…named your cat after me?” 

“You’re flattered?” Getou says. “It’s a cat.” 

“Shut up, Getou! You wish Nanami liked you enough to name his cat after you.” 

“I didn’t name my cat after you!” 

“I don’t need Nanami, I have a girlfriend.” 

“Ooh, does little Nanami have a crush?” 

“Shut up, Shoko!” 

The room dissolves into chaos as it usually does when you’re all together for too long, but your wish remains the same. 

Things are going so well that you really should’ve expected it. The blame is on you for not having the foresight to see it coming. 

It’s supposed to be a routine mission, if more important than any they’ve taken in the past. They’re the strongest. There is no one in the world that can beat them, certainly not if they’re together. But the man with the heavenly restriction obeys no rules. 

You’re the one that finds them. Utahime took you off campus for a day off. Shoko couldn’t come because she had to convince her biochemistry professor she didn’t cheat on her final (she did, but not because she needed to, just because she didn’t want to put in the effort). It was supposed to be a fun day for both of you, returning home drunk off the taste of sugar sweet cake and tea - until you saw the pool of blood near the front gates. Immediately, you knew something was wrong. Utahime rushes towards the red pool immediately, but you hold her back, scanning the area for lingering signs of the intruder. 

Everything in your brain is screaming at you that this is wrong. Jujutsu high is protected by barriers - there is no one who could get in without Yaga’s permission, no one who could hurt you. Your mother had promised when she sent you here. 

A chilling thought occurs - had Yaga let them in? It dissipates as soon as you think of it. Your teacher would never hurt you, would put his life on the line to defend you. He had before. 

It’s not a good idea to split up, but it’s worse to stay together. You have to take your chances. Utahime goes to alert the teachers and you go to find the Getou and Gojo. At this point, you still had faith that they were alright, if not perfectly intact. They were the strongest. You had no doubt in this fact. The pool of blood could have just come from an injury, but almost nothing was fatal as long as you had Shoko. 

Then, you step on a dead body. For a second, you think it’s Getou, the long black hair covering the face of the corpse, and your blood chills in your veins. You don’t think you’ll ever breathe again, but then you move the bangs, and it’s not him. It’s a girl. The relief that comes with the realization is a guilty one, but you’re grateful nonetheless. As long as he’s not dead, everything will be okay. 

Even when you have his body in your lap, you believe it’ll all be okay, because it’s them. They’re the strongest. Even when you’re applying pressure to his wounds, trying to buy time for Shoko to get here, you have to believe in him. You have no other choice. 

The first thing he says when he wakes up is, “I’ll kill that damned monkey,” even as you’re crying over him. He doesn’t talk again until he sets out to find Gojo, leaving you behind even though you insist on going.

You’ve fought and killed and been hurt before, all of you have. Being a sorcerer was synonymous with a life of violence. But none of you had come as close to death (or in Gojo’s case, actually died), and so your friends were divided as you had never been before. On one side, Gojo and Getou stood, having gone through a trial by fire and came out forged into something different. On the other side were the rest of you, unable to understand them, though not for lack of trying. 

Utahime said it best, alone with you and Shoko in your room, the place that you had taken to become the designated spot to discuss the change in your boys. They were no longer quite human, but you loved them all the same. You couldn’t help it. Love didn’t die, even when there might be a reason for it to. 

Normalcy doesn’t come for a long time. In fact, it doesn’t come ever - what you have is a very good imitation of it, but you’ll take what you can get. During the day, Gojo has somewhat returned to normal, aside from randomly falling asleep for the first week and zoning out for hours at a time. Getou’s also different. He’s quicker to enrage, slower to apologize. His eyes are dark, and sleeplessness has left a semi-permanent bruise under them. He has nightmares that he can’t escape. 

You almost shriek when you hear the knock at your window, the dark outline of a figure looming outside in the darkness. Then he moves closer, into the light, and it’s no one scary after all, just Getou. You’re moving to let him in before he knocks on the window. He looks more dead than alive, and you rush to usher him into your bed, no need for words. He shows up because he knows you won’t turn him away, even if you’re fast asleep, even if you’re still working on mission reports. 

He doesn’t need to ask, but does so anyway. “Can I sleep here tonight? 

Under the blankets, you wrap your arms around him, squeezing like you can hold him together through physical contact and sheer force of will. His head rests against your breast bone and that’s how you can tell, even when his breathing evens out, that he’s not asleep. He doesn’t for the entire night. 

This goes on for several weeks until you can’t take it anymore. “I don’t know what’s wrong and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. You told me you were fine. Is it Riko? We can talk about it.” 

He looks at you with his woeful, tired eyes (he never seems happy these days). “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“God, you can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that? Do you think you’re some kind of enlightened martyr? Just spit it out!” 

He just keeps watching you with his dark eyes, and you have the horrifying feeling that he’s not seeing you, not really. Like he’s looking through you. 

It’s like your words are only cementing whatever dark thought has taken root in his brain. 

“The monkeys,” he mutters in his sleep. “I have to get rid of them all.” You only hold him tighter, like you can keep him together through sheer force of will. But eventually, he stops coming to you at all. You can feel him slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know how to stop it. You’d ask him if he still loves you, if he still wants to be with you, but you’re scared of the answer, so you don’t. 

He shrugs you off all the time now, so you didn’t expect him to call you after his mission. In the darkness, you grope around blindly for your phone. It nearly falls off the side table and hits your face before you catch it. It’s a little annoying to be woken up, but all of your anger melts away when you see the caller ID, and beneath, a picture of Getou, face frozen in surprise, his smile completely candid. It was from a trip you’d taken back in your first year. 

“Oh, you’re up?” Getou’s voice crackles through the other line. The connection must be poor - he did say he was going to a village in the mountains for his next mission. 

You laugh softly, still half asleep. “How are you surprised that I picked up when you called?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding mildly shocked himself. “I wasn’t planning to call you, it just sort of happened. Guess I’m too used to your voice at night. Sorry. It must be late.” 

It’s too much to hope that he’s returning to himself, but you do so, anyways. Maybe the fresh air and countryside did him so good. Maybe all he needed was to get away for a little bit, and then he’d return. You’d never expect him to be immediately normal after what had happened, but you want to see progress, for him to recover, even if it is slow. 

When you can’t hold yourself back from yawning, he laughs softly on the other end. 

“You say you’re sorry, but you’re not going to let me sleep, are you?” You accuse him. 

“No,” he agrees. You can almost see his smile on the other end. “It’s my last night before I head back.” 

“You couldn’t wait a day?” 

“You don’t want to hear from me? That’s fine, I’ll hang up.” 

It’s an empty threat, but you protest anyways, spluttering out apologies that only make him laugh harder. 

You’re still sleepy, but it’s nice, hearing his voice. Even when he’s miles away, the simple thought of him puts you at peace. You roll over to a more comfortable position, face pressed against your pillow, so you can hear him talk about mundane things, the low timbre of his voice familiar and comforting. 

“How was your day? Miss me too much?” He’s teasing, but you’re completely honest when you answer. It’s been so long since he’s been like this. 

“Way too much. You should come back as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Getou?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.” 

He’s been apologizing a lot. Maybe it’s true what they say, that distance really does make the heart fonder. Maybe he’ll come home, and everything will be okay. 

This is your first relationship. You don’t know how these things work, but you’re scared all the time that you’re messing up, that you’re a terrible girlfriend, that you’re making Getou worse. 

You flinch at the sudden intrusion of unwelcome memories and try to remember the breathing exercises Shoko taught you. In through your nose, out through your mouth, don’t think about finding a pool of Gojo’s blood, a fourteen year old girl’s corpse, Getou’s mutilated body. Don’t. In through your nose, out through your mouth, breathe, breathe, breathe. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that will take away the images. 

His voice breaks through the panic. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You’re both liars when you need to be. Maybe that’s why your relationship works so well. 

“How was the mission?” You wish you could take it back as soon as it falls from your lips. It’s routine for any other sorcerer. For Getou, it’s a touchy question. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snaps. He apologizes just as quickly. “Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” 

It’s fine, you want to say, but nothing comes out. Instead, you say, “Getou.” 

“Hm?” 

“Bring me back a souvenir.” 

He’s quiet for a moment. It’s a strange night, because it feels so much like he’s returning to his old self, and yet not, at the same time. 

“Getou?”

“Babe, I’m in a village. You want me to bring you some grass or something?” You roll your eyes, then tell him you’re rolling your eyes when you realize he can’t see you. Somehow, you don’t think that’s what he was about to say, but you don’t push it. 

“Come back soon, okay? Gojo and I are going to kill each other without you, and then you’ll have no one else to love in this miserable existence.” 

“Yeah, okay. I wouldn’t let him kill my girl.” 

“Hey! Maybe I’m the one killing him. Don’t underestimate me.” 

To anyone else, this would sound insane, but you’re sorcerers. Death, murder, and betrayal are the norms of your life. You breathe out a sigh of relief, because everything’s okay. You shouldn’t have worried. Getou is going to be fine. 

You yawn again, and that’s when he relents. His voice is soft when he tells you to go to sleep. 

“Good night, babe.” 

“Love you. Come home safe.” 

Before you hang up, he speaks so quickly he slurs his words and has to repeat himself, more slowly. “Wait, can you not hang up yet?” 

“Suguru, I have to sleep.” 

“I’ll hang up when I’m done, just stay on the line a little longer.” 

“You want to hear me fall asleep? Alright, weirdo. Not like you can’t come home and do it when your mission is over.” 

“Just humor me.” 

And so you do, drifting off with his voice in your ear, the words indistinguishable but the sound comforting. Then you wake up to Gojo throwing your sheets off and hauling you out of bed, kicking and thrashing. 

“What are you doing? Is this another prank?” You’re too tired from staying up all night with Getou to deal with more of his antics. 

Then you notice his appearance. Gojo doesn’t cry - perhaps it’s a side effect of his six eyes, you’re not sure if he can cry - but you’ve seen signs of panic in animals in Shoko’s textbooks. He has all the same features, the preternaturally wide eyes, the heavy breathing, the high flush in his cheekbones. 

“Gojo?” You ask carefully. If he’s actually snapped from stress, you don’t want to be in the same room with him. 

“Did you know? Did he say something?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

His face falls. He looks almost concerned for you, if Gojo had ever cared about your feelings in the past. He opens his mouth, and your world falls apart. Life after Getou murders an entire village, kidnaps two girls, and is on the run goes on as normal, if you can call it life. 

This is not what you thought he meant when he said he wanted two daughters. It almost feels too normal, for things to continue when he’s gone, but the world doesn’t stop. The missions don’t stop, even when you’re sad and confused and hurt, and nothing makes sense. You throw yourself into your work, because those are straightforward. It's like a mathematical equation: fighting until you’re dead or the enemy is infinitely less confusing than dealing with the aftermath of his departure. 

“I think that’s enough,” Ijichi says timidly, when you demand another mission. You glare at him, stalking towards him so you can rip the file out of his hand, but he pulls it back away from you. He looks almost surprised at the sudden nerve he has, but he stands his ground, albeit cowering. 

“You need a break.” 

It’s what Getou first said to you, and that’s exactly why you can’t do this right now. You need to be fighting, need to be in situations where you can’t think about anything besides how not to die. Ijichi shakes his head when you reach for the document again, and that’s when you relent. 

“One more,” you plead. 

This is probably karma for being so terrible to him. You’ll have to buy him a present once this mission is over. 

Someone’s calling your name, but you refuse to turn around, because you know who it is. You grit your teeth and resist the urge to curse Ijichi because this probably isn’t his fault. You’ve overworked him, since he accompanies you on all your missions and you’ve been working nonstop since Getou left. 

Still, a part of you is affronted. He never warned you there was a curse capable of creating hallucinations here, and you’ve hated any kind of curse that has the ability to mess with your mind ever since the incident. Still, there’s nothing to be done now, so you soldier on, ignoring the voice until the arm belonging to the owner of the voice forces you to look at them, and you promptly sock them in the face. 

A curse with the nerve to show itself to you in the form of - 

Your heart in your throat, tears in your eyes, you get ready to punch it again. There’s no need for knives when a good, old fashioned beat down will best relieve you of your sorrows (in the back of your mind, you hear Gojo accusing you of being a delinquent) but he raises his hand and rasps, “Stop, wait, it’s me.” 

You don’t stop, if anything, you hit harder. 

He cries out, “I told you once if I had kids, I would want two daughters.” 

Your fist hovers in mid air, cursing your weak heart because this is a trick. Gojo killed him, and Gojo never, ever fails. 

He failed Riko Amanai, you think. 

There’s no way. 

Getou sits up, forcing you to topple off of him before he catches you. He settles you on his long legs. You’re dazed and sad and tired of denying yourself hope, but even more tired of hoping only to have your dreams crushed. 

Everything hurts. There’s pressure behind your eyes like you want to cry but the tears won’t come the way you need them to, great heaving sobs like the night Getou died, purging and cleansing. Instead, you hiccup and dry heave like a child, clutching his yukata in your fists, torn between hoping and not hoping, knowing both of them will hurt you either way. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he croons, pressing your foreheads together, and at first you want to push him away but the other part of you rebels, clinging desperately to him like he’s a ghost that will fade away without your touch. You’re disgusted with yourself but you want more. You’ve never had the discipline that Utahime has. Getou is a liar and a criminal and a traitor, and you want him all the same, your innocent, bloody villain. 

“Come back home,” you whisper. “Please.” It shocks you as much as it shocks him because you didn’t think anything close to that would be the first thing out of your mouth, but you mean it. You want him to come home, to hell with the elders. You and Gojo would fight everyone and everything to keep Getou with you. It’s an impossible request, but you’re asking anyway, hoping he’ll say yes. 

“The problem is you still think it’s home.” 

You don’t know what else to say, because you’ve played your last card, your only card, really. Getou’s always been better with words, and you hold no hope of persuading him if he’s outright refusing. You wait patiently for him to ask you to come with him, forfeit your entire existence to murder the very people you swore to protect, and wonder if you’re going to do it. After all, you’ve surprised yourself a lot today. 

He doesn’t offer. He really just wants the chance to explain himself and say goodbye. You want to bash his skull in with your knife, and you want to kiss him until he cries. You can love him, but that doesn’t change who he is - a monster who killed his own parents and an entire village. 

Somehow, it was easier to accept that when he was dead. Probably because then, you had no hope of him reciprocating, so you could love and mourn him in peace, doing no harm to the dead. 

This is different. This is an ethical transgression on unparalleled levels because he is a murderer, and you love him enough to not care, and it terrifies you. 

The familiar sound of his gentle voice calling you sweetheart burns. “I can explain everything, I swear, but I need time. Can you give me that? Can you believe in me?” His face is so earnest and sweet, and he looks so much better than he did before he went rogue. There’s no trace of exhaustion in his face, his shoulders are strong and broad, his hair shiny. You didn’t know criminals on the run had time to hair mask. 

“You didn’t kill them?” You ask, heart in your throat. You know the answer. Gojo would never agree to hurting Getou if there was a chance, however small, he hadn’t committed the crimes he had, but his simple presence here is a miracle. What’s one more? 

That’s the problem, when good things happen. You get greedy. 

His denial is like waking up to cold water. “No. I definitely did.” 

You shove his arms off your shoulders and clamber off of him even though every cell in your body is screaming at you to go back, close your eyes, pretend this isn’t happening and just love Getou like nothing had ever gone wrong, but you refuse. You’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You’re used to doing the hard things, even when it hurts. 

“You disgust me,” you snarl, and you get ready to - 

To what? Are you going to kill him? Bring him in? That would be the same as sentencing him to death, too. 

In the middle of your deliberation, Getou suddenly clutches at his head like it’s being split open. You’re not sure what’s going on, if this is just another manipulation tactic of his to have you rushing back to him in forgiveness, but that’s when you notice the long gash in his head, stitched closed. 

“Run.” He says. He grabs your sleeves and hauls you down so you can look into his eyes. “Run! You have to go, he’s coming, he- Ugh.” He slumps over, breathing hard and fast, hand still scratching at the barely healed over stitches. 

You’re confused and scared and lost, and you obey, running through the forest like the devil himself was on your heels. You don’t think, just flee, all the way back to your car. When you get back to campus, you’re determined not to tell anyone. It was a hallucination, a cruel trick your beleaguered mind played on you, aided by the technique of curses. Later that day, you come back to finish the curse off, and Getou’s gone. It’s what you expected, and yet, some part of you is disappointed. Your resolve hardens to steel. 

You can’t tell anyone about this. The greater part of you thinks it a hallucination not worth telling. If the elders found out, they’d probably throw you in the mental ward like they did with all “hysterical” women, and good riddance. They’d be glad to wash their hands of you, a sorcerer too weak to be helpful to them. 

The other, quieter part of you fears that if he’s real, if somehow, you’ve really been granted a second chance - then he’ll die again. Turning him in is a death sentence. You just have to hope that if it wasn’t an illusion - and you have hope, you always do, even when it’s idiotic - he’s smart enough to stay away, to leave the jujutsu world behind for good. You swallow hard. 

Even if it means leaving you behind. 

For a while, everything is fine, or as fine as it can be, given the circumstances. Getou’s a curse user now, and you’ll never see him again, but you can live with that as long as he survives. You don’t think he’s dumb enough to show his face in the jujutsu world again. Secretly, you hope that he escaped and is living somewhere in paradise with the little girls he rescued, in a nice, warm cottage with strawberry plants in the garden and a fluffy white cat. You’re starting to believe that he made it, that he’s off living it up with his little found family, because you’re naive, and no matter how many times your miserable existence tries to beat it out of you, hope insists on making a fool out of you. You can’t stop, even when you know it’s futile for any sorcerer to imagine anything besides the worst case scenario in any situation. Bad things happening is the way of life, good things is a stroke of luck, a momentary reprieve before nature resumes its course. You even dare to think that he’s lucky, because he escaped the hell that is the jujutsu world. 

Life is never that kind to sorcerers - even ex-sorcerers, though, in this case, one could say Getou brought it on himself, attacking the entirety of the jujutsu world in such a way. When Gojo Satoru kills your boyfriend, at least the kids aren’t around to see you lose it (because Getou injured them so badly they’re all hanging out in the morgue with Shoko). You’re torn between grief and rage, because you know he deserves it. You still can’t reconcile the image of him in your head, sweet, kind, Getou, who would always go easy on you, with the man that nearly murdered your students. But you also can’t stop blaming Gojo. 

Jujutsu sorcerers aren’t supposed to have regrets, but it’s hard, looking back, not to feel sorry for attempting to murder Gojo Satoru the day he came home from killing your boyfriend. It wasn’t his fault, after all, even if it had felt like it at the time. 

No one told you what Gojo’s last mission was because of your relationship with Getou, but as soon as Gojo walked back onto campus, his white hair matted with blood that wasn’t his and his shirt stained with sprays of red, you just knew. You had been running to greet him because attempting to jump Gojo whenever he came back from a mission was an age old tradition, born of him always being first in class and power rankings, and you, forever trying to claw your way to the top, even in the face of his overwhelming natural talent. Of course, back then, it had been a friendly conflict, your way of welcoming him back and his way of indulging you. 

This was much less friendly and much more of homicidal intent.  

It takes Utahime and Shoko combined to drag you off of him, though you aren’t doing any damage. Gojo, as always, is untouchable. He doesn’t let down his Infinity, but he doesn’t try to erase your existence for daring to lay a hand on him either, which is as close as you’re getting to mercy from him. 

If you had been just drifting through life when you thought Getou had abandoned you, in the wake of his death, you’re burning out. For a while after his death, you think you’re just waiting for the same thing to happen to you. You throw yourself into battle after battle, accept whatever missions are given to you and collect scars on your battered body. You’re not going to kill yourself, but you’re not going to fight it either. It turns out, passive suicidal tendencies - surprise! - still count as suicidal tendencies, according to Shoko. 

Waiting for death, you find, is unexpectedly hard. Your body wants to fight. It doesn’t want to give up, every survival instinct pulling you out of danger, pushing your lungs to take in more air, keep fighting even when you’re dead tired. It fights hard for itself even when you don’t care, all too willing to just accept whatever happens to you. Every day, Shoko fixes you up, scolds you, and sends you on your way, and every day, you repeat the same process that lands you in her morgue, until one day, it’ll happen for real. 

Nanami intervenes before that happens, because he’s a good man. Good men are rare in sorcery. You thought Getou was one, but clearly not, demonstrated by the full blown murder spree he’s gone on. You’ve always held a soft spot for your junior. He corners you in the hallway after your last narrow brush with death, the exorcism of a special grade curse that was particularly nasty. You might have earned a promotion with that one. It was a hard fight. You don’t think you’ll survive the next, and that’s precisely why Nanami invites you to dinner. 

He’s a good cook, but he’s not Getou. He doesn’t remember all of your allergies and dislikes, and you end up picking all the mushrooms out of your dinner. Everything reminds you of Getou. You choke on your bitter laughter, and Nanami is polite enough not to say a word about it. 

“When Haibara died,” he begins, the pause in his speech between Haibara and died making it very, very clear that this is difficult for him to talk about, “I thought it was the end for me too.” 

He shakes his head when you frantically attempt to shush him. You don’t want him opening old wounds for your sake, but he ignores you. “Someone you love is gone. The existence of the world feels disgusting to you.” He says love, not loved. You should’ve known Nanami would understand. He always does. 

“At first, everything is hateful to you. The sun, for daring to rise. Birds, for their annoying song. Gojo, for being Gojo.” He pauses. “The last part is normal, but the rest of the world feels intolerable now. It’s as if they took you to the grave with them.” 

Nanami’s inscrutable eyes make you uncomfortable. Technically, Gojo has the Six Eyes, but right now, Nanami feels like the all seeing one. Casually, he reaches over and pulls your plate to him, cutting up the meat for you. Your throat closes up with unshed tears, though that might also be the anaphylactic shock from the mushrooms. Getou used to do that for you, too. He never let you cut your own food. 

Nanami finishes dicing your steak into perfectly bite sized pieces, and throws the knife at you, in a perfect, straight line at your shoulder. You knock it out of the way. 

“What the fuck?” You’re already looking around for assassins, maybe curse users with mind or body control techniques, but Nanami doesn’t make another attempt to hurt you. 

“What did you learn from that?” 

“That you’re spending too much time with Gojo. Have you gone insane?” 

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You think he’d make a great teacher, since he already has the aggrieved expression down pat when something is clear to him, but confusing to everyone else. He’d be better than Gojo, that’s for sure, if he didn’t fling knives at all his students. 

“The lesson was supposed to be that you’re alive, and you want to stay alive, even if you don’t realize it right now.” 

“No way.” You could be less rude to him, considering how he’s going out of his way to help you out, but he’s also practicing circus tricks on you, so you don’t feel inclined to politeness at the moment. “I would’ve never known if you didn’t show me. Quick, can you check my pulse?” 

He looks unperturbed. “It means,” he says patiently, “no matter how much it feels like you already have one foot in the grave with them, you’re still alive. Don’t be so quick to throw yourself away. We’re all bound to die eventually, in this career. You don’t have life to waste.” 

Nanami is a terrible therapist, but a good friend. He says, “Now finish your dinner and stop trying to kill yourself.” 

“There we go. You could’ve just said that at the beginning.” 

“It wouldn’t have made as much as an impact,” you’re tempted to tell him throwing knives at you didn’t make much of an impact either, but wisely keep your mouth shut. “Besides, you got free dinner out of it. Stop complaining.” 

When eventually, Nanami leaves too, for a normal life, nothing stops you from throwing yourself into your work. 

The second time you lose yourself, it’s so much worse. This marks the twelfth time Shoko has basically rescued you from the clutches of death in the morgue. Gojo’s the strongest sorcerer, but in your opinion, Shoko’s closer to being the most powerful. That might also be your favoritism talking. She grabs your arm as you get up to leave. “Stop dying.” 

You’re a really terrible person for making all of your friends repeat this talk with you. “Not dead yet.” 

“Stop trying to die,” she amends. “You’re making more work for me and I don’t like it.” 

You roll your eyes. Of course she was worried about the extra effort it took to keep you alive. If Getou was here- 

The thought registers like a blow to the chest. If Getou was here, this wouldn’t be happening at all. Shoko grips your arm hard enough to bruise. “I’m serious. I’m not going to let you die, so stop trying. It’s not going to work and it just makes my job harder.” Her face is grim. 

“I’m not going to let you die,” she repeats, like she can keep you in this world through willpower alone. You feel guilty, all of a sudden, for what a terrible patient you are, and how snappish you’ve been with her. Hurting doesn’t mean you have the right to take it out on your friends, but remembering that only comes after the guilt, and the guilt only comes after the self sabotage. 

Speaking of self sabotage, the last time you saw Gojo, you attempted aggravated assault on his person, but when the news came down that he’s been captured (the first time you hear it, you’re disbelieving) you’re the first to volunteer to go to Shibuya. You can’t lose anyone else. 

You didn’t expect to gain someone back, but when you get there, the person on the other side of the battlefield is Getou, and suddenly, you know how Gojo, invincible, omniscient Gojo, could’ve gotten captured. Love is the worst curse of all. 

Ignoring all sense, ignoring the fact that he’s captured Gojo - you hadn’t believed he was capable of hurting him, even now. You hurtle across the battlefield to him, past Itadori Yuuji and - was that a cursed womb? It didn’t matter. You only had eyes for Getou, but when you get closer, your heart sinks. 

Even just listening to his voice, you know it isn’t him. It’s like the air has been knocked out of you - there’s no point in fighting, not anymore. You crumple to your knees. That’s not Getou. That thing is using your Getou’s mouth to murder your friends and bring about the end of the world. Distantly, you hear Yuki Tsukumo’s arrival, feel her try to haul you to your feet, but you can’t move on your own. The thought rings through your head. Getou is gone. 

Kenjaku is reveling in his victory while Yuki tries to keep him at bay. She’s strong, she has to be, she’s a special grade, but she’s no Gojo Satoru and you’re dead weight. She can’t protect everyone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Itadori Yuuji doing his best to dodge attacks. He’s a child. You have to fight, but there’s an emptiness inside of you that’s sapping your strength. Still, you muster up enough to reach for the dagger hidden in your coat, a gift from Maki Zenin, one of your favorite students.

The air stills. The relentless cacophony of the battlefield comes to a stop as the hairs on your arm stand up. Directly across from you, one of Kenjaku’s hands reaches up to grip his own throat. Getou Suguru says, “Give me back my body.” 

Kenjaku coughs. “Ugh. Just a little voice in my head. As I was saying -“

The hand around his throat tightens. “I’m Getou Suguru. This is my body.” 

Kenjaku frowns. “You have no claim to this body anymore. You’d be dead without me. Just go back to sleep.” 

More insistently, Getou’s presence fights to the surface. “How are you doing this?” Kenjaku marvels. His eyes widen and he lifts his hand to stare at the object he’s clutching, the Prison Realm. 

You should never count Gojo Satoru out. 

Suguru Getou doesn’t exist anymore. He’s just a figment of Kenjaku’s imagination, clinging to life - if this can be called life - confined to the dark and murky corners of his own mind. 

Go to sleep, Kenjaku says, almost fondly. They’ve been stuck together here for a long time now, long enough that Kenjaku has given up trying to get rid of him and instead just suppressed his presence. 

He’s so tired. Kenjaku’s right. It might be a good idea to go to sleep and yet - there’s something he’s forgetting, isn’t he? What is it? He doesn’t like thinking. It splits his head apart - is it his head or Kenjaku’s, he’s never sure who it belongs to - punishes him with endless pain. It’s better, easier, to just let Kenjaku handle things. 

That’s right, Kenjaku says. This is my body now. All you have to do is go to sleep. Aren’t I merciful? 

But he remembers something, a flash of blue in the darkness. The voice of his best friend - he had a best friend? He keeps remembering things that don’t belong to him, scattered memories that might be hallucinations but - 

He couldn’t have imagined the earnestness, the pain in that man’s voice. He doesn’t know him, but his heart aches for him. 

Getou Suguru, a silky voice sighs. He flinched because he hasn’t heard a voice beside Kenjaku’s in years, no, since he was born. They had always been like this, Kenjaku and him. Hadn’t they? 

Who is this? He’s panicking. 

Are you really going to let him use you like that? We’re the strongest. You better start acting like it. 

Then his body crumples in on itself, pain sparking through every nerve from the impact of so much cursed energy. Kenjaku curses. “Fucking Gojo Satoru.” 

Kenjaku? Getou thinks. 

Hm? Nothing, don’t worry about it. I thought I told you to go to sleep. 

Getou flinches away from the hard edge in his voice but something in him doesn’t forget Gojo Satoru. He turns the name over in his head, wondering. The cursed energy hurts, it burns, but it’s lifting the fog in his head. 

Gojo Satoru is his best friend and you - 

You’re standing in front of him, eyes wide and wary, as beautiful as the last time he saw you. His girl, his sweetheart. You’re driving a knife through his ribs and he clutches your hand, helps you angle it up directly through his heart. It’s sweet, almost like you’re back in school again, him training you after hours because he couldn’t tell you he was in love with you then, but all he wanted was to be around you, all the time. 

It’s nice, the way you wrap your arms around him when the deed is done, the pressure of your chest against his driving the blade deeper. It’s not such a bad way to go. 

You’re crying, he realizes, the back of his clothes are wet. 

He wishes he could talk to you before he has to go, but his mouth is filled with blood. With his one hand, he undoes the binding on the Prison Realm - his best friend, of course he remembers him, Gojo Satoru - and with the other, he squeezes yours. 

Don’t cry, he thinks mournfully. I promised. I’ll come crawling home to you. 

He dies in your arms, the only place he has ever wanted to be.

You hold him as he dies, just like you did the first time, though you had been too late then. He dies with a smile on his lips, as Getou, not Kenjaku. You don’t feel the tears as they come. You don’t feel anything at all, not even when Utahime comes forward from the crowd of stunned sorcerers to wrap her arms around you, not even when Gojo, bleeding from his side, pulls you into his embrace. 

Nothing can get to you until you speak to Yaga, and he curses you with the worst gift of all: hope. 

“You’re a war hero,” Yaga says. 

You don’t have to say it aloud for him to know what you’re thinking. You’d rather be nothing and still have Getou. 

Yaga’s never been much of a hugger, but he startles you with one now. “My poor girl. You’ve been so brave,” he says. “I didn’t try this before because we didn’t think there was any hope left. We didn’t know if his soul was still there, but if you’re willing to let me try now, I’ll do my best.” 

There’s a low chance of this working. You’re so tired, and Getou is too. You’re almost tempted to just let him be at peace, but Yaga lays his hand on your shoulder. 

“Do you remember what he said when I questioned your relationship? I’d love her from beyond the grave. Don’t give up on him now.” 

Gojo takes your hand as you watch Yaga work, the two of you the ones that loved Getou best, even at his worst. “Don’t give up,” he echoes. You squeeze his hand back. You had hope for eleven, long, hard years. You’re willing to hold on a little longer, if he’s willing to try too. 

On the table in Shoko’s morgue, his body stirs. 

title from work song — hozier. also recommend home with you — fka twigs for the vibe. 

[quetzalpapalotl]

So thinking about Chromedome and how both Rewind and Prowl see them and both aren't quite right and what Rewind and Prowl must think of each other by extension.

First of all, Chromedome is very good at mnemosurgery, regarless of everything, he has a genuine intelectual interest and pride in his skills, even if those skills come with a whole lot of guilt. He is different to how he used to be, he's still sardonic and petulant, but is toned down because he's too busy hating himself, and that he mostly interacts with Rewind, with whom he's still snarky at but less so since he's in love and feels he doesn't deserve him. But when is needle time we see him be at his most confident, he knows what he's doing, he knows he's good at and he enjoys it.

So for Prowl, who doesn't change and has a hard time grasping when other people do, think that all this about Chromedome being a new person is nonsense. Chromedome once understood the necessity of things like mnemosurgery and could detach himself enough to not get wrapped up in pointless details, so he must still be that way (and part of this belief is due to Prowl's own sentimentality over Chromedome and not wanting to let go, but he won't admit that). But looks, there is Rewind who passionately disapproves of any and all mnemosurgery, so from Prowl POV it would be very easy to think that this guy is Chromedome's main reason to stop doing the one thing he excels at.

But Chromedome did, in fact, conclude that all that unethical mnesurgery was like... A Bad Thing. Even when he was activelly working at the New Instute he wanted to stop (some headcanon he was shadowplayed into staying, I could see it either way), though the wording makes me think he stayed until it was shut down when Zeta fell. He genuinely feels bad over it and is a heavy factor in his self-hatred, suicide attempt and general depression and this was before he met Rewind. But Prowl wasn't there to see this struggle because they fell out when Prowl started working for Sentinel (and that was because Chromedome couldn't approve of it).

But Rewind's hatred for mnemosurgery doesn't come from that, I mean, yeah that's a factor and is not like he's okay with the New Institute, but Rewinds tends to see things in absolutes and for him, Chromedome did Bad Things, but he's Good now, so he won't do bad things again. Rewind hates mnemosurgery even when is ethical simply because is bad for Chromedome, psychaly and mentally. He's not worried about Chromedome doing bad things but about Chromedome getting himself killed and that's why he gets angry and chastises him. So Prowl is not only asking Chromedome something that's unethical, but something that's activelly harfulm to him and therefore musn't really care. And really, I could even see Rewind blaming Prowl's influence for Chromedome's bad choices, even if Prowl himself wasn't even the one who got CD into the New Institute (it was Zeta, though it was based on the fact that Prowl told him CD had an interest mnemosurgery, which seems that even when they were apart Prowl was still thinking of him).

But Rewind is also somewhat wrong, because while Chromedome probably won't do something like full shadowplay or a lobotomy again, even without Rewind's interference and he does try to be a better person, he did needle Prowl and Overlord. He can excuse himself on the former because he was threatened first and on the later because... Overlord has no rights by virtue of being The Worst and also it was for a "good" cause. So really he does still see the necessity of mnemosurgery, the bar is just higher (and when Rewind finds out about this, he's not sure he can forgive him, but ultimately ressures him he's different now)

[livingbythewords]

Theo Raeken, Scott McCall and the concept of betrayal in friendship - a Teen Wolf meta

Recently I came upon an interesting and somewhat subversive perspective on two phenomena that have been occupying my mind for a long time – friendship and betrayal. Because these two themes are not only often present in Teen Wolf, but are at the very core of season 5, I had some thoughts on the psychological concepts of friendship and betrayal in relation to the series.

General consensus in our view on both friendship and betrayal suggests that we tend to view friendship as a natural state of things developing through mutual trust and loyalty with love at its core, whereas betrayal is viewed as disruptive event that causes mostly pain, confusion and destruction. The perspective I am talking about considers the possibility that "the roots of both [friendship and betrayal] may draw their energy from the same deep layers of the human psyche" (French, Gosling and Case, 2009) and that betrayal is in fact not something that comes out of nowhere and disrupts friendship, but rather precedes it and constitutes its inherent part. It also introduces a very interesting concept of "virtuous betrayal", which may be regarded as "betrayal in the service of a higher purpose‟ (Krantz, 2006). Both betrayal and friendship are therefore complex phenomena, which according to the authors are interdependent and have deep impact on each other.

I'm going to start from the concept of virtuous betrayal, which to me is interesting and rather uncommon and puts Theo's attempts at dismantling the McCall pack in a new light (at least to me). In Status Asthmaticus (season 5, episode 10) Theo fully reveals the motivation behind his actions:

I never lied about why I came to Beacon Hills. I'm here for a pack. I came for the were-coyote. The one whose first instinct is to kill. I came for the banshee. The girl surrounded by death. The kitsune, the beta with anger issues, I came for Void Stiles. That's the pack I want. Unfortunately, it doesn't include Scott.

What we see here is something which may be regarded as a fundamental difference in Theo and Scott's understanding of what the pack and friendship as the force that binds it means. Scott's understanding of friendship has its roots in the concept that Aristotle called vera amicitia or amicitia perfecta, a 'disinterested friendship', where the well-being of the others is of primary concern, and he is ready to make sacrifices he considers necessary (for example, his willingness to join Deucalion's pack of Alphas, knowing that there might be no way out of it once he agrees). Meanwhile Theo regards the pack mostly in terms of power and safety, where the element of friendship is non-existent. In his speech, he emphasizes only traits which are mostly viewed as negative, which is very revealing when it comes to his understanding of the world and its rules. He genuinely believes that removing Scott from his position as the pack leader is for the greater good; to him, friendship, love and caring that constitute the basis of Scott's pack are all weaknesses. This is the result of his formative years spent under the 'care' of The Dread Doctors and the values instilled in him, which are the exact opposite of what Scott believes in. Theo views the pack and leadership through the lens of utilitarianism, "to the exclusion of the pursuit of virtue and commitment to the good" (French, Gosling and Case, 2009), which is the complete opposite of what Scott believes in. He knows the Doctors' main goal – unleashing of the Beast of Gevaudan – and wants to get out alive; his main goal is survival. It is worth mentioning that he also operates from the point of a deeply rooted inferiority complex ("I'm not even a real werewolf"). Therefore he believes that what guarantees him survival and safety is securing his position as the leader of a pack by fear and control instead of mutual trust and loyalty.

This perspective raises the question of the degree to which he can be held responsible for his actions. I tend to disagree both with the view according to which Theo is considered only a victim, as well as the one which considers him only a "bad guy" without taking into consideration all the mitigating circumstances surrounding the way he was raised. We all act according to the values imprinted in us in early childhood, which shape the lens through which we view the world. Therefore, I deeply disagree with the view that Theo 'deserved' whatever happened to him. Of course, he does have the ability to make choices, and it doesn't excuse the bad ones he made (for example killing Josh and Tracy). However from his perspective, all the choices he made were necessary for both his survival and his attempts to feel whole, to be a real person instead of an artificial construct he perceives himself to be.

How does this relate to theory I mentioned above, which considers betrayal not only a fundamental part of human experience, but an inherent element of friendship, which in fact inevitably precedes it instead of outside force that disrupts it? Well, at this point it became obvious to me that this is exactly how Theo perceives the world. According to James Hillman and his reflections on betrayal as viewed through the myth of the Garden of Eden, betrayal is a natural and necessary stage in the „unfolding‟ of human consciousness (Hillman, 1975, in: French, Gosling and Case, 2009). Through betrayal, our real self is born, as it was depicted in the myth of the fall of Eden, in which the "death" described in Genesis – „of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die‟ (Genesis 2:16) – means the death of illusions that we as human beings like to hide behind, for example perceiving people as either good or bad without understanding that humans are complex beings with different motivations and initial circumstances that formed them. In the case of Theo, he was already put at a deep disadvantage comparing to the rest of the pack members and had no chance to develop positive and healthy values and coping mechanisms that would enable him to earn what he desired instead of taking it by force, which was the only way he knew for his whole life. Again, that doesn't in any way negate traumas and hardships the other members of the pack went through, neither excuses Theo's behavior and the choices he made. I'm simply pointing out the factors that were a huge part of why he did what he did.

Now, let's get back to Scott. It's interesting to me that Scott, despite the fact that this view of the world and the values he believes in are very different than Theo's, seems to understand his motivations, at least to some degree:

Scared people do things you wouldn't believe. (season 6, episode 12)

Life can’t ever be all bad or all good. You know, eventually, things have to come back to the middle. (season 5, episode 1)

Especially the second quote (regression to the mean theory) is interesting, because to some degree it agrees with Hillman's theory about betrayal being the necessary part of evolving human consciousness and the 'death' of illusions that humanity develops to avoid facing uncomfortable truths about themselves (such as Stiles rejecting the 'shadow' part of himself which then manifests as the Nogitsune). Scott's deeply empathetic and caring nature explain his enormous ability to forgive things that most people would consider unforgivable, which is reflected in the scene of his death:

SCOTT: They're not like you. They never will be.

THEO: Because I'm a Chimera? Because I'm not a real werewolf?

SCOTT: Because you're barely even human.

Barely even human. Even in his darkest moment, as he is dying at the hands of his former close friend and now his greatest enemy, Scott refuses to fully dehumanize Theo. He doesn't call him a monster. He doesn't hurl insults towards him. He still considers him a person. In fact, he never in the course of the whole show acts hostile towards Theo or mistreats him, not even once, although he would have plenty of reasons. The main emotion he expresses towards Theo is deep disappointment. He doesn't even express regret in having trusted Theo. He decides to trust him again by sending him with Mason to the tunnels and by asking him to get to the hospital to take care of his friends, which – if this trust was misplaced – could have serious consequences.

Although perspective on betrayal as a fundamental part of human nature inevitably connected to friendship may seem somewhat pessimistic, it may also seem the opposite. "In our heart of hearts, we carry both experiences together: they coexist, so that if one is dominant, the other is always present as a 'shadow' (French, Gosling and Case, 2009)". From that perspective, we can understand the necessity of forgiveness more deeply and be ready to work on and develop our ability to forgive, which can in time become our greatest strength instead of our greatest weakness. Just like in case of Scott McCall, who – by forgiving the unforgivable – made his enemy, the man who betrayed him, turned his friends against him and murdered him, into his trusted ally.

[hieromonkcharbel]

St. Pio on How to Conduct Yourself at Mass:

Beloved daughter of Jesus,

May Jesus and our Mother always smile on your soul, obtaining for it, from Her most holy Son, all the heavenly charisms!

I am writing to you for two reasons: to answer some more questions from your last letter, and to wish you a very happy names-day in the most sweet Jesus, full of all the most special heavenly graces. Oh! If Jesus granted my prayers for you or, better still, if only my prayers were worthy of being granted by Jesus! However, I increase them a hundredfold for your consolation and salvation, begging Jesus to grant them, not for me but through the heart of his paternal goodness and infinite mercy.

In order to avoid irreverence and imperfections in the house of God, in church - which the divine Master calls the house of prayer - I exhort you in the Lord to practice the following.

Enter the church in silence and with great respect, considering yourself unworthy to appear before the Lord's Majesty. Amongst other pious considerations, remember that our soul is the temple of God and, as such, we must keep it pure and spotless before God and his angels. Let us blush for having given access to the devil and his snares many times (with his enticements to the world, his pomp, his calling to the flesh) by not being able to keep our hearts pure and our bodies chaste; for having allowed our enemies to insinuate themselves into our hearts, thus desecrating the temple of God which we became through holy Baptism.

Then take holy water and make the sign of the cross carefully and slowly.

As soon as you are before God in the Blessed Sacrament, devoutly genuflect. Once you have found your place, kneel down and render the tribute of your presence and devotion to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. Confide all your needs to him along with those of others. Speak to him with filial abandonment, give free rein to your heart and give him complete freedom to work in you as he thinks best.

When assisting at Holy Mass and the sacred functions, be very composed when standing up, kneeling down, and sitting, and carry out every religious act with the greatest devotion. Be modest in your glances; don't turn your head here and there to see who enters and leaves. Don't laugh, out of reverence for this holy place and also out of respect for those who are near you. Try not to speak to anybody, except when charity or strict necessity requests this.

If you pray with others, say the words of the prayer distinctly, observe the pauses well and never hurry.

In short, behave in such a way that all present are edified by it and, through you, are urged to glorify and love the heavenly Father.

On leaving the church, you should be recollected and calm. Firstly take your leave of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament; ask his forgiveness for the shortcomings committed in his divine presence and do not leave him without asking for and having received his paternal blessing.

Once you are outside the church, be as every follower of the Nazarene should be. Above all, be extremely modest in everything, as this is the virtue which, more than any other, reveals the affections of the heart. Nothing represents an object more faithfully or clearly than a mirror. In the same way, nothing more widely represents the good or bad qualities of a soul than the greater or lesser regulation of the exterior, as when one appears more or less modest. You must be modest in speech, modest in laughter, modest in your bearing, modest in walking. All this must be practiced, not out of vanity in order to display one's self, nor out of hypocrisy in order to appear to be good to the eyes of others, but rather, for the internal virtue of modesty, which regulates the external workings of the body.

Therefore, be humble of heart, circumspect in words, prudent in your resolutions. Always be sparing in your speech, assiduous in good reading, attentive in your work, modest in your conversation. Don't be disgusting to anybody but be benevolent towards all and respectful towards your elders. May any sinister glance be far from you, may no daring word escape your lips, may you never carry out any immodest or somewhat free action; never a rather free action or a petulant tone of voice.

In short let your whole exterior be a vivid image of the composure of your soul.

Always keep the modesty of the divine Master before your eyes, as an example; this Master who, according to the words of the Apostle to the Corinthians, placing the modesty of Jesus Christ on an equal footing with meekness, which was his one particular virtue and almost his characteristic: "Now I Paul myself beseech you, by the mildness and modesty of Christ" [Douay-Rheims, 2 Cor. 10:1], and according to such a perfect model reform all your external operations, which should be faithful reflections revealing the affections of your interior.

Never forget this divine model, Annita. Try to see a certain lovable majesty in his presence, a certain pleasant authority in his manner of speaking, a certain pleasant dignity in walking, in contemplating, speaking, conversing; a certain sweet serenity of face. Imagine that extremely composed and sweet expression with which he drew the crowds, making them leave cities and castles, leading them to the mountains, the forests, to the solitude and deserted beaches of the sea, totally forgetting food, drink and their domestic duties.

Thus let us try to imitate, as far as we possibly can, such modest and dignified actions. And let us do our utmost to be, as far as possible, similar to him on this earth, in order that we might be more perfect and more similar to him for the whole of eternity in the heavenly Jerusalem.

I end here as I am unable to continue, recommending that you never forget me before Jesus, especially during these days of extreme affliction for me. I expect the same charity from the excellent Francesca to whom you will have the kindness to give, in my name, assurances of my extreme interest in seeing her grow always more in divine love. I hope she will do me the charity of making a novena of Communions for my intentions.

Don't worry if you are unable to answer my letter for the moment. I know everything so don't worry.

I take my leave of you in the holy kiss of the Lord. I am always your servant.

Fra Pio, Capuchin

[clownattack]

Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

 ✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly  but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

  ✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

[lilys-hazel-eyes]

Beauty as Morality in Les Mis (Pt 2)

The idea of reflecting characters’ morality onto their faces becomes more complicated when you consider that the morality of complex characters can shift within a story, or even within a scene. Hugo manages this by…sometimes just changing characters’ appearances in the span of a single page. 

Valjean

The first instance of this—which was actually what inspired me to start this write-up—happens after Jean Valjean’s encounters with the bishop and Petit-Gervais. The guilt and forgiveness he experiences make him “a changed man”, but then we get this line:

“It was more than a transformation; it was a transfiguration.” (1.7.3)

Why is this clarification necessary? Because unlike the relatively vague “transformation”, “transfiguration” is explicitly physical. That is someone can transform their appearance or their behavior, but only one’s appearance can be transfigured. And transfiguration also carries religious connotations, meaning the outward change caused by spiritual growth—fitting for Valjean’s story of finding new religious faith.

We see a rapid change in Valjean’s appearance one other time in Part One: when, just before he testifies before the court on behalf of Champmathieu, his hair turns from grey to white within an hour. This isn’t realistic in the slightest, but that isn’t what Hugo’s going for—this is a modern fairytale, and life-changing moral dilemmas are sufficiently powerful to transfigure a person’s looks.

Javert

“Javert unsmiling was a bulldog; when he laughed he was a tiger. For the rest – a narrow brow and a large jaw, locks of hair concealing the forehead and falling over the eyebrows, permanent wrinkles between the eyes resembling a star of wrath, a dark gaze, a tight, formidable mouth, a look of fierce command.” (1.5.5). This is the first description we get of Javert’s character, when he is suspicious of Valjean as M. Madeleine but has not yet acted on his instincts. Other words used to describe his looks include “disconcerting”, “savage”, “cold and piercing”. These carry a negative and somewhat threatening connotation, but it’s important to note that none of these characteristics are necessarily “ugly” so much as they are imposing. This corresponds to the essence of Javert’s character, best said in Hugo’s own words: 

“His mental attitude was compounded of two very simple principles, admirable in themselves but which, by carrying them to extremes, he made almost evil—respect for authority and hatred of revolt against it.” 

When Javert’s morality is at the point of “almost evil”, his appearance can be summed up as intimidating. This changes, however, when he goes to arrest Valjean after his confession on behalf of Champmathuieu. What follows is what immediately occurs upon that confrontation: 

“In the moment when the eyes of the two men met, Javert, without having moved or made the least gesture, became hideous...The certain knowledge that now at last he held Jean Valjean brought his whole soul into his eyes…Delight was manifest in the arrogance of his bearing, in the ugly triumph that seemed to radiate from his narrow head, in the whole panoply of ugliness that intense gratification can induce...Nothing could have been more poignant or more heartrending than that countenance on which was inscribed all the evil in what is good.” 

As soon as Javert’s moral compass goes from “almost evil” to “all the evil”, his appearance changes from disconcertingly intimidating to hideous. Hugo even explains this concept further in this line:

“Integrity, sincerity, honesty, conviction, the sense of duty, these are qualities which, being misguided, may become hideous” 

And that’s exactly what happens to Javert when his own moral virtue is misguided towards cruelty.

Fantine

When Fantine is introduced, Hugo gives as a very complimentary description of her appearance over a few chapters: 

“She was beautiful and had stayed pure as long as she could” (1.3.2), “enchantingly pretty” (1.3.3), with a “sensually upturned” mouth, “long eyelashes”, “beautiful white teeth”, and “thick golden locks.” She is “sculptural and exquisite...beautiful without being too aware of it.” 

At this point in her life, Fantine embodies purity, modesty, and the innocence of love. She hasn’t known much hardship, and her optimistic view of the world and naïve trust in Tholomyes reflect this. When this changes, Fantine becomes more bitter and less joyful. The degradation of Fantine’s appearance, however, is much more literal than the sudden changes of Valjean and Javert—of course, living in poverty has an effect on one’s appearance. 

In Fantine’s case, beauty is as much a cause of her unhappiness as it is a reflection of it. She takes pride in her beauty, and it shows most when she expresses her love of Cosette. Take, for example, Fantine’s reaction to selling her hair:

“My daughter’s not cold any more,’ thought Fantine. ‘I have dressed her in my hair.’ She wore small mob-caps to hide her shorn head and still looked pretty.” (1.5.10)

But though Fantine remains pretty while she thinks of Cosette, the loss of her hair (which is the biggest symbol of her beauty) also affects her happiness:

“But a dark change was taking place within her. Now that she could no longer do up her hair she conceived a hatred for all mankind.” (1.5.10)

Just before Fantine becomes a prostitute—reaching the lowest point of her arc and representing the total loss of the virtue and innocence for which she was lauded in her introduction—she throws away her mirror (1.5.10). She has given up on her beauty, and no longer takes pride in her appearance. I think it’s especially important that she throws it away rather than selling it as she does the rest of her belongings. If she had sold her mirror, we could simply explain it as a fact of necessity, but the apathy implied by the short, simple sentence “Fantine threw away her mirror” makes the symbolic nature of this action very clear: “She had lost all shame and was losing all personal pride.”

While Fantine remains in this state, she’s described as “a sad and garish ghost” (1.5.12), devoid of all color and beauty. This only changes slightly when she is again given the hope of seeing Cosette, once in the hospital: 

“Her livid pallor was turned to a more gentle whiteness and there was a lustre on her cheeks.” (1.8.1)

xx

Sorry this part took so long! Not sure when the next one will be up, but it’ll probably go into parts 2 and 3.