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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Associates - Part 4 - ao3, pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

There was a loud bird outside Lan Xichen’s window.

This was primarily notable because Lan Xichen’s window was currently set with an array designed to support his seclusion, designed to block out the noises of the outside world. As a result, the bird in question must have deliberately broken through several high-level arrays set down by Lan Wangji’s ancestors in order to make a racket outside his window.

It also didn’t sound much like a bird.

Lan Xichen was staring at his wall as the bird shifted from tweeting sounds to whistling to, eventually, a tired-sounding voice mournfully saying, “Tweet. Tweet. Shit. Tweet.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

He was in seclusion. It was one of the most sacred rituals of his sect – one of the most serious, the most respected. His own father…

No, he couldn’t even finish that thought.

With a resigned sigh, Lan Xichen stood up and went to the window, where the ‘bird’ had taken to mumbling curses more than anything else.

He opened it a very small crack.

“Nie Huaisang,” he said. “Go away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the ‘bird’ said. “I’m a bird.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

Nie Huaisang had ruined his life. He was not – it wasn’t –

Okay, it was a little funny.

(Lan Xichen had always had an excessive sense of humor, finding all sorts of things funny. His uncle had been mystified by it, telling him that it would eventually get him into trouble, and in the end, he’d been right, hadn’t he?)

“Very eloquent for a bird,” he remarked, and did not smile when Nie Huaisang cursed, although it was a close thing. “You can go away now.”

“Listen,” Nie Huaisang said. “I don’t need you to forgive me or anything, but you cannot miss Lan Wangji’s wedding.”

Lan Xichen had been reaching for the windowsill, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

Lan Wangji’s…wedding.

He’d thought – he’d assumed –

“I know, I would have thought they’d be long since married! They were being idiots and pining from a distance, apparently,” Nie Huaisang said, correctly reading Lan Xichen’s thoughts. “They’re finally getting around to it, though, and if you’re not there, Lan Zhan will bite me.”

Lan Xichen pressed his lips together.

“He will. Don’t you remember what a bite-y little brat he was as a child?” A mournful sigh. “He’s gotten back in the habit, it seems. Whether through letters to others or even in person, if you want to judge by the state of Wei-xiong’s neck…”

Lan Xichen involuntarily snorted.

“Anyway, the main point I’m making is: they’re getting married. It’s going to happen soon. You have to attend, or else Lan Zhan will never forgive me, and obviously that’s more important than anything else.”

There was really no need for Nie Huaisang to engaged in these sorts of dramatics, Lan Xichen thought. It wasn’t as if there was any chance of Lan Xichen underestimating him ever again.

Did that mean that, just maybe, this sort of behavior really was what Nie Huaisang was like? That the overdramatic little shithead (there was really no other way to put it) that Lan Xichen had liked so much over the years was still there – that it hadn’t all been a lie, the way Jin Guangyao’s façade of kindness and compassion had been?

“Well? Can I confirm that you’re coming?”

“I’m in seclusion, Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, and he felt tired all of a sudden. Seclusion, and Nie Huaisang knew why. What he’d done…

“Uh, no you’re not. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re talking to me, aren’t you? Seclusion broken. Problem solved!”

Some cruel god or goddess must have been behind making Nie Huaisang so funny, and Lan Xichen so susceptible to exactly that type of humor.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

There was a moment of silence.

Lan Xichen thought to himself that if Nie Huaisang said ‘I don’t know’ in response to that, he really would break seclusion but it would be for the sole purpose of hitting him, and then he’d never agree to see him again in this life.

Luckily, that was not what Nie Huaisang chose to say.

“Listen,” he said, and his tone was no longer exaggerated or emotional but simple and straightforward – the Nie sect way of things, as Lan Xichen was abruptly and painfully reminded. Nie Mingjue had been like that, too. “I’m not expecting any miracles here. I don’t see this as a way to make up with you or get your forgiveness; I don’t think that you’ll suddenly feel better once you’ve come out of seclusion or that you’ll see the light and stop being upset all at once. All I’m saying is…this is your brother. This is the rest of his life, his lifetime happiness, his marriage. Are you really going to pick yourself over him for this, too?”

Lan Xichen had to put his hand on the wall to stop himself from staggering. Whoever thought that Nie Huaisang didn’t know how to stab a man had only ever seen him on the practice field, he thought; they had never seen him in conversation, where his words were sharper and more accurate than any saber.

He wasn’t – he didn’t mean to be selfish, to be picking himself. He didn’t want to do to Lan Wangji what his father had done to their uncle, trapping him in the Cloud Recesses and a million obligations he’d never wanted, even though Lan Wangji was coming to the work far older than either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren had done.

On the contrary, he had retreated because he knew he could not trust himself. If his judgment was so bad that he had permitted – not only permitted, but in his willful blindness all but endorsed – so many of Jin Guangyao’s vile actions…if he had then turned his hand so quickly against Jin Guangyao once he had learned the truth…Lan Xichen had demonstrated that he lacked either principles of honor or of friendship, and given all that, how could he trust his judgment going forward? Wouldn’t it be better for all of them if he just wasn’t there -?

“If you’re really all that set on mourning san-ge, I’m not going to stop you,” Nie Huaisang said. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, for Lan Zhan’s sake.”

Lan Xichen froze. “You think I’m in here mourning?”

“Why else?” Nie Huaisang’s voice was still ruthlessly practical. His brother’s voice, and as much as he had loved Nie Mingjue in life, suddenly Lan Xichen hated hearing it from Nie Huaisang’s mouth. “You picked him over the rest of us a million times over when he was alive; what’s this seclusion of yours anything other than picking him over us again?”

Lan Xichen didn’t even realize what he intended to do until he was already moving: going away from the window and to the door, opening it and stepping outside – breaking seclusion in truth, the way a few words through a window were insufficient to do – and walking around over to where Nie Huaisang was sitting with his back against the hanshi wall.

“How dare you,” he said, and Nie Huaisang looked up at him, startled. “That’s not it at all.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t playing with a fan, for once, and looking down at him, sitting there in the dirt and mud in his sect leader’s clothes, Lan Xichen thought he looked small.

Not – pathetic, the way that he’d come to secretly think of him in his heart of hearts these past few years. Just small.

Young. Tired.

Like the lost little boy he’d been when he’d first come to the Cloud Recesses, all those years ago; the one who had inadvertently gotten Lan Wangji to return to himself after their mother’s death, all unknowing – Nie Huaisang hadn’t ever realized that Lan Wangji hadn’t merely been quiet back then but truly mute, nor that the first word he had said since the announcement of the death of their mother over two years before had been a long-suffering “Please” in response to Nie Huaisang’s childish demand that Lan Wangji mind his manners when asking him to pass the salt. By the time Nie Huaisang had been there a month, Lan Wangji had bitten three children and four adults for having said something rude about his new friend, rather than standing there staring at them vacantly the way he had in the past, and Lan Xichen thought he’d never seen his uncle happier about a violation of the rules.

Nie Huaisang looked like the boy who’d nearly paced a hole into the floor during the war, worrying about his brother and pestering Lan Xichen about Lan Wangji very nearly as much, if not more – his brother he’d worried about in an abstract way, in his not-so-secret belief that Nie Mingjue was truly immortal, but Lan Wangji was ‘just a kid’, in his words, as if he himself weren’t a year younger.

He looked like the boy whose heart had shattered into a thousand pieces upon the realization that his brother – the immortal, the all-powerful – was really gone.

“I killed him,” Lan Xichen said, staring down at Nie Huaisang. “Don’t you understand? I killed him.”

“I know,” Nie Huaisang said, the opposite of all his ‘I don’t know’s over the years. “I was there, remember? In the temple – I saw you do it, it was my fault, I instigated –”

“Not Jin Guangyao,” Lan Xichen said. “Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang fell silent.

“I had them for about the same amount of time, you know,” Lan Xichen said. “Nearly two decades: Mingjue-xiong throughout my childhood, and A-Yao my adulthood, and I killed them both. How can I live with that?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and his voice was bitter. “For once, for real, I really don’t know. But it’s been over a year. Surely you’ve had time to figure some of that out?”

Lan Xichen hadn’t realized that it had been so longer. It had been forever in there, and also no time at all.

“Do you know,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, “that right after it all happened, Wei Wuxian said to me ‘don’t associate with evil’?”

Lan Xichen blinked, and then he processed it and stared. “Wei Wuxian said that to you? Wei Wuxian?”

And Wangji accepted it? He wanted to ask. Did Lan Wangji agree with him – did he think that you were too far gone to be saved, that it wasn’t worth associating with you any longer? Your crimes were all in pursuit of justice, and mine done blindly, and yet if he can’t bring himself to forgive you, what hope do I have?

“Lan Zhan has been helping me fend off challenges to my position,” Nie Huaisang said. “And Wei Wuxian apologized for what he said, eventually. He said that he trusted Lan Zhan’s judgment, and if he didn’t think of me as evil, then as far as he was concerned, I wasn’t.”

That seemed like a fairly good standard to use, actually.

“Lan Zhan doesn’t think you’re evil, either,” Nie Huaisang said, and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Even if you don’t trust yourself, why not trust him?”

“…is that what you did?” Lan Xichen asked, and his throat felt sore. All that speaking for the first time in months was wearing on him.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said plainly. “After everything I did to avenge da-ge, I’d started to think of myself as willing to do anything, heedless of the collateral damage, another person just like san-ge – a smile to your face and a knife to your back. I still think that, sometimes. But every time I do, I just remind myself that that’s not the sort of person Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, would be friends with, and that means it can’t be me. You see?”

Lan Xichen did.

He did see.

He reached up and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve – his eyes had started flowing with tears at some point, he wasn’t sure when. “I’ll come out,” he whispered. “I’ll go to the wedding. I’ll help with – with everything, even if it will take me time. I promise.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, and suddenly smiled up at him, bright and cheerful as a bird once more. “Because I’m serious, you have no idea, he will bite us both –”

Lan Xichen felt a laugh bubbling in his chest and thought that, with time, that he might even be able to let it out.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #associates

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daily-douma · 4 years ago

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Demon With No Name

An analysis on Upper Moon Two: Douma

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba spoilers!!

Hello! ❤ I wanted to discuss the significance on Douma’s real name never being revealed to us in the KNY story.

I'd love it if you guys could share your thoughts on this with me please!

Before I start:

Disclaimer: I do not speak Japanese at all, I’m basing all quotes off of the first manga site i could find. Translations may vary depending on the source. Also I may not be aware of alternate meanings of words that may have been lost in translation for the most important quotes! So please forgive me if I misinterpret something!!

A lot of the demons in KNY’s story are either nameless, or go by an alias that isn’t their real name. Examples of the former include most minor demons, such as the Temple Demon, Swamp Demon, Older brother/sister, Mother, and Father Spider demons, etc. Examples of the latter are mostly are more relevant Upper moon demons-- Daki, Akaza, and Kokushibou, whose real names are Ume, Hakuji, and Michikatsu respectively. The other upper moons, Nakime, Gyokko, and Hantengu, however, don’t have their human names revealed, along with Douma. However, these 3, did not hold as much story significance as Douma.

Then in addition to that, there are some demons who go by their human names still, such as Rui and Kaigaku. I assume it is because they are young enough relative to other demons age that they haven’t forgotten it (or maybe they just like their human names lol).

(I don’t know if Gyutaro’s name is his actual name or a fake name and, if it is a fake name, I don’t remember if his real name is actually given, which is weird because his sister’s was. But that’s a topic for another day.)

However, Douma, who holds the rank of Upper Moon 2, is one of the most relevant demons in the story, yet his real name is never disclosed. Even in the Kimetsu Acadmeny chapter extras, is stated that his AU version’s real name is unknown.

So, why is that? Douma even said so himself that he has great memory. He remembered many details of his life but he failed to ever disclose to us his name. Was that one thing he did forget? Was it not important to him? Did he simply not have a real name before becoming a demon? (Maybe his parents thought he was above having a normal human name?) And most importantly, was this intentionally done by Kyoharu Gotouge?

Before I continue, first we should know the meaning behind Douma’s name. His name is officially 童磨. According to the Kimetsu no Yaiba wiki, 童 ( dō ) means “child,” and 磨 (ma) which can mean “polishe,” “grind,” or “improve.” (Someone also said it can mean magic but I don’t have the source im sorry :( ) Based on these, Douma’s name has a meaning somewhere along the lines of “magical child” or “polished child.” This is most likely to reference how his parents thought he had divine powers at his birth.

For most people, your name is one of the most significant aspect of one’s identity. It’s the first bit of information you to give to anybody upon introduction. However, Douma’s unknown name is a demonstration of his own lack of personal identity.

If we take a look back at Douma’s childhood, he’s been put on as the figurehead of the Eternal Paradise cult from the day he could even sit up. His entire life he was put on a pedestal for an identity he did not make for himself, but one manufactured and forced onto him by his parents. In chapter 142, Douma admits that he can’t speak to the Gods or have any spiritual connections that his parents believe he has. In fact, he doesn’t even believe in any of it. If that’s the case, why does he seem so fixated on the idea of bringing his troubled followers to “paradise” as his sole reason for being born?

Earlier I mentioned that one large aspect of identity is our name. However, another important aspect in defining our identity is the personal relationships we have around us. Who we value and surround ourselves will shape our own individual perceptions of ourselves. However, Douma, who has admitted to having limited capability in feeling emotions, is unable to form meaningful bonds with people around him. Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba is story where most, if not all, the main themes revolve around love, family, and friendship being the main motivators to drive characters in the pursuit of goals. However, here we have a character who serves as a direct antithesis to of all these themes. He has nobody he loves and nobody who loves him.

In chapter 157, Kanao calls out Douma in their fight, telling him she can see through the fake persona he puts on. She then proceeds to question him: “Why were you even born?” (damn....) Douma gave clearly visible cues that he was not pleased with what she had to say. The important observation to take from this scene is Douma’s reaction. The man who was just revealed to not feel any emotions, who is usually unbothered by harsh words thrown at him from demon slayers and other members of the upper moons alike, showed an emotional response to the cutting words of a child questioning his existence.

Based on this reaction, I think there is reason to believe Douma has an innate dissatisfaction with his own identity, or moreso his lack of identity. From his childhood, he’s been more than aware of how he cannot feel emotions the same as others. Even in his dying thoughts in chapter 163, he thinks back on how he was “always been this way.” He thinks about how human emotions to him were nothing more than “mere dreams.”

I think should we take a close look at the word choice used here. He could have simply said something along the lines of “I’ve never felt emotions;” however Gotouge specifically phrased it as a metaphor comparing it to dreams. This word choice conveys a sense of longing associated with the idea of being able to experience emotion. This suggests that there is a chance he did wish for a better understanding of emotions. After all, like Kanao said, what’s the point of living if one can’t truly indulge in all of life’s pleasures associated with the emotional bonds we build with one another?

However, what does all this of this have to do with Douma not having a name? Douma not having a name is symbolic of his entire character. He is a man with no true identity of his own. He was unable to maintain any close, meaningful, interpersonal relationships with anyone around him in the hundreds of years he lived. He lived every day with a false persona knowing deep down inside of him knowing he was different from everyone else around him, but not in the “spiritual way” that was expected of him. And in his own Nihilistic opinion, he felt his own life was pointless. But as a direct contradiction to those beliefs, he continues to lie to himself, telling himself the people need him to save them. It’s ironic--Douma, the man who mocked demon slayers’ efforts to do whatever they can to achieve their goals, is doing the most to do whatever he can to mask the emptiness he feels inside. His boastfulness of his cult, his over-acting of emotions, and his insistence of friendly and polite conversation even in the face of insults and attacks from opponents all demonstrate this. While he may not be able to process and understand emotions like most people, there is one thing that Douma appears to have in common with many people: wanting a sense of purpose and meaningfulness in life.

While Douma’s reason for becoming a demon is never explicitly disclosed in the manga, I think we have reason to suspect him of becoming a demon for the purpose of finding an identity to call his own. Muzan Kibutsuji is notorious for taking advantage of humans who are at their lowest points in their life. They have lost everything that mattered to them and have no one else to turn to. However, it was a different case with Douma--a man with no loved ones, no purpose, no real identity--already had nothing to lose to in the first place.

Despite all Douma thought he though he “dedicated [...] to people and made contributions to the world,” in the end, his choice to become a demon never brought him the sense of identity and purpose he sought out by the time of his death. Unlike even other demons, who had family members they could happily reunite with in death, he would simply be forgotten from the rest of the world. Sure, maybe the demon slayers will remember him as Douma, one of the strongest demons. However,there was not a single person who knew the real Douma, the real name behind the man who served as Upper Moon 2 under Muzan. He will just continue to remain nameless even in death. A cruel reminder of how any way Muzan’s involvement in any other demon’s life did nothing to improve any of their lives, if not worsen it.

I don’t think I worded this well but I hope it still makes sense to everyone 🥺

#Douma #dōma #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #character analysis

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its-sixxers · 3 years ago

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Swan Song

Ulfric Stormcloak is dead. The civil war is halted - for now. Alduin awaits. Idunn and Tandreth are all too aware of the fate of heroes.

(borderline wip but a snippet in apology for my absence <3)

Despite centuries living, Tandreth had at last discovered something he’d never witnessed before.

What it felt like to be a hero.

Amidst the ruin Whiterun rose from the ashes like a phoenix to celebrate - the dead were buried, injuries nursed, grudges put to bed. Tandreth still felt the sting of where the Ulfric’s blade had bit into his ribs, but the mead of Jarl Balgruuf had quelled his pain. Throughout the night toasts had been made even when the scent of burned flesh still lingered even in Dragonsreach - the Companions often the source of uproarious laughter, the local bard testing out a few new verses in his attempt to give the event justice.

Tandreth had been fawned over, and if it were only a few years ago he’d have been happy to take to bed a train of admirers. As he sat at the feast table, however, he was only all too aware that his fame was based solely on his proximity to others - and for the first time, he was content in that knowledge.

Azuraansi sat near the Jarl himself, nursing her single goblet of wine and leaning in conspiratorially between Balgruuf and Irileth, discussing matters he couldn’t imagine. Whatever they were, it brought a smile to her usually icy features - though colored with a hearty dose of exhaustion. Tandreth smiled in turn to see his twin sister flattered and content, to be recognized for her ability and to, for once, not have her victory turn to ashes in her hands.

Most of his attention was diverted to the guest of honor, however.

Idunn - Dragonborn, who’d come to Whiterun’s aid on a dragon with he and his sister in tow, who’d engaged Ulfric Stormcloak in single combat, whose Shouts had caused lighting to crack across the sky and who sang with every sweep of her warhammer. She’d been like Ysgramor himself, like Talos, like any other figure of legend - auburn hair blazing, so young, and yet she could not mirror the smiles and cheers offered her. Instead she let Raansi engage with the Jarl and the excited elite of Whiterun, preferring to stare into her goblet of mead.

Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. It was cause for celebration for many - it should have been cause for celebration for her.

Yet despite the man’s many sins, Idunn was no executioner.

By the time Tandreth finally managed to gain an opportunity to politely excuse himself from the feast table, she was absent. Unmissed - Talos was charismatic, Ysgramor larger than life. Idunn always seemed to try her best to fade into the background, to bore any who tried to engage with her.

Slipping into the shadows was second nature, and all the easier with most of the Great Hall too inebriated to perceive anything but their own joy. Tandreth slipped away from the celebratory feast and into Dragonsreach’s state quarters, all revelry muffled by the thick oak doors closing behind him.

Moonlight trickled in through the windows of the back hall high above. The place was unguarded - whether those assigned to their posts were dead or excused was beyond Tandreth’s knowledge, but the thought of the keep’s inhabitants unguarded as they slept unsettled him. Quickly he made haste to the quarters that had been granted to Idunn - those that used to belong to the Jarl’s wife, at the pinnacle of Dragonsreach’s many steps. His own were at a lower level, and were it not for Irileth’s own status he’d wonder if it was a slight.

The carved door to Idunn’s chambers was unlocked, not that it’d be a concern for him if it wasn’t - and quietly he cracked it open to peer inside.

Idunn wasn’t in her bed. He knew it the moment the sound of snoring didn’t meet his ears, and quietly he slipped inside. The curtains shifted from an incoming draft, and he knew where to go.

Beyond the solar was the bedroom, whose north wall possessed a great stone arch framed by woven linen curtains that led to a stone balcony beyond. Multicolored lights spilled through the windows onto the four poster bed.

A familiar figure stood on the balcony, backlit by the aurora.

Whiterun’s tundra stretched for miles below, the night sky above splashed with the watercolor of numerous shifting lights. Idunn leaned against the banister wearing nothing but a man’s undershirt, hem laying across the middle of her powerful thighs. Tandreth could see numerous bruises blooming upon her pale skin, as varied in color as the night sky above.

“It’s your night, you know. You should enjoy it.” Tandreth said gently, announcing his presence. Idunn only turned her head a fraction to acknowledge him, her cheeks shining with what he knew were shed tears. Slowly he approached, coming to her side by the banister.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.” she answered, voice thin. Yes, she’d been crying. “The Plains District is ashes. Good people are dead.”

“Yes.” Tandreth agreed, watching her white-knuckle grip on the banister. “But more would have perished if it wasn’t for you. The day’s won. Now’s for drinking, to forget the bloodshed, to relish being alive.”

Idunn dropped her gaze to him, looking more afraid than he’d ever seen her. It made something in his chest clench to see it - the whites of her eyes in the dark. “For how long?”

He offered his best smile in an effort to reassure her. “For eternity, if we’re lucky. Maybe Nine will become Ten. Say hello to Dibella for me if that’s the case, she’s always sounded like a fun time.”

The effort fell flat, for Idunn made a choked noise in her throat and looked back to the tundra below - to the embers that yet burned, further evidence of battle hidden by the dark. “There’s only one thing left, now.”

Alduin. A fear marked by the panic in her face whenever a shadow crossed the sky. A god. How could anyone kill a god?

Unbidden Tandreth’s hand settled upon her own, his dark skin a stark contrast to hers. The action stilled her ragged breathing, granting him some relief. “You’ve succeeded in everything. You can do this. I’m with you, for what little it helps. I believe in you.” The expected words. The words he was supposed to say.

Again she shook her head. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” she whispered. “It’s what happens after.”

“After?” Tandreth looked up at her quizzically, his traitorous hand gently stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “Whatever you want. No one can stop you. I’m certain the Empire will give you enough coin to buy anything you please for Ulfric’s head-”

“No.” Idunn said emphatically, suddenly pulling her hand away from his. Tandreth’s palm burned from the absence. “All of the stories. All the heroes die. Ulfric was a hero, to the Stormcloaks. They never… They never…”

“Happily ever afters are boring.” Tandreth replied, anxiety building in his chest from this line of conversation. Ulfric’s death had rattled her, and he knew it was for more reasons than the man’s status as hero. This battle was beyond him, something scum like him had no hope of fighting. “And those are just stories, Idunn, they aren’t-”

“You said so yourself.” she interrupted. “Heroes don’t get happy endings. It’s a lie.”

It caused his cheeks to flush, bile to rise in his throat. Yes, he’d told her as much - told her in as few words as he could manage what happened to his mother, the Nerevarine. How he and his sister had as good as grown up on their own, never to have closure until he saw his mother’s ghost. How the last Dragonborn emperor had martyred himself, how the hero who’d brought him to the Imperial City scorned all glory and disappeared from history soon after. How all of Idunn’s efforts to do right were fruitless, how none would appreciate her and her name would disappear after she died trying to protect people who didn’t care for her - and now Tandreth saw the effects of his poisonous words. Self hatred flooded his system. Vile, venomous coward, who’d tried to drag her down with him.

“Idunn.” he whispered, and she winced at the sound of her own name from his lips. “I was saying whatever I could to dissuade you, then. It was cruel.”

“Was it false?” she questioned, words piercing something else in his chest. She looked him in the eye, her own, wide and green and so guileless, beseeching him for the truth.

Tandreth’s shoulders fell, staring up at her - at the aurora reflected in her eyes, unable to bring light to them. Honesty burned his tongue, but he offered it nonetheless. “No.”

Idunn took a deep breath and turned away from him. “I always knew it.” she murmured. “At the heart of it, all along. I’m going to succeed. Destiny, fate, the Divines - they’ll carry me that far. But after…” He watched her throat ripple as she swallowed. “... I’m not coming back from this.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I feel it.” Idunn shook her head. “In my bones. My heart. The air. It makes sense. This was my purpose, all along. I have no -” A pause and another wince, as she dared a glance back at him. Correcting herself, to a flutter in his lungs. “ - few friends. No family. I was destined to die before fate called on me. It was just a stay of execution. This is my purpose, what I’ve been chosen for, what I’ve been born for. There’s nothing after.”

A cold feeling pooled in his gut, and Tandreth felt the overwhelming urge to run at her words. To save himself. Idunn was convinced, and it was enough to convince him in turn. In his travels with her he’d seen things he’d never believe, proof of divinity, every odd defied. It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out. He’d seen it all happen before.

Yet beneath the cold an ember burned, fanned into a flame. No. He’d seen it before, but he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d tried to persuade her out of destiny, thrashed and raged against it. He’d tried to run from it already. The conclusion he’d come to was one constant as the rising sun.

Whatever would come, he couldn’t leave her. Even if he had to watch her die.

No.

Could he change fate? Change a certain path?

Of course not. He was a child, tantruming against the inevitable. Instinctively wanting to smash what he could before running away, furious at his own powerlessness.

Yet if there was one thing he could change - one thing in his blighted life he could do again, it was to say something. He’d left his mother with bitter words.

Idunn stared out at the tundra in silence. Could he leave her with the same?

Tandreth’s tongue suddenly felt thick, a wave of heat flowing over his body as if a fever. Nausea twisted his stomach. Suddenly all words failed him - he’d never had trouble with them before, always had a quick remark, but now this was important, now this was perhaps the last calm they’d ever have.

“Maybe.” he admitted, forcing himself to face the truth of it all. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe these are the last weeks.” His body was betraying him, vision clouding with blasted tears, his voice wavering. He could still run - Azura, how he longed to - but Tandreth clutched the stone banister as if it could keep him from being ripped away from it. He’d lived centuries, but a couple dozen months had given him a light he’d long thought lost and the idea that it was going to be snuffed out again was too much to comprehend.

Idunn managed to look at him again, pain diffused with confusion on her part. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this, he was well aware - knew that the little wrinkle between her brow was one of concern. Knew everything, and tried not to think of how every scrap of knowledge of her might come to haunt him. “You don’t have to stay.” Her voice was tender as a kiss. “It’ll be safer.”

It was his turn to make a choked noise, and he tore his hands from the banister to settle on her biceps, so firm beneath his touch he nearly took comfort in it. Tandreth forced her to face him, to look him in the face. “No. Listen to me, Idunn. I’ve spent my life running. From everything. From living. Were this a few years ago I’d be happy to throw myself into the void alongside you - but I’ve met you now. In you I’ve seen that maybe this cursed plane is worth something after all, that I could be worth something. I want to live. I want to see what the future holds.” In spite of himself, he let his hands drift down her bicep, stroking her skin - took a step forward. “With you. Whatever time you have left. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her lips fell open, and he almost cried at how it took her a few moments to process it all - dear, sweet, simple Idunn - and he knew she had when she couldn’t keep the water from spilling from her eyes, collecting on her lower lashes like dew. “But you - you hate it. Hate this.”

Tandreth laughed bitterly. “Yes. I hate fate, I hate the work of Divines and Daedra. I hate to be helpless. But not you. Not…” His right hand moved up to her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Not this. Never this.”

Uncertainty now overrode all of Idunn’s fear, calming the maelstrom in his own mind. “I won’t let you die on my account.”

“You’re not listening. I want to live.” Tandreth repeated. “And if… if you’re right, I’m going to try my damndest to make sure meeting you meant something. To make sure the world doesn’t forget. Not just the hero, but the woman.”

“The woman isn’t anything.” Idunn said with a watery smile. “You’ll bore them all to pieces.”

“I’ll fight Akatosh himself if I can keep the woman on this world with me for one moment longer.” Tandreth nearly shook her, desperate for her to understand him, choking on the words he needed to say, before the end, before she was another one of his ghosts.

The fear in her returned, but it was a different fear - one he knew in himself. The caution, the hesitance, the disbelief - she was worried she’d misheard him, that she’d read too much into things. She started to pull away from him - she’d decided what he was trying to tell her was all in her head, and in response he pulled her closer.

“I love you.” he whispered - feeling as if he’d doomed them both.

#fanfic #wip sorta #oc: tandreth #oc: idunn / dragonborn #lil inebriated writing this woooops #classic tandreth: waiting til the last minute to do anything important (:

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rainbowsky · 4 years ago

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My god, the fandom totally frustrated me. I want to avoid twitter but we know lot of clips from there so I have to come back there sometimes. But some of them are just so ignorant. Spreading bts video around, the SS, the blurred version, yet don't feel guilty about it. They even angry when people came at them, some even saying to not control them, and other shitty stuff. That's not the point? After weibo mess and they still act like they entitled to do whatever they want. My mood is bad rn

This touches on the whole BTS controversy, and is going to go long, so I’m putting a cut here.

I witnessed that entire situation on Twitter, Anon, and I felt differently from you about it. Yes, that person was sharing sasaeng video and refused to stop doing so. When someone does that, I ask them to stop and if they don’t, I block them and where appropriate, report them. I do that here on Tumblr as well. That is the entirety of what I can do about this. I feel strongly that any other action taken by myself in these matters is likely to do more harm than good. And the whole Twitter drama was a perfect example of that.

What I witnessed on Twitter was savage, cruel and unnecessary. There was a huge pile-on of attacks against that poor girl, until she was in tears and begging people to leave her alone, telling people she was at work and to please have some compassion.

I understand people are frustrated about the Weibo attack, but let’s try to remember that was a paid anti attack. That poor girl wasn’t responsible for it, nor were the people who shared the BTS that the antis bought a hot search for, nor were even the fan sites who initially released that BTS responsible for it. The attack was the sole responsibility of the antis who chose to buy and promote that search.

What I have seen is that a lot of fans have gone on to attack each other, fight and argue over the BTS. I have seen some particularly nasty tags even here on Tumblr (putting something in a tag doesn’t make it any less visible to others, nor any less inflammatory).

How does anyone feel that helps GG or DD? Whose purposes do fan wars serve?

I’ll tell you my opinion: the fan wars serve the purposes of the antis. It is, in fact, a huge part of why they buy these searches. I’ve talked about this before, but the more hatred and anger that can be sown between various groups of fans, the better for those who hate GG and DD. The better for the corporate interests that want to take them down.

When antis attack GG and DD, that is their choice to do so. Blaming anti attacks on other fans is just another way of in-fighting. It doesn’t serve anyone’s purpose but the antis. I believe that is part of their intent when they make those attacks. To try to trigger more fandom wars, which only stirs more controversy and makes GG and DD look bad.

We are always going to have disagreements, and that is normal and totally OK. There’s no ‘universality of experience’ when it comes to being a fan. No ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way of being a fan. There are some things we should avoid and some things we should try to work on improving, and each of us has our own personal opinion of where those lines should be drawn. But at the end of the day we are all here to love and support, and everyone has to make their own decisions about how to do that.

You know what? - and this is a thing I think we all need to remember - people actually ARE ‘entitled to do whatever they want’. They have the supreme and inviolable right to make huge mistakes, to be wrong and even harmful. We may not like the choices other people make, but we have to accept that those are their choices to make, those are their mistakes to make. And they will have their own journey of dealing with the impact of their choices.

We can’t control what other people do, say or think. The only thing that we ever have any control over is how we choose to respond to what they do, say or think. And I want to make the potentially radical suggestion that we try to make those responses as measured, charitable and compassionate as we possibly can.

I don’t ever want to do or say anything hurtful toward others, but especially not in GGDD’s name. I don’t ever want to cut others down or make claims about their attitudes or character or question their love for GGDD, or anything of that sort - but especially not in GGDD’s name.

I don’t think they would want arguments and bickering done in their name. I don’t think they would want judgments or attacks or suspicions spread in their name. I don’t think they would want fan wars conducted in their name.

GG put it best in one of his interviews after the whole controversy this year, when he said that he wants people to enjoy being fans, but to do so rationally. He said he doesn’t need the protection of the fans.

So please, people, when discussing these issues - REMEMBER THE HUMAN on the other side of your keyboard. Remember that there are real people out there who you could be hurting with your words. Remember that we are living in uncertain times with an incredible amount of hardship in the world, and your words have the potential to help or harm. Let’s always try to help.

Remember that doing and saying hurtful things in GGDD’s name - it’s simply not what either of them would want.

If you are frustrated, if you are hurting and angry, please try to reach out and make connections rather than attacks. We are all fans, we all love them. Let’s try to work together rather than against each other.

If you come across hate, ignore and block (and report where appropriate). Don’t engage in fan wars.

Let’s not do the dirty work of the antis.

#bjyx #yizhan #untamed bts #antis go home #hundred holes curse on all stalkers #bxg perspectives #love not war

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thesigilsofbaphomet · 4 years ago

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Lucifer Wants What’s Best For You

(And God is Your Enemy)

So... I touched on this in my response to someone talking about using Micheal in Catholic Folk Magic as a protective, social justice spirit. But I cut my overall take short, because it was off topic. But I wanted to talk about it, so, it’s time for one of my rare non-reblog posts on this blog.

I’ll begin by restating my overall premise- If you look at both canonical and folk-loric sources on Satan, you see a figure who simply desires to help people.

The Snake in the Garden

It is important to note that The Serpent in Genesis is not Lucifer/Satan/The Devil. It’s just... a serpent. Like, it’s not even, specifically, a demon. But the serpent, being a magical talking animal who convinces humans to act contrary to the will of God, is commonly seen as a demon. And I’ll go with that.

So, God creates the whole universe. This includes The Garden of Eden, the paradise that God rents to the first humans in exchange for their obedience. They’re allowed to eat from any tree in the Garden, except the tree in the center, known as the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (The ToKoGaE).

Note- God created Eden for Adam and Eve. God is omniscient, meaning all knowing, thus he knows that Adam and Eve will eventually eat the fruit of the tree. The general Christian take is that the tree is a test. However, if you know that the test takers will fail a test, and you know you will give them a rather extreme punishment for that failure, is it not extremely cruel to present that test?

So the serpent talks to Eve, and there’s an exchange, and eventually, the snake convinces Eve to eat ToKoGaE fruit. Giving her knowledge of Good and Evil. And there’s some really weird thing here where suddenly she knows she’s nude, because she ate fruit that gives her moral knowledge, and apparently there’s a moral weight to nudity? And it’s bad? But God made them nude? So God explicitly create humans in a state of Sin and this whole original sin shit doesn’t really fucking hold up if they were created in a state of sin to begin with? I digress. Eve gives Adam the ToKoGaE fruit, now they both know their nude, so they start gluing leaves to their skin with sap or something (I refuse to believe they had any actual knowledge of how to weave leaves into clothes like it’s just a thing you can do and not something you have to learn how to do, and there’s literally no reason for them to have done that prior, so this is literally the first time they’re trying to use leaves as cover).

And the usual Christian take is that the snake is wrong in this. But... knowledge is good, and God was specifically withholding knowledge from Adam and Eve. So the Serpent was helping them.

Satan Scares a Guy’s Ass

No, literally. A guy named Balaam is riding a donkey and Satan appears to scare the donkey to stop him.

This story makes no goddamned sense, even when you read it in a vaguely modern dialect. But, basically, the Israelites leave Egypt and settle, and the guy who rules the land next to them says “holy shit, that’s a lot of guys, they might come take my shit.” So he sends some messengers to a seer, Balaam, to ask him to curse the Israelites so he can beat them in battle. Balaam says “Ok, sleep here, I’ll tell you what God says in the morning.” In the morning, Balaam’s like “Bad news, guys. God says I can’t go with you. The Israelites are blessed.” The king sends more messengers who are more official looking and they say “Look, dude, our lord will give you SO MUCH HONOR if you come curse these guys for us”

So Balaam says “Look, I don’t care if your king sucks my dick gives me his palace and all his money, I can’t go against God. But stay here, I’ll tell you if he says anything more in the morning (and on reflection, it almost seems like this is explicitly acknowledging that God is just extremely capricious). God tells Balaam, “Ok, go with them, but do exactly what I tell you.” So Balaam saddles his ass up, and goes with them.

And God gets pissed off? Because, I’ll repeat, God is a capricious asshole. So Satan (or, An Angel of the Lord, depending on the translation you read, but the original Hebrew says it’s Satan, who, in Judaism, is an angel of YHWH, and basically exists to test humans) appears, only visible to Balaam’s donkey, and the donkey says “oh fuck that, I’m gonna go to this field over here.” Balaam hits the donkey and the donkey goes back to the pass. So Satan appears again, this time in a narrow pass, so the donkey say “eeengghh...” and tries to, like, slide past Satan by scrapping the wall, and scrapes Balaam’s foot, so, again, Balaam beats his ass. Finally, Satan appears on, like, a narrow bridge, and the donkey can’t turn, can’t just scrape against a wall, and so just lays down. Balaam is, again, pissed off, and Satan opens Balaam’s eyes and asks him why he’s beating his donkey, and God opens the donkey’s mouth so the donkey can be like “no seriously, what the fuck, dude?”

But, so, in Numbers, Satan appears to just stop a guy from doing what God told him not to (and then to) do.

“They go through houses — they go up, they ring doorbells”

In Chronicles, David, king of Israel, decides to have a census. Or Satan tells him to. It’s not clear. In Samuel, David has the idea independently, but in Chronicles Satan tells him to. But anyway. David wants to have a census, which is a pretty reasonable thing. Censuses have a purpose, they tell a government how many people there are, and where they live, and, in America, give data that can be used to decide where and how to spend tax money. But for some reason, authoritarians don’t like censuses.

I want to say more about this, but... it’s literally just “Satan tells David to take a census, God doesn’t like that.” and then God sending an angel to tell David “pick a punishment!”

The Outlier--Job

I feel like a broken record, but, again, this story makes no fucking sense. Job’s super devout, and God’s blessed him. Satan walks up to God and says “Dude, he’s only devout because you gave him shit. Let me take his shit, and you’ll see how devout he really is.” And God says “Ok, sure, but you can’t kill him.”

So Satan just absolutely shits on Job. He gives Job boils, he kills his family, he financially ruins him, and through it all, Job refuses to reject God, so Satan is forced to concede, and God’s like “Haha, told you. Now, Job, how’d you like a new wife?”

This is the one story I’m aware of where Satan is legitimately just screwing with a guy and not trying to help him.

And Satan’s There, Too!

Satan next appears in Zechariah, in, like, a vision, and he’s just sort of there? This is another “The Satan” thing, where Satan is an angel of God whose purpose is to test humans. He doesn’t really do anything, he just gets mentioned as being there.

Then there’s a mention of Lucifer in Isaiah, and, literally, it’s just a reference. He’s not even there, it’s just a throwaway line saying “Lucifer was cast out of Heaven.”

Satan Asks Jesus Out to Some Beers

The last three mentions of Lucifer in the Bible occur in the New Testament, two of them are just Lucifer tempting Jesus.

Mark just mentions that Satan tempted Jesus.

Luke actually describes the temptation. So, Jesus goes out into the desert and fasts for forty days. Lucifer shows up and says “dude, you’re the son of God, just turn this stone into some bread, and have something to eat.” Jesus rebukes him in a “completely missing the goddamned point” way. So Lucifer takes him up to a mountain and says, “Look, dude, come with me, and can rule over everything you see here. It’s all mine, and it’s mine to give to who I choose. Just worship me.” And Jesus rebukes him. So Lucifer takes Jesus up to the top of a temple and says “God gave the angels to you, they’ll protect you, jump off and they’ll catch you.” And Jesus rebukes him again, and Lucifer disappears in a poof of exasperation.

Now, what’s the purpose of this? Well, there’s the standard Christian reading that Satan is trying to lure Jesus away from serving God’s plan because he’s EVIL and his SOLE PURPOSE IS TO OPPOSE GOOD AND THAT’S GOD. But... Ok, so Jesus is the son of God, he’s divine, and, it’s reasonable to assume that he can’t die unless God allows it, because it’s part of God’s plan for him to die in a specific context. So.... why does he fast for forty days? It’s not like he can starve, and he’s divine, so it’s not like he can suffer the pangs of hunger, unless he chooses to, so... is there any meaning in his fasting? I argue not. It’s exactly as meaningless as the act of turning a stone to bread and having a bite.

Then, there’s the second temptation. If we assume that Jesus is benevolent, and divine, and I argue, even as a Satanist, that Jesus is benevolent. I also believe that Lucifer is benevolent and the creator god is the standout as the not-benevolent one in the game. But I expect Christians believe that Satan is evil and Jesus good. Therefore, in Luke 4, Satan says “this world is mine, to give to they who I see fit.” And Jesus refuses to even pay lip service. Despite the fact Jesus ruling the world would presumably be better for people than a world rules by Satan. And Satan is offering that, maybe as a fuck you to God, but he is freely offering up his temporal power to someone who would make the world a better place.

The final temptation, I would argue, is Satan trying to free Jesus from God’s plan that demands he suffer torture and death. He’s trying to show Jesus “you have power of your own, you don’t have to subject yourself to this plan that ends in your death.”

If we interrogate the narrative from it’s own perspective, then Jesus is both God and human, and Satan is appealing to him as a human, saying “you’re a god, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to die.”

Luke 22 is the last mention of Satan in the Bible, and it just says that Satan entered Judas (not in a sexy way), and Judas went out to talk to the pharisees about how he could betray Jesus. But...well, ok, literally the line is-

3 Then entered Satan into Judas surnamed Iscariot, being of the number of the twelve.

4 And he went his way, and communed with the chief priests and captains, how he might betray him unto them.

Like... it makes me think that a lot of the time, when Satan is mentioned in the Bible, they don’t mean a literal figure named Satan, and they’re using the name poetically to refer to people working against God or Jesus. Because... Jesus’ death is foreordained. It’s part of God’s plan, so why would Satan be involved in Judas’ betrayal of Jesus? Unless this is going back to the Judaic idea of Satan as an angel of God who acts as an adversary of humanity, in which case, Satan is acting on God’s orders to make Judas betray Jesus.

To Infinity and Beyond

So, that’s the extent to which Satan is mentioned in the Bible in anyway, either as a figure never called Satan but often conflated with him, to The Adversary, to Lucifer.

After that, you have to look at folk lore and media, and this is simultaneously difficult, because pretty much anyone can make a story up and it can get traction, and actually kind of easy in this particular case, because... most folk lore is one a single track when it comes to Satan.

Most folk lore involving Lucifer/Satan/whatever you want to call him-

I hear he misses the old names, so, special shoutout to “Little Horn”

-involves a human who wants something, and Satan showing up to give it to them for their soul.

And this comes to a realization I made last year- In these stories, if you take the Christian worldview, Satan is actually... giving these things away for free, not for people’s souls.

I’m pretty sure I talked about this on this tumblr, but I’ll go through it so you don’t have to hunt it down.

In Christianity, your soul is not yours, it belongs to God, so you can’t actually give it away or “sell” it

However, to do so, if your could, would be a sin

In Christianity, or at least Catholicism, conceiving of a sin with full intent to commit it is the same as committing the sin.

Therefore, even if you can’t, technically, “sell your soul to the devil,” if you decide to do so, you have immediately sinned, and in fact, you have committed pretty much the biggest sin there is in Christianity, Apostasy, one which cannot be forgiven by any temporal power, and the forgiveness of is the sole domain of God himself.

ie, If you commit Apostasy, you are immediately condemned to Hell, unless God himself intervenes. If you decide to sell your soul to Satan, you have already committed apostasy, even though that’s not a thing you can actually do.

Thus, when a person resolves to trade their soul for something, they are immediately condemned, their soul already destined for Hell, simply for deciding they would give it to Satan instead of trusting in God. Satan should obviously know how this works, he should be aware that a person just deciding to trade their soul is sufficient, and Satan has no reason to actually give the person anything.

So, given that, here’s what happens- A person wants something, they want it so badly, they decide to sell their soul to Satan for it. Satan is fully aware that at that moment the person’s soul is already his. But then he goes and gives them what they want.

The only possible way to interpret that is that Satan literally wants to help people.

But What About Hell?

So, how does one suppose that Satan just wants to help people if those people are still condemned to Hell for accepting his help?

Well, again, we’re going to go back to my background of having been raised Catholic.

In the Catholic tradition, Hell is not a place of fiery torment, it is not a place where demons break out the medieval torture shit and rend your soul. The torment of Hell, in the Catholic tradition, comes from the fact that God is absent. The Catholic tradition believes that Hell is painful because God’s presence is not there, that those who are in Hell are cut off from God.

Obviously, Catholics believe a lot of stuff is the natural consequence of this, they probably believe that without the presence of God, people are more malevolent in Hell, and so there are probably plenty of “mundane” torments there in addition.

However, I believe that the presence of God is not a perceivable thing. If it were, there should not be any atheists, or even non-Catholics. If you could perceive the presence of God, then why would you ever not believe in that God? Therefore, Hell should not feel any particularly different from life on Earth. But even if it does, that is, even if the absence of God is apparently despite his presence not being so, I contend that the human spirit can become accustomed to anything.

Therefore... Hell is not a place of torment, especially for the sinful who reject God in the first place.

Aside: Is God’s Presence Desirable?

If we look at the figure of God from the Bible, I contend that God is worthy of nothing but contempt and hatred.

God is said to have created the universe and all life in it--so that it might adore and adulate him.

God is, supposedly, Omniscient, Omnipotent, and Omnibenevolent (The Three Omnis). But he created a world of pain and suffering, and not all of that is the consequence of free will on the part of the person who suffers. You can argue that pain and suffering is a consequence of people choosing to do evil, but that does not explain the presence of suffering innocents. An omniscient being would know that free will would result in some people choosing to harm innocent children. An omnibenevolent being would wish to prevent that. An omnipotent being, creating a world ex nihilo, could create a world where the natural consequence of trying to harm a child prevents or punishes that attempt. It would not affect free will to create a world where trying to hurt a child caused the would-be perpetrator to burst into flames or have an immediate heart attack--just like it does not infringe on free will that we as humans cannot naturally fly and the natural consequence of jumping off a cliff trying to do so is to fall. It would not affect free will to create a world where children are immune to harm. God created a world where children can be harmed, and he chose to do so, knowing it would happen.

God paid disobedience with exile and painful death--when he would logically know that it would happen to begin with, due to his omniscience.

God looked at his “children” and murdered them in droves for disobedience.

In fact, God killed around 25 million people in the Bible, and that’s only counting adult men. Satan is responsible for about 10 specified deaths in the Bible (Job’s seven sons and three daughters), but the number of Job’s servants aren’t given, and they were slain at his prompting as well. But Job likely wouldn’t have had more than a few hundred servants, and even if he had ten times that number, even if he had 10,000 servants, God is responsible for at least 2,500 times as many, in adult men alone.

Altogether, the Bible itself paints an image of God as an abusive, selfish authoritarian who throws his “children” away in a fit of pique, or boredom, or to win a bet. Is this a figure deserving of worship? Of adoration? Of love? Christians seem to believe yes, believing that their creation at his whim is all that is needed to earn such. It is the position of an abused child who loves their toxic parent simply because of their relation, and despite their abuses.

An Image of Satan

So, on the other hand, we have this figure who staged a rebellion against a heavenly authority, who rules over a land eternal where the only torment is the absence of his foe, who we have already examined and found to be an abusive authoritarian.

A figure who has killed not even 1% of the people this authoritarian did, and who freely gives what is needed to those who, essentially, pledge themselves to his domain.

A Matter of Interpretation

In the end, it comes down to interpretation and belief, since we actually don’t have any kind of primary source on, well, anything to do with the Bible, or religion in general, to be honest. Personally, I think that if you’re looking at the Bible as any kind of authoritative source, then this is the only possible honest conclusion. If you believe that God is any way not reprehensibly abusive, then you can’t view the Bible as any kind of authoritative source, at least as regards God.

I’m a Satanist, so of course I’m given to a more sympathetic view of Satan, but given that there is no particular authoritative source for Lucifer (even the Bible would have been written by his enemy), the character of Satan can only really be inferred from non-authoritative sources, and interestingly, whatever a person says about their enemy, those statements are incredibly revealing of the speaker, as well.

I don’t, necessarily, believe that all Christians follow such a reprehensible creed, I don’t even think all Christians who view the Bible as, if you’ll pardon the pun, gospel, do. But I think a lot of Christians do not take any time to honestly evaluate the Bible and what it says about their God.

#God #Satan #Religion #Christianity #Satanism #Lucifer #The Devil

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chrichri-chan-18-love · 4 years ago

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Monsters are real (Yandere Hawks x Reader) Part 1

You belonged in a family that was hated by everyone around you, you were all arrogant, filled with nothing but hatred and disgust for those around you. No one really knew how this whole thing began, why or who was responsible for all this madness. From a young age you were taught to trust only members of your family, outsiders were treated as if they were trash, wether they had a quirk or not didn’t matter, you were taught to view them the same, only changing your attitude when someone was about to enter the family.

And speaking about you... you were their most treasured member, you had been born with not one but three quirks. Your mother had been born with two quirks and your father only had one, you had no idea how it happened but they were all powerfull quirks...

1) God’s threads (Threads connected to your brain and in colors of your choosing could come out of your hands and be used for a variety or reasons, from making a napkin to mind control, using it too much however creates cuts on your fingers and strong headaches.)

2) Metamorphosis (The ability to turn into animals you had seen even once in your life, however it has to be a live encounter, turning into animals you have seen in T.V is impossible)

3) Weather master (The power to change and control the weather around you, though it greatly weakens your body so it cannot be used for more than a few minutes.)

However as much as people hated you and your family, you were pro’s when it came down to your job of interest. In your case, it was management, thus you came into contact with a man that not only deserved to be hated, he actually deluded himself into believing that he hated you more than you hated him.

Hawks had tried, he had really tried to find something good in you... but there was nothing in there, you were mean and cared for no one but yourself. It went beyond the limits of logic... and during his moments of need, especially during his rut, you didn’t offer a helping hand. Instead you would degrade him, insult him and show your disgust until he just couldn’t take it anymore. He had seen you act the same with others, sometimes it was as bad as his case and others even worse. You didn’t care whose enemy you became, you never cared to say a kind word... you were just awful.

One day he came to his office, hoping, begging for you not to be there... but when he saw you, he snaped. Coming closer he shouted your name and you looked at him with your usual look of disgust, that always made him feel horrible about himself.

“What do you want, chicken face?”

“I’m your boss! You won’t talk to me like that!” He shouted, no longer trying to act like a kind and understanding man. You scoffed and focused on your computer instead.

“If you’re here only to annoy me, good job, you’ve done it. Is there anything else, I’m busy trying to clean YOUR mess, yet again.” You said and he growled, glaring at you with pure hatred.

“Pack your things, you’re fired!” He said and you smiled, looking at him with what he could only assume was sick pride.

“Looks like you’re not all you’re cracked up to be. Number two, Hawks. A flirty, worthless hybrid between a man and a bird... oh, the horrors nature creates.” You said and that had gone too far, he slapped you across the face, only to hear the click of a camera, causing him to look to his left, a boy resembling you had a hellish grin as he put his phone back into his pocket.

“Thanks, mister hero. That was a very nice performance.”

Hawks glared at you and you raised an eyebrow, clearly mocking him as you spoke.

“What are you looking at me for? I didn’t take the picture, then again, it’d be terrible if something like that were to go out to the public.” You said and Hawks wanted to kill you... you were a monster, the devil himself.

“You bitch!!!”

“You can call me whatever you want Hawks. As long as I keep my job for another week, I don’t give a damn. But thankfully for me, I plan to resign after a week has passed.” You said and for the first time ever, Hawks saw a warm smile, eyes looking at the sky with a warmth that was so... unreal, it was almost as if he was seeing a different woman. Your cruel and horrible self was nowhere to be found.

“You’re lucky, sis.” The boy said and Hawks was now confused and curious... what the hell could possibly happen that would cause such a change?

“What do you mean? What are you up to?”

“I’m getting married, idiot. Or did you think I was planning on dealing with you for the rest of my life?” You asked still smilling and looking at the sky. Hawks was shocked, who the hell would be crazy enough to marry you?!

“What the hell?!”

You turned and glared at Hawks, sending chills down his spine. If the man you were going to marry was similar to you, then he knew it would only serve in the creation of more monsters like you.

“It’s rare though, to marry for love and not because you were ordered to.” The boy said and Hawks looked at the boy.

“Ordered to?” He asked and the boy raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard something stupid.

“You’re not the smartest bird in the flock, are you?”

“There is no need to explain to him anything, go back home. Mother made you something special, happy birthday Ryo.” You said with a warm smile, the boy nodded and left without another word.

Hawks was speechless... he didn’t know what to think. You were a monster, that’s what he had been telling to himself, that’s what he had seen... what you had showed him. But how could a monster show such love and care, he had imagined that you were as bad with your family as you were with others... but that wasn’t the case. You had goodness in your heart, there was something burried at the bottom... but he never had the chance to see or experience it.

Suddenly his anger seemed to dissapear, sure he still didn’t like you but... after what he had just witnessed... things were by all means new to him. A monster that had love in her heart, a feeling so weak but also so very precious.

“(Name), I... why are you so cruel? What did I ever do to you?” He asked, he had never bothered to ask you, he believed that there was no point... but now... he wanted to learn.

“Mind your own buisness, bird brain. You have an interview scheduled in four hours, so do me a favor and erase your face from my view.” You replied and Hawks took a sharp breath... all this time he saw you as both an alarming clock and a demon that existed for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

“No, not until you tell me truth. I want to know why you are being such a bitch to everyone.”

You rolled your eyes and used your first quirk to make him go out of the building. Hawks wasn’t used to you using your quirks... so getting to see what one of them could do, made him wonder... had you used them against anyone before?

The more Hawks began thinking, the more he decided that maybe... maybe he had indeed done something horrible to you, something that in your book was a step too far. Was it his flirting? His tendency to create scandals unintentionally? Maybe the fact that he always did things his way? That he was so relaxed and at times ignorant?

“I will find out... I will have the last laugh in this game.” He said and decided to try and see... were you really a monster? Or was that what you wanted people to believe?

#yandere #Female reader #cruel personalities #bnha #takami keigo #hawks #fanfic #quirk triple combo #hatred #love-hate relationship #envy #mean

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aboveallarescuer · 5 years ago

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How Dany assesses the counsel she receives and makes her own choices - The way from the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro

This will be a series of posts meant to show that Dany is open to receiving advice and criticism, but that she doesn’t act solely based on what other people tell her to do. On the opposite, GRRM makes great effort to write a Dany who most often merges different viewpoints and/or finds her own solutions to the problems she’s facing. I won’t include every single decision she ever made (e.g. her decisions at court are often made without counsel and her execution of the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs was already exhaustively and deftly analyzed by other people), but there will be plenty of instances in this series that will prove my point nonetheless. The metas will always have four items: in which chapters the events mentioned take place; what advice she receives and from whom; what were her actions; the verdict (whether she followed other people’s advice, ignored/rejected them or did both at the same time).

Chapter (s):

ACOK Daenerys I

The advice Dany receives:

Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany to avoid any route that any other khal took.

Jorah says that, while it's uncertain that they will survive by moving forward through the Red Waste, it's certain that they will die if they try to go back.

Jhiqui and Irri advise Dany to not enter the city because of the evil ghosts that inhabit it.

Dany's actions:

As I said in my meta about the relationship between Dany and the prophecies, Dany thinks it's best to follow the comet both because it's her only viable alternative and because there would only be despair left if she didn't believe that it meant something. As she lays out, all the other paths would compromise her small group:

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. (ACOK Daenerys I)

By the way, it's noteworthy that Dany was able to assess her situation and think of all these implications on her own. And I do believe she did it on her own, considering that the author explicitly recognizes when the ideas come from other people:

She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay.

“Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you.[”] (ACOK Daenerys I)

And this leads us to an interesting exchange between Dany and Jorah. As I said before, there are lots of instances to infer that she says things she does not necessarily believe in to obtain his respect, and this is one of them. First, he says that she and her hundred warriors won't stand a chance against Pono's ten thousand warriors. In her mind, Dany is quite conscious of her vulnerabilities, for she knows she doesn't even have a hundred warriors:

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided.

But instead of revealing these insecurities, Dany declares:

“I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

Which then leads Jorah to reply that they won't help her that much, since they are still hatchlings; in fact, they may be liabilities at this point since everyone will want to possess them. Dany fiercely says that they are hers and no one will take them from her while she lives. She is putting on a facade here, and admirably so. As the last Targaryen, khaleesi and now Mother of Dragons (as they started to call her), she is their leader and the one who must organize them to work towards a single purpose. To be in that position means being firm and reliable when no one else could be:

“We follow the comet,” Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo’s people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.

Like I said before, while Viserys used the expression "the blood of the dragon" to be ostentatious and coerce others into doing whatever he wanted, Dany reclaims it to restrain her emotions so she can be the kind of leader who "belongs to her people, not herself". The use of that phrase is also reminiscent of her duty not being only towards the living, but also the dead, whom she doesn't fail to mention:

Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not. (ACOK Daenerys II)

Dany is being very protective of her dragons for two reasons:

She loves them as she would love her human children and considers them family.

They are also the means for her to successfully claim her father's throne. Only then she will honor all of these people that the gods claimed. That is also why she won't admit defeat in Qarth when all hope seems lost - she has the dragons and a shot at doing justice for her ancestors and carrying out their legacy, so she will not look back and be lost.

Because Dany's leadership style is rooted in empathy and accountability, she never takes advantage of her position:

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick[.]

Another leader might have taken most of the food or water for themselves, but that's not what Dany chooses to do. She "must know the sufferings of her people", after all, even more so when she is unable to help them the way she wished she could. The trauma of seeing so many of her people perish will later inform her attempts to bring peace (untenable as it was) as quickly as possible to Meereen in ASOS and ADWD.

Wine gave out first, and soon thereafter the clotted mare’s milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. Weak children, wrinkled old women, the sick and the stupid and the heedless, the cruel land claimed them all. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

[H]er khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot.

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless.

Even here, Dany does the best she can to alleviate their pain. She respects and follows their customs:

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. [...] Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother’s anguished wailing lasted all day, but there was nothing to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

She also feels a lot of gratitude for Doreah and strives to make her death a little less agonizing:

Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Later in ADWD, during a feast where people start bringing up the names of the combatants in the upcoming duels at Daznak's Pit, Dany feels complicit in their imminent deaths. She remembers Doreah as an example of someone who died under her protection. More than that: in Dany's mind, Doreah is proof that "[n]o queen has clean hands" because that's how guilty Dany feels about what happened:

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. Barsena Blackhair was going to face a boar, his tusks against her dagger. Khrazz was fighting, as was the Spotted Cat. And in the day's final pairing, Goghor the Giant would go against Belaquo Bonebreaker. One would be dead before the sun went down. No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

I want to cry.

Also, even if in vain, Dany's proactive (though failed) efforts to find resources in the Red Waste should not be overlooked, for it's still admirable that she took them without anyone even suggesting:

Dany sent outriders ranging ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun.

And neither should Dany's discovery of how to feed the dragons. While Viserys gave her the knowledge, she was the one who retained it in her memory, guessed that it might work and applied it:

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes.

Eventually, Dany and her khalasar arrive at the abandoned city that would later be named Vaes Tolorro. She is the one who takes precautions at first:

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devilgrass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went ...

But then, after finding out that the place has figs, fruit trees, vines and water, she decides to enter it, stay, rest and be practical rather than leave it because of superstitions:

... and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. “Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

She takes note of the resources available to her ("food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength") and gets her people to work on the different tasks she finds for them:

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

In these two cases, we have explicit cases of Dany concocting ideas to improve Vaes Tolorro's facility, namely by improving its lawn and fortifying it. Not only that, but we also find out that, under Dany's leadership, her whole khalasar is now taking action and making the place better in the ways they can help:

Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh. Dany tended Ser Jorah’s wound herself, and it began to heal.

This is all great setup for when Dany becomes Queen of Meereen and handles large-scale projects to improve the city's economy and infrastructure.

However, even though Dany thinks it "pleasant" to stay in Vaes Tolorro, she's aware that she must eventually leave, and she doesn't want to do so without being fairly sure of where she's going. With that in mind, she makes the clever decision to send her bloodriders in different directions so that, hopefully, one might find a path that's not as arduous as the one they had to face:

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me. Aggo shall strike southwest, Rakharo due south. Jhogo, you are to follow shierak qiya on southeast.”

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

And this decision pays off when Jhogo returns with the three strangers who will guide Dany to Qarth.

Aside from the beginning when Dany ponders which direction to take, neither Ser Jorah nor her bloodriders are ever mentioned as part of Dany's decisionmaking. Instead, GRRM takes pain to make Dany's reasoning and actions her own, while also showcasing her selfless nature. ACOK Daenerys I is a chapter that highlights the authorial intent to portray Daenerys Targaryen as an intelligent, capable and principled leader.

Verdict:

From the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro, Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany about where not to go (though it must be said that she had already made most of the assessment on her own). Besides that, every single action that Dany takes is of her own volition and without the influence of anyone's help. She:

Exhibits emotional intelligence by acting as a leader who drives her group.

Tries to find resources in the Red Waste.

Attempts to ease the khalasar's pain by taking part in their customs and giving Doreah a less painful death.

Decides to remain in Vaes Tolorro despite superstitions.

Takes note of the resources that she has in her disposal.

Gives her people several different tasks to improve the city; thanks to her guidance, some possibly started to do different activities on their own.

Sends her bloodriders in different directions to find one that isn't as taxing as the previous one.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #a clash of kings #valyrianscrolls #dany and her choices

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doberbutts · 5 years ago

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Hi it’s me back on my bullshit

What exactly is the point of this mindset where dogs can only be good for the purpose they were created for and if the breed can’t do what it was made for then it’s useless garbage?

In the modern world where many purposes are now illegal, unethical, inhumane, and have no place in most households, why do we stick to this mindset like it’s the word of God?

Don’t get me wrong- working a breed in its original intended purpose, when that purpose still has a place in society, is a wonderful thing indeed! I would even argue that dogs who are still capable of performing that purpose should still be held to that standard. Dogs whose purposes are not outlawed and cruel absolutely should be tested to make sure they’re still capable of performing the work. As someone who has fallen in love with bitework bred and trained dobermans, I absolutely still firmly believe that when possible, a dog should be tested to ensure that it can still do what it was meant to. Dogs are not a natural species and, for the most part, have been completely molded by manmade desires. They should then adhere to those desires when possible.

But, as someone who has worked his own doberman in the protection sports arena, I also must repeat what everyone who works dobes knows. Protection sports are not what a doberman was intended for. Police and military work aren’t even what a doberman was intended for. The doberman breed was created solely for defense of handler, with minimal training or control needed. The breed was intended to be highly aggressive, fierce, sharp, and ready to bite at the slightest provocation and need to be pulled off of its victim... if you could get it to let go before it killed that person.

That dog isn’t allowed to exist anymore.

Everyone has bred away from that dog. Everyone wants more control, clear-headed, targetted bites with full commitment, the ability to walk their dog down the street without it tearing a kid’s hands off. The doberman of old was not commonly touched by strangers without leaving a few holes in whoever was stupid enough to touch it. There are books and books of historical accounts of big names in the breed feeling happy that they were bitten by a doberman. These were dogs that bit. Full stop. These were dogs that you could not trust in the way I trust my dog.

People complain that the doberman of old is lost to the ages.

I wonder how many of those people actually want a dog like that. A dog that’s a complete loose cannon, that can and will maim someone without a second thought. That type of dog is poorly suited to living in the majority of the developed world. There’s no protection sports podium you can stand on with that dog, because it’ll bite anyone who gets near you and it. I’d even argue that it’d make a poor modern personal protection dog, though I’d also say that’s probably the closest to the original purpose that we can get here.

Dobermann wanted a dog that could follow him on his routes and ensure people stopped attacking him. He deliberately bred the most aggressive dogs he could find to chase that purpose. He wanted a dog that everyone was afraid of approaching- and he got it.

That dog would be seized by animal control and euthanized very quickly. I suppose it’s a good thing that Dobermann was animal control, back then.

And what of other breeds? How do we test the mettle of a breed intended for bloodsport? How do we tell if a breed can work, when its working purpose no longer exists? When it’s cruel and inhumane to even consider?

For many breeds, the modern idea of being a “breed” is relatively recent within their histories. We have breeds that may have come from working dogs, sure, but that was a thousand years ago. What have they done in the mean time? Is it fair to judge a breed by what it used to do in a society that’s centuries or even millennia long dead, when for the rest of that time the breed has mostly been on laps or chained out back? What’s the point of saying all dog breeds had a working purpose and thus should be judged accordingly, when we have hard evidence that for many breeds, their working purpose was literally “be cute and don’t bite my kids”?

And what about breeds that were developed solely for pet purposes? Noble lapwarmers, breeds to give to the kids to play, dogs that were meant to bark at the door or chase mice within the house and not much more than that? Where do they fit, in this mindset of “all dogs must be judged by their working capabilities”? Giving the excuse that at some point they were bred from some dog that worked isn’t enough, because by that logic all dogs were domesticated from overly-friendly and overly-curious wolves that retained a longer puppyhood and didn’t develop a fear of humans while forming a social bond, and you can’t call it anything more than a stretch to say that because of that a dog’s natural state is eating leftovers and garbage and getting pat on the head a couple times. Where a breed came from is not what the breed actually is, and I think a lot of people have trouble separating the two.

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theoneforgameofthrones · 6 years ago

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Daenerys Targareyan: The Path Towards Madness.

Okay let's begin.

Intro: I read book 1. And then, I binge watched seasons 1-6 after season 6 finale. By that time, I knew all the major theories like L+R=J, dark!dany, targ!tyrion etc.

So, I was paying extra attention and these are some of the obvious moments where I felt they showed Dany's mad side show. Some points, you may find valid. Some points you may find silly and over-reaching. In any case, this is what *I* felt.

Feel free to have discussions. Appreciate positive critisism. However, just yelling/abusing will not be tolerated.

1. Lack of Empathy

Her obvious lack of empathy when her brother was killed.

I did not expect her to save him. I did not expect her to mourn him. I did not even expect her to cry for him. I did, however, expect a reaction, any sort of reaction, when someone close (despite him being an abusive asshole) dies that suddenly and that violently.

2. Her facial expression during Drogo's speech.

"I will kill the men in iron suits and tear down their stone houses! I will rape their women, take their children as slaves and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak!"

3. During her Breaker of Chains phase, she conviniently seemed to forget that she used to practice not only slavery, but also pillaging while she was with her khalesar.

Master Illeryoi owned slaves. Her brother owned slaves. She was gifted slaves to teach her how to please the Khal.

Her husband was a war-lord and her khalesar constantly raided and pillaged villages. They killed men. They raped women. Remaining alive women were taken as sex slaves and later sold. That was their way of life. She saved Mirri Maz Duur and several other women from the fate of gang rape and murder but they were still dragged along side the khalasar as slaves. In books, the reason MMD was not sold was so that she can assist Dany during childbirth.

4. The burning of Mirri Maz Duur (MMD)

This is going to make sense to a lot of people. But confuse the fuck out of many. But let's see.

In colonized countries, we have a term called "Savior's Complex". It is where a colonizer raids a country, steal its riches, impose extreme taxing, destory most of its heritage and then expect praise for bringing something (could be education, technology, architecture).

Dany takes the complex another step above. She not only expects gratitude from an enslaved MMD while dragging her along with her khalesar with sole purpose of assistance with childbirth, she also expects her to save the life of her husband. The war-lord whose khalesar raided her home, pillaged her village, killed her countrymen, raped/killed her countrywomen, dragged remaining alive women along with the khalesar to be sold later. Despite all this, Dany expects gratitude from MMD for her life. This flawed logic however is thrown back in her face.

"So, tell me again exactly what it was that you saved?"

"Your life."

"Why don't you take a look at your Khal? Then you will see exactly what life is worth, when all the rest has gone."

This is an old age tale of revenge. Khal raided her village. She took revenge on them for destroying her temple. Dany burned her for it.

What completely bamboozled me in this fandom was how much people hated MMD for what she did while completely making Dany the victim in this scenario while forgetting that MMD was the orginal victim who was not only an enslaved prisoner of war, but also gang-raped victim of her khalesar's doing.

5. Ser Barriston's words.

Ser Barriston in Mereen, tells her to treat injustice with mercy. She replies that she will treat injustice with justice.

Another quote by Ser Barriston: "He gave people the people the justice he thought they deserved."

Justice and what people in power percieve as justice is often very different.

6. Daenerys' justice for the crucified slave children

She did that by choosing 163 random Great Masters and crucifying them to avenge the 163 slave children. This seems like justice. But is it, really? They never recieved trial. They were never proven guilty. Like Hizdahr Loraq said, some of the masters were not in favor of crucifying children and tried very hard to stop it. Who knows how many other good masters she crucified?

This is a direct parallel to Ser Barriston's words about Mad King Aerys: "He gave people the people the justice he thought they deserved."

7. She stopped slavery only when it benefitted her.

Some of you, while reading point 6, may have thought, "They were SLAVERS! So what?!".

Well, while choosing 163 masters, Dany decided that all Masters are her enemies. She decided that all of them deserved punishment. She decided that they were guilty just for engaging in slavery while conviniently forgetting that if that were the case, she should be the one in the first cross.

8. She burnt Great Masters without even investigating who were behind the Sons of Harpy's attack.

After Ser Barriston's death, we again get to see more of her twisted sense of justice. By her own words, "Who is innocent? Maybe all of you are, maybe none of you are. Maybe, I should let the dragons decide."

It is not supposed to be called justice if you punish (and a cruel punishment, at that) without even caring whether they are innocent or not.

9. "You are a conquerer. Not a ruler."

Time and time again Dany proves this to be true. She conquered Yunkai and left immeidetely. The slavers took back the city in no time. She closed off the fighting pits and refused to open them despite being told that participants will be free men who enter willingly. This is where ruling comes in. Any place she conquered and freed, she failed to put something else to keep up the economy. She collapsed the economy so bad that slaves were selling themselves again.

10. Wrongful imprisonment.

Dany finds that Drogon has harmed children. The correct response is to either train or punish the dragons. She, however, imprisons the two dragons who werent at fault while Drogon ran free. Does that mean she is not responsible for whatever terror or death Drogon caused to wherever he flew off to? What exactly does imprisoning Rhaegar and Viseryion get her?

What kind of justice is it where the accused is free while the innocent get prisoned for association. Again, feeds into the twisted justice train.

11. Twisted Justice. Hipocrisy. Again.

While many men were fed to dragons, Hizdahr Loraq was imporisoned. He begged for mercy in terror.She also decides that she will show her respect for Meereen by marrying a member of one of its great families. For a woman who was forced into marriage and "sold like a broodmare", she sure didn't feel any moral dilemma in making a terrifed man betroth her. His death though, proved that he was not at all involved with Sons of Harpy and he was imprisoned for nothing.

12. Burning POW's

Burning Tarly's (father and son) was a direct paralell to her father burning Ned's father and brother alive. You cannot hide behind "It was a war. She gave them a choice." No matter what defenses one can attempt to give her, killing (forget burning) POW is a war crime. So is forcing prisoners against their own side of war.

13. Defending cruelty in path of justice

She killed Tarly's and defended that decision, by saying that was necessary.

When Hizdahr asks her how many men will have died to achieve her goal, she says "They would have died for a greater cause." She is talking about destroying cities and sure, that must be for a greater purpose.

When Tyrion reminds her that about what her father planned to do when she said she wnated to burn Mereen to the ground.. her response was "This is different,". How, exactly?

"The easiest way to defend cruelty is to say that it is part of the destiny."

14. The insinct to burn down cities.

By s8e01, she has wanted to burn down cities thrice. Meereen - once. King's Landing - twice. Both times, she had to be talked out of it by her advisors. The fact that her first instinct when her plans were failing was to burn down cities. Direct parallel to Aerys wanting to destroy king's landing because he thought there were traitors everywhere. The fact is that a person can surrond themselves with good counsel. But it is not necessary that the counsel is always heeded. Which is what happened to Aerys. He was going incresingly mad for months and his counsel members hid the fact from the outside world because they thought they could control the madness. We all know what happened in the end.

Since s7, Dany has been becoming increasingly paranoid about Tyrion's loyalty and increasingly more frustrated with every loss. How long before she decides not to listen to them anymore?

15. The entire collonialist/white savior imagary presented in Essos.

It is amazing how most of the fandom either ignores it or is just unaware of it.

Though this point doesnt parallel anything to the show, i just found it extremely cringy. I am sure members of most colonized countries would. I cant even beging to describe how cringy that mysha scene was.

16. The typical white priviledge mentality.

She wants to inherit her ancestor's throne and power. But she doesnt want to repent for her ansestor's sins and betrayal.

17. Wrong sense of entitlement

She truly believes that she is entitled to the North's fealty. She asks Jon Snow not to judge her based on her ancestors and in the same breath asks him to hold up the vows of his ancestors.

But, whatever vow the Starks made to the Targareans was broken the moment Aerys decided to burn the Starks. The fealty was made on promise of protection. Technically, any member of the houses that Aerys burnt, is no longer accountable to the vow.

Still, she expects everyone to uphold their fealty but refusing to accpet that her father broke that fealty when he decided to burn the vassels (whom he promised to protect) alive.

18. Savior Complex

Some parts of Dany reminds me of how missionaries work.

"Will your God punish me for not praying to him if I did not know about him?"

"No."

"Then why did you tell me about him?"

I believe one thing about Daenerys Targareyan. That she truly wants to help people. That she truly wants to save people. But her problem is, she wants to be the one to save people. She doesnt seem to understand that some people dont require saving.

She talks about freeing the world of tyrants and in the same breath refuses to give North the independence that they demand in solidarity. How is that not the definition of tyranny?

This is Westeros. I am not expecting a democracy and free elections. If she wants to be a conquerer, then she can be one. If she wants to bring to bring together the 7k, she can. What she cannot do is talk about destiny, talk about a wheel, talk about breaking the wheel, and and then do the exact same thing her ansestors did years go by spinning the wheel so that she is on top.

19. She was smiling when she saw that her dragons terrified people of Winterfell.

20. "They eat whatever they want"

Is that really the correct way to respond to people are already scared/cowering over the arrival of dragons? To people who have never seen such beasts before? Did she forget that few seasons ago "whatever they want" that Drogon ate were children?

21. Jaime's trial

She made Jaime stand trial and was heavily leaning towards punish him despite the fact that she knew what her father had planned and what Jaime Lannister had done. She openly spoke in favor of the Mad King in front of Northern Lords. When Tyrion intervened, she publically breated him and questioned his loyalty. Further adds to the Mad King's paranoia and unwillingness to listen to counsel.

22. Jaime Lannister

Not only has he tried to kill her, he has also questioned her intentions twice. The only living person who knows about Mad King more than anyone is perhaps Jaime Lannister. When he questions Tyrion, "Is she really different? Are you sure?" in a sceptical tone. If he doesnt trust her or thinks she had the Targ madness, then I am willing to bet that she probably does.

23. Her decling human connections

the show seems adament in making her seem alone. Like a stranger in her own home land. In an episode full of emotional reconnections, tenderness, friendships and relationships, she is shown all alone. In later episodes, she is incresingly shown alientated: Theon coming to fight for the starks despite being her bannerman, death of the Jorah, Tyrion's withdrawal.

24. jorah was her mercy.

She had shown jorah mercy despite his betrayal. She cared for him and most importantly, completely trusted and listened to him. When she felt no remorse about berating Tyrion and strongarming Sansa, jorah urges her to forgive tyrion and to try and make amends with LAdy of Winterfell. And, she listened to him. He is the only advisor she fully trusts and listens to without having to worry about wavering loyalties. And jorah's death is going to be the acorn in Ice Age that started the avalanche.

<<2 episodes left. will add more after next one airs.>>

This is not to say that she was an evil character. She was a good person with good intentions and bad execution with a twisted sense of justice and destiny. But, the journey to hell is paved with good intensions. Dany was a character who had the potential to be great. But she was always headed to doom. She is a good person whose downfall will be due to pride, ambition and obsession with destiny. She will chose her fate with a sound mind but a flawed personality. Her story will not be heroic, but tragic. Not because of what she was, but because of how she could have been.

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dragonofyang · 5 years ago

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On Love and Lions Part 1: An Analysis on Love in VLD

“I have always believed that unity is where true power comes from, and true unity can only be born of love.” --Gyrgan, Paladin of the Yellow Lion

Voltron: Legendary Defender is a cartoon on Netflix that–with the final season available to watch on Netflix–has extremely regressive and harmful messages. The S8 on Netflix carries lessons about how war is good, that men shouldn’t respect the wishes and desires of women, that violence and abuse mean even victims aren’t deserving of forgiveness. Everything about that is 100% antithetical to what VLD was about throughout the prior seasons and each harmful message is another nail in the coffin of the original narratives of peace, respect, and fundamentally how everyone is deserving of love and forgiveness, regardless of the circumstances of their birth.

In fact, the theme of love in VLD is something we at Team Purple Lion wish to discuss. It’s arguably the most absolutely fundamental theme of the show. Love destroys the universe, and love saves it over and over again. And love would have rebuilt the universe, but thanks to the edits ordered by the trademark holder, the universe that should have been born from love was instead born from one girl sacrificing her life because she saw no better option. She didn’t even get to tell her only remaining father figure goodbye. What kind of message is that? In the original final season, prior to the executive meddling, we should have seen how love was such a powerful force in the universe that it could not just repair this reality, but all realities. And it’s not just romantic love, but six types of love.

Now, for those of you more familiar with our work, we’ve discussed some pretty big concepts in VLD and how they’re addressed, and there will be even more in future episodes of our reconstruction Rise and Atone. VLD engages not just with its own predecessors in the Voltron franchise, but Beast King GoLion, Labyrinth, Frankenstein, and Maureen Murdock’s The Heroine’s Journey is all but the story bible for Allura’s arc. The concepts we are about to discuss date back to Ancient Greece, and while love can be more than these concepts, it’s important that we have a framework through which we can discuss and analyze love as it appears in VLD without getting lost in all the examples.

In American culture, “love” is not very well-differentiated between kinds because we only use one word: “love”. While we use it across all sorts of contexts, we have to add modifiers when we don’t mean romantic love or familial love, which are the most commonly-acknowledged forms of love. VLD, being written and edited by primarily Americans living in America, also encounters this issue, but it does not focus solely on romantic love, which can complicate how to interpret love in the show. We, however, would like to argue that not only is it all love, but it doesn’t all have to be good love, familial love, or romantic love. At the end of the day the plot is driven by love in its many forms. Love is so baked into the story that it’s quite difficult to extricate, dare I even say impossible, and that ultimately is part of why we were able to reconstruct so much of what was lost in S8.

The Ancient Greeks had many words for love, but we feel it’s important to discuss the dialogue that VLD engages in with various forms of love, using the Ancient Greeks’ framework as a guide. The model gives us concrete definitions of different kinds of love, and can help us as an audience understand the various forms of love that are present in VLD. It’s important that we define the different ways we can observe love being portrayed because much of VLD relies on the writing adage of “show, don’t tell”.

So without any further ado, let’s dig into what, precisely, is love.

As stated earlier, we’ll be using terminology coined by the Ancient Greeks, specifically six categories of love that we feel are most prevalent in the show. We’ve also deduced our own examples of these forms of love when they’re taken too far or flat-out discarded, which will be discussed in a companion article.

The six forms of love are as follows:

Eros: the most famous kind of love, an intense (and often sexual) passion for another being and seeing the beauty within them. This is the love that most closely aligns with romantic love as we understand it in a modern American context.

Philia: an affection and loyalty between friends, notable for its platonic nature, it is the love that arises between friends, and can be found among family, but the modern equivalent would be the found family trope.

Storge: this is the intrinsic empathy between individuals, primarily the attachment of parents to children. This form of love was primarily used to describe familial relationships, and the patience one sometimes needs when around blood relatives.

Philautia: put simply, this is self-love in its purest form. It is acknowledging your needs, wants, and happiness without apology. The Ancient Greeks considered Philautia to be a basic human need.

Xenia: while many might not consider this to be a form of love, it is hospitality, or as we define it, love between a host and their guests. Specifically, this would be the care a host gives to their guests in both physical (food, gifts, etc.) and non-physical (respecting rights, protection, etc.). Hospitality is massively important because if you are good to someone while they are in your home, they will be equally good to you if you visit theirs.

Agape: this is a Greco-Christian term, ultimately, and is a little more difficult to understand because it can be confused with other forms of love. At its core, though, it is a pure and unconditional love such as that between spouses, families, or God and man. It shouldn’t be confused for other forms of love such as Philia because unlike the other forms of love, which only focus on one aspect of humanity, Agape is the unconditional and universal love for everyone. It’s sexless, unlike Eros. At its core, it’s the love born of goodwill to all people, regardless of circumstance.

While these are only six categories, there are many ways of interpreting love, especially since there are so many avenues to see love–in good and bad forms–in VLD. These categories are also not inherently hierarchical, and are not presented in any particular order. Agape is the main exception, being more convoluted in its nature, and thus is discussed at the end. It also narratively serves as part of the culmination to the plot, so it carries a greater weight in relation to the alpha plot of the whole story.

Now, let’s examine how they present in VLD. As an official reminder, please remember that all analysis of VLD is done from a ship-neutral stance and we are not proposing any endgame romances. The sole purpose of this article is to discuss observable portrayals of love in its various forms, and to analyze both the text and the metatextual messages resulting from them.

Eros: Passionate Love

Eros… arguably this is the most contentious form of love presented in VLD, if only because of all the ship wars that occurred in the fandom. Eros drives the shipping communities of fandoms across the world, because it often stems from on-screen chemistry or the potential of the fleeting seconds where a spark flies but does not catch in canon. The beauty of Eros is that it ripples quietly through fiction, or it can be a tsunami ready to devour the story. It’s the quiet whisper of two women sharing a private moment, to the shouted declarations in the heat of battle. Eros thrums through fandoms in a desperate tempo for seeing a love as passionate as you can feel in characters who may never share more than a glance.

Plato actually had quite the influence on the word “Eros”, because “Eros” or erotic love, was largely regarded as a type of madness brought upon a person by seeing someone whose beauty strikes your heart with an arrow (Cupid’s arrows, anyone?). Eros is the love that drives you to despair if the object of your affections is cruel or uninterested, and it burns like a fire. “Falling in love at first sight” is the key concept here, and you can see it reproduced in fandoms across the world, though many cultures have their own names and terms for it. Henry George Liddell and Robert Scott define “Eros” in A Greek-English Lexicon as “love, mostly of the sexual passion”. Plato, however, redefined the word to include a nonphysical aspect. He discusses it in Symposium and says that while (physical) Eros can be felt for a person initially, with contemplation you can and will fall in love with a person’s inner beauty, which for Plato was the ideal, since he specifically emphasized the lack of importance of physical attraction. In fact, Jung–who coined the Anima and Animus–has a similar approach, with an emphasis on unity within the self by accepting your internal Eros which manifests as your feminine Anima/masculine Animus.

In the text of VLD, Eros is remarkably subdued. This is partially due to its rating. Being a Y7-FV show, VLD can’t really have explicitly sexual content. Sure the implication can exist, but a lot of times sex has to be carried through metaphor if a story is to address it at all. Take the juniberry as an example. It’s a three-petal flower of a deep rose and softer pink, delicately topping a green stem, with a yellow pistil. In much of literary history, flowers represent female sexuality and beauty, and they are common representations of youth across genders.

Now, in strictly biological terms, flowers as a sexual symbol is a 1:1 accuracy in analysis, because the flower is the reproductive organ of a plant. I’d like to analyze the juniberry from a biological perspective, because understanding the anatomy of a flower can help us understand its role in literature as a metaphor for sex. The whole point of the flower is to be able to spread pollen across individual plants, whether by wind or by pollinators such as bats or bees, and breed to produce more plants. The actual reproductive organs of flowers are called the stamen and pistil, respectively. The stamen produces pollen, while the pistil collects pollen in its ovule to fertilize and create seeds. A stamen is a very slender filament, topped with what’s called an “anther”, which is where the pollen is actually released. The pistil, meanwhile, has a thicker base with a long body, usually topped with a few tendril-like structures called “stigma”.

Diagram by the Association of Societies for Growing Australian Plants [ID: A simple cross-section diagram of a flower. Three petals are visible on the far side, with reproductive organs drawn in the center. There is also a stalk and sepals at the bottom. Along the sides of the cross-section there are labels. On the left, a category called “Stamen” is labeled, with “Anther” and “Filament” pointing to two parts of the thinner reproductive organ. “Receptacle” marks the base of the flower, and “Peduncle (flower stalk)” marks out the stem. On the right, we have the label “Petal” and three labels under the category “Pistil”: “Stigma”, pointing to the top portion, “Style” pointing to the stem-like feature, and “Ovary” pointing to the rounded bottom. The label “Sepal” marks the leaf-like structure just under the petals. End ID.]

Now, when we look at the juniberries we see in canon, we can see that at no point are any drawn with stamens. They all have a single pistil growing from the center, and they’re topped with three stigma, meaning that all juniberries drawn on-screen are female juniberries.

Juniberries are a quintessential symbol of Altea, and they represent home to Allura, as well as what she’s lost. However, they also represent how Allura’s relationship to her own femininity is not some mystical thing determined by forces beyond her. Colleen gifts Allura a juniberry that was selectively bred from flowers she had available, and it’s identical in every way (that we can see) to the juniberries native to Altea. The message, though it’s subtle, is quite clear: Allura is in control of her femininity and can define herself however she pleases (“highlands poppy” versus “juniberry”). After the sexual undertones that threaded her relationship with Lotor, this is a very important message to convey, especially since a patriarchal story would punish Allura for the metaphorical sex in physical ways, such as how the season 8 on Netflix does.

Allura isn’t simply a vessel for male desire, nor is she a strong female character who doesn’t need a man. Her story is about finding agency separate from male expectations, without forsaking her own femininity in the process. Like the juniberry, she is feminine, but she is able to define herself, and the dark entity masquerading as Lotor reminds her of that with their conversation about calling the juniberry a “highlands poppy”. That’s what makes Lotor so dangerous to a traditional patriarchal values system: he reminds Allura that she has a choice.

It’s important to note that during their interactions Lotor never gives Allura a choice in the sense that he, a man, is allowing her one; he simply steps back and encourages her to make the choices to which she is entitled and to act on her emotions and desires. She is an agent of her own free will, and Lotor, being first her Shadow, challenges her to be smarter, quicker on the battlefield, and then as her Animus he challenges her to look inward and become in-tune to her own inner wants and needs. The other Paladins can offer some aid in that, but none of them strike her anxieties or hopes the way that Lotor can, being the crown prince and heir to her sworn enemy, and being half-Altean and half-Galra. He is, in a fundamentally physical way, the union of two races that were at war before Altea’s destruction, and to a survivor of that war, that forces Allura to question the beliefs she held in the beginning of the story. The stakes of success and failure are much higher with Lotor in the picture, and it’s easier to focus literary tension on two characters than five or six, so as a result of that persistent tension, we as the audience are given plenty of chemistry between two characters to spur Eros.

As we discussed last year in “Legendarily Defensive: Editing the Gay Away”, Keith was meant to have a gay relationship with another Paladin. We refuse to write conjecture on what his endgame romance was meant to be, however it is important to discuss Keith’s Eros in a metatextual sense. For example, let’s look at Keith and Shiro. Keith is a legacy character that dates all the way back to 1984 Defender of the Universe. His romantic subplot was relegated to excised footage and extremely subtextual if it managed to squeak past the axe. Shiro was able to be queer, however, due to the fact that he’s a DreamWorks-owned character who is new to the franchise, meaning that there isn’t a legacy that needed to be upheld.

Keith’s queerness, however, still acts as a spur to fuel the potential for Eros, and helps build tension between him and his fellow male Paladins. And I specify male Paladins because during season 2, Keith and Allura go off in a pod by themselves to see if Zarkon is tracking either of them. During the scenes with Keith and Allura together, it’s important to note the background music is remarkably flat and lacking in romantic cues. In prior iterations of Voltron, Keith and Allura are implied as endgame (DOTU), have the beginnings of an on-screen romance (VForce), or straight up just fuck on the page (such as in the comics). It stands to reason that this scene should at least imply some form of passionate chemistry here, but largely it’s two friends confiding in one another and trying to find reassurance as they confess their fears. Keith doesn’t have a moment to admire Allura’s beauty the way we see Lance and Matt do, and Allura doesn’t blush like how she does with Lotor or Lance. Without markers for any kind of Eros, the scene is a quiet moment of contemplation away from the stress, only to be broken by Shiro telling them to get back because the Galra Empire found the Castleship again.

So then where do we see passionate chemistry for Keith? At the risk of starting the ship-war again, his chemistry largely exists with Shiro and Lance. Shiro, narratively, functions as his Mentor, someone to guide and believe in him, who then gives up his position of leadership (sort of) so that Keith can grow. Bringing Shiro back prematurely makes it harder to see, but in a traditional Hero’s Journey, the Mentor figure teaches not-quite-enough to the Hero before disappearing, and the Hero grows on their own and becomes their own person. Naturally, this makes Keith and Shiro have tension, especially since Shiro was brought back prematurely due to marketing, so their relationship dynamic had to change to accommodate Shiro’s return. Lance, however, constantly baits and teases Keith, and Keith frequently rises to it and they argue. They butt heads and don’t have that sense of camaraderie that Keith and Shiro do, so right off the bat there is more obvious tension between the two of them. Eventually, Lance and Keith learn to trust each other, and in season 8 we finally see them settle their rivalry as they prepare to face Honerva. So while Keith’s dynamic with Shiro is more focused on camaraderie and growth, Keith’s dynamic with Lance is more focused on pushing each other to be better warriors and teammates.

Philia: Friendly Love

In VLD, we’re shown that friends can be found anywhere if you’re willing to put down the blasters and try to make them. We’re also shown that just because you’re on the same side of the battlefield, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re best buddies. Commander Lahn pledges his loyalty to Lotor after his base is saved by Voltron, and Keith and Lance butt heads so often you’d think one would sooner drop the other into a black hole. However, we should never discount the power of friendship, or rather, we should never discount the value of platonic relationships. This includes everything from friendship, to the found family trope, to the mystical bond the Paladins have with their Lions. Philia is the companion’s love, firmly rooted in platonic–and often intellectual–admiration.

Philia, as defined in A Greek-English Lexicon by Liddell and Scott, is “an affectionate regard or friendship, usually between equals”. Where Eros is the fiery passion between sexually-attracted adults, Philia is the platonic love between people who respect and trust each other. This is the love that flows like water, endlessly filling and refilling your emotional needs with good company, good advice, and generally just a good presence. Friendships are the ports we anchor ourselves at when the seas become too rough, and in VLD, where space is the most dangerous frontier and most of the universe is your enemy, friends are more important than ever for our Heroes and Heroines.

[ID: A screenshot of S4E1 “Code of Honor” with Allura, Lance, Coran, Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk sharing a group hug with Keith. Coran, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura are all crying, while Keith, Shiro, and Lance are smiling. End ID.]

Everywhere you look in VLD, you’re sure to find some kind of camaraderie between friends. Lance, Pidge, and Hunk make the Garrison Trio (or as I like to call them, The Planck Constant), and they get into shenanigans together. In fact, it’s entirely likely that had Lance and Hunk not decided to follow Pidge up to the roof, they never would’ve found Shiro, and subsequently Blue Lion. Later, when Voltron has allied with Lotor as the new Galra Emperor, they reprogram a sentry to become the eternally-fantastic Funbot. If you want a prime example of the fun that could be had between friends, those three are quintessential to the definition of Philia. They’re the first Youths you meet in the story, and it’s through their eyes we watch as a far-off intergalactic war comes to Earth at last. The show has us follow them as the audience, and we watch as they meet up with Keith, save Shiro, and then find themselves going from Earth to Kerberos in less than five minutes, and then by the end of their day, they’ve awoken Allura and Coran and are on Arus, thousands of lightyears away from their home.

We see the Paladins go from a rowdy group of teenagers with Shiro as the head to a group of five Heroes and Heroines capable of saving the universe. Lance helps Pidge get all the GAC coins she needs for a video game, and he’s always got the team’s back with his sniper rifle. Hunk always is ready to lend a hand, even when he’s scared of flying Yellow, but when the Taujeerans are in danger of falling into the acid as their planet breaks apart, he’s right there holding them up while the team gets the arc ship ready for takeoff. Our Paladins are the embodiment of the power of friendship, trust, and perseverance, and it’s that tenacity and dedication that should have carried our six Paladins to victory and brought the Purple Paladin back into the light he thought had forsaken him. Black, Red, Green, Blue, Yellow, Purple, and White, together in a bond of pure platonic love. There’s an old phrase I’m sure you’re all familiar with: “blood is thicker than water”. The power of Philia and found family in VLD challenges that notion in the original S8 when Lotor is offered his vindication. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”

Pick any two of our main protagonists and you’re sure to find a thread of Philia connecting them, because when you fight together as one, you inevitably become closer as the trust builds between you. In fanfic terminology, this is the root of the found family trope: strangers and friends finding themselves in a gripping adventure together, and discovering that they’re stronger together than they could be apart, and coming to see these people as more than colleagues or acquaintances. They become your family and people to defend, and the people you trust to have your back when it’s time to face down an enemy together.

That’s part of why Keith leaving for the Blade of Marmora is so fractious. He’s growing into a leadership role and obviously accustomed to it, but with Shiro’s premature return, there’s some growing pains as the incumbent leader and the former leader unintentionally butt heads. Keith needs to be in Black Lion without Shiro to complete his growth, but without a way to easily integrate him back into the team without messing with the legacy, Keith has to go. And like with any good friend, when you have to say goodbye, it’s a bittersweet affair. The team doesn’t want him to go, but in-canon he feels he can do more good with the Blade, but the meta reason is that his Hero’s Journey has been arrested. But, like with any good friend, the team is able to reunite with him at a later date and he integrates back into the group. They are wiser to the world, harder, but they are together again. And they need that unity when it’s time to face Honerva and go into battle for not just their universe, but all realities.

Storge: Familial Love

In English, we have many concepts of love, but generally we only treat the single word of “love” as a word for “love”. As a result, we tend to use other words to modify the type of love we mean, which can get things kind of sticky if you talk about X type of love but don’t specify that it’s X type and not Y type. With familial love, it can be relatively understood without being specified, but as you can see by my explication here, I still have to modify the word “love” with an adjective to describe the next kind of love I will be discussing. Storge, the familial love.

A Greek-English Lexicon defines Storge as “love, affection, especially of parents and children”. Storge, unlike Philia, is not a platonic admiration for a companion in the family, however it does denote respect. Storge is also not the idealized unconditional love of Agape (which we will discuss toward the end of this essay). Storge is the instinctive love for those in your family, especially between parents and children. I also argue the key aspect of Storge is that your family–for all the times you want to tear out your hair–will love you for the rest of their lives. And you’ll love them, because they’re people who have your best interests at heart, even if they don’t always express that well.

Coran, Coran, the gorgeous man himself is Allura’s second father figure (after Alfor), but he’s the only father figure for Allura in the show that’s alive. Coran’s protectiveness of Allura is well-documented. He was furious when she got captured saving Shiro, he warns her to be careful healing the Balmera, he worries for her in Blue, but at no point does he actually prevent her from making her choices. He wants her to have a full life, a happy life, or at least as happy as one can be when you’re one of the only survivors of a war. He’s a father through and through, and even if Allura is Alfor’s daughter by blood, Coran is the one who supports her during the most difficult stage of not just her life but the universe’s life. He loves her, he consistently reminds people to respect her and to think of what’s best for her. Not just as a princess of Altea or the heart of Voltron, but as a daughter. Alfor was her father, but he died before he saw her face the trials in the plot. Coran, however, he gets to see her grow into a woman even greater than what Alfor could have ever imagined. The audience might find him a little frustrating (such as in S8E1 “Launch Date”), and Allura takes his protectiveness in stride, but at the end of the day Coran is a gorgeous man with his heart in the right place, even if his execution is a little off the mark on occasion.

The Holt parents are also good examples of Storge. We see Colleen and Sam fight to tell Earth about what’s been going on, as well as finding their children. Colleen herself is a solid mama bear that anyone would want to have fighting for them in their corner, and we can see she gives no fucks about protocol when she’s told she can’t stay on Garrison grounds with her husband.

[ID: Colleen Holt glaring, her husband Sam behind her looking equally annoyed. She glares at Admiral Sanda (off-screen) as they argue. The subtitle reads, “You’ll get me the clearance.” End ID.]

While Colleen doesn’t hesitate to ground Pidge for running away to space, the fact of the matter is that she and Sam fought like absolute hell to protect their kids in the ways they had available to them. Storge is the love parents have for their children and these two human characters are the perfect examples of it, even if Pidge chafes a bit under being grounded. Sam and Colleen’s love for Pidge and Matt and Coran’s love for Allura are the perfect avenues to explore how Storge is love, even if it’s frustrating, but they also serve as an excellent foil for how that love can be horribly twisted.

Philautia: Self-Love

In S1E1 of VLD, when our human protagonists meet Allura, Sendak is barreling through open space to their location and hellbent on capturing the Blue Lion. Allura is able to talk to Alfor–or rather, his hologram–to seek guidance in the upcoming battle, and he says, “You must be willing to sacrifice everything to assemble the lions and correct my error.”

With VLD, there’s this idea of sacrifice, of giving your life for the greater good, but when discussing acts of love, we also need to talk about acts of love for yourself. We see many instances of characters sacrificing themselves for the greater good, the belief that their death will bring an eventual victory to the Paladins of Voltron and free the universe. Allura throws Shiro into an escape pod so he doesn’t have to suffer the abuse again, but in the process becomes a prisoner herself. Ulaz gives up his life to save the Paladins and keep the Blade of Marmora base secret. Thace sacrifices himself so that Galra Central Command can go offline and the plan can move forward. Keith nearly kills himself trying to break through Haggar’s barrier at the battle of Naxzella before Lotor intervenes and destroys the ship with a blast from his Sincline ship. Sacrifice is a massive part of the show, and needless sacrifices are always undone, but what message do continuous sacrifices leave us with as the audience? It leaves us with Alfor’s lesson: you must sacrifice everything to correct my mistake.

When you’re writing, one of the most basic things you must do to drive a plot forward is change something significant. In the beginning of a story, Character A might think Character B is wrong and has no idea of what it takes to do something, but then Character B later on needs to surprise Character A by proving they can do that thing or that they don’t need to. It forces Character A and the audience to rethink their initial assumptions, and it encourages tension and dialogue between characters that otherwise might not exist. It’s an internal motivation, and one that audiences will pretty much always find more gripping and compelling than a simple monster-of-the-week scenario. VLD is no different. “All Galra are bad/Altea is good” leads to meeting the Blade of Marmora and Alteans who took over their universe. The challenge to a character’s worldview is what makes turning these initial ideas on their head so satisfying.

So what could challenge the idea that you have to sacrifice everything? Especially to correct the mistakes of someone else?

Love. Not for others, not for family, not even for the greater good.

But for yourself.

To quote Audre Lorde, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” Philautia is the love in which you put yourself first, not because it’s selfish, but because it’s self-care. Self-love is defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary as “an appreciation of one’s own worth or virtue” and Philautia has been recognized for millennia as a basic human need by the likes of Maslow and the Ancient Greeks. Recognizing your own needs and worth is a fundamentally radical decision, especially if you are in a position where you’re expected to prioritize the needs of others before your own.

S1E1 of VLD offers us pretty much every worldview that gets challenged later on in the series, except for Alfor’s. We see Alteans can be equally cruel, that Galra are not all evil. Voltron is a great protector, but it is also a great weapon, and Keith even calls it an alien warship in the very beginning, highlighting the danger Blue–and consequently Voltron itself–poses by merely existing. Philautia is not the exertion or prioritization of your desires, but the assertion of your needs. It can easily swing too far into selfishness and vanity, but making yourself heard is never a bad decision, and for those who are marginalized, women, trans people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, nonwhite people, it is an act of defiance. The sins of people in positions of power are not the burden for their victims to bear. If protesting is too much or too burdensome, simply taking the time to care for oneself is enough, because you can’t pour water out of an empty cup. Alfor’s plea to Allura was always meant to be overturned with the finale, especially since she’s facing down the antithesis of everything she believed in season 1. Honerva is selfish, manipulative, abusive, and an Altean woman. Alfor would ask Allura to give up everything she has left to destroy Honerva, but in the original and unedited season 8 Allura would have taken that plea and turned it on its head.

VLD’s Princess Allura is the first and only iteration to be a nonwhite girl and voiced by a black woman. Having her sacrifice herself is an extremely harmful message to little girls of color everywhere because it’s not the burden of girls of color to save the world. Their duty is to love themselves and know they’re able to be as brave and kind and intelligent as they’d like. Princess Allura’s arc is about a girl learning to not shoulder the burden of violence, but instead choosing to relieve herself and choose healing and creation, and in turn, her reward would be the literal universe at her fingertips.

And Allura isn’t the only character to learn to love themselves. Lance, as well, learns to become comfortable with himself. At first he’s comfortable and cocky and immature in Blue Lion, but then as the seasons progress and he finds Red to be more of a challenge, he learns he has to follow through with his actions and decisions. He learns that to fly Red, he can’t hesitate and just has to roll with the punches. He dubs himself “the sharpshooter” of the group, and at first he gets laughed at, but then he saves Slav from being trapped in prison once more by firing and making a near-impossible shot. He doesn’t have to forge ahead and fight recklessly, he simply has to see an opportunity and take it.

All our other Paladins learn to become more comfortable with themselves, as well. Hunk becomes more confident in being the voice of reason, and becomes an A+ diplomat in the process. Pidge is able to open up and be honest with her team about her secrets and fears, and in return is blessed not just with that weight off her shoulders, but the knowledge that her team is her family just as much as Sam and Matt are. Keith, too, learns that he doesn’t have to go it alone all the time. He’s able to relax and trust his team, and rather than burdening himself with doing everything, he’s able to rely on the skillsets of the other Paladins and make them a stronger team by focusing his attention on directing them, as opposed to commanding them.

Another interesting example of Philautia is Lotor himself, who at no point is uncomfortable with his mixed heritage, even when he’s called a “half-breed” or when one of his parents blames half of his heritage for his failings. The main reason that it’s not as blatant is because by the time the story begins, he’s been at peace with his heritage and his place in the Galra Empire for a long time, and thus does not play a significant role until he has his breakdown at the end of season 6.

This form of love is quite possibly the most frustrating, if only because so much of its payoff was in season 8. We should see Allura not give up her life in the name of sacrifice, but rather choose to become a goddess in the name of love. We should see Lance become unshakably confident in his abilities when it’s time to face the biggest bad guy of the series. The final season was meant to be a season won through love, and self-love is quintessential to that victory, because it gives viewers the message that your acceptance of yourself is vital to the world. It’s an important lesson for little girls everywhere to know that their worth doesn’t lie in how much of themselves they can give away, but how much of themselves they cultivate and grow, because if you trust in yourself and choose love, then you’ll be as powerful and strong as Princess Allura. It’s possible to be the brave and chivalrous Paladin while also being the princess who likes the occasional sparkly thing.

The lesson of Philautia in VLD is one of embracing your limits of what you can give, and reminding the world that you matter, because loving yourself is the greatest act of defiance when you’re faced with an enemy who wants nothing more than for you to make yourself smaller, weaker, more amicable if it would please them. It’s the reminder to be gentle with yourself, no matter what battles you face, because caring for yourself is just as–if not more–important.

Xenia: Love for the Stranger

Hospitality is a massive part of many cultures, I personally had a relative (who has since passed) who would always have an open door for the poor families in their neighborhood and the stove would always have something cooking. My own mother will cook especially for you if you need her to. There’s a reason “Southern hospitality” is famous. Good food, good company, and ultimately safety are what sets Xenia among the categories of love as defined by the Ancient Greeks. In VLD, this form of love is very sparse in comparison to love such as Philia, however it’s extremely important that our heroes engage in it. To quote Coran, “70 percent of diplomacy is appearance. Then 29 percent is manners, decorum, formalities and chit-chat” (“Changing of the Guard”). The remaining one percent, which Allura notes, is actual diplomacy and fighting for freedom. That’s essentially what hosting, good and proper hosting, is. It’s taking someone into your home and providing them with material comforts and necessities such as food, as well as non-physical ones like safety or protection, or extending and respecting their rights.

A good host will anticipate their guests’ needs because they have a love for their fellow strangers, and they show that love by providing for them. Xenia is the love of the stranger who has taken up space in your home and respecting their need to do so, but it’s also a reciprocal love. By extending your hospitality to a person, they will be more inclined to do the same for you and yours in the future. In Greece it was a complicated dance of gift-giving and receiving, spurred by the belief that one would incur the wrath of a god in disguise. While offending the gods was a big fear, it’s important to remember that good hosting and good guesting will create a deep bond between both parties because you’re respecting one another. Respect your wayward traveler and welcome them into your home, and they will entertain you with tales from far away lands, and in the future you will find a place at their table. Respect your host and the space they provide you, and you’ll receive gifts and care fit for a god. This giving and receiving encourages goodwill between strangers, and providing care to someone you don’t know is an act of love in its own right.

There’s a rule in American food language: “never return an empty dish”. This rule is especially prevalent in the US South and Midwest regions, but the general idea is that when you meet someone new (i.e. a new neighbor) you bring them a dish of something to welcome them and introduce yourself. You make small-talk, help them get acquainted with the area, wish them well, and then go on your merry way. Then, once your new neighbor has settled, eaten the food you gave them, and had time to make something new, they come knocking on your door and return that dish to you with a new food in it.

That’s a facet of what Xenia can encompass, and we see Xenia acted out in three key ways in VLD: Allura recruiting people for the Voltron Coalition, Lotor hosting the Paladins during their alliance, and Hunk showing his care for others through cooking.

Allura, for all her charms, isn’t that great of a diplomat, especially in the beginning of the story. When she meets the Arusians, she accidentally informs them that their dance of apology isn’t enough, which then makes them think they need to sacrifice themselves on a pyre. She thankfully recovers and lets them continue the dance, and then invites them into the Castle of Lions later. With the leaders of the rebel planets, she has a good presence and is rather suave with her guests, however when attention moves off her and onto the Paladins, and when the question of Voltron comes up, it’s extremely difficult for her to take control of the situation again. The loss of Shiro was fresh, and she really didn’t have a good answer that would reveal they couldn’t form Voltron, so she struggled with taking control back. This isn’t an indictment on Allura, but it is meant to point out how Xenia is not easy to learn. As we follow the Paladins, however, Allura gains confidence in her ability to speak publicly, and as they gather more allies it becomes easier for her to encourage alliances. She goes from panicking and trying to keep Arusians from dying to being able to communicate with allies and command a room. Xenia doesn’t come as naturally to Allura as it does to Hunk, and Lotor has had millennia of practice, but the important thing about Xenia is that you extend your hand and make the effort, even if it’s a little clumsy, because in the end you’re caring about strangers and welcoming them into your home and telling them they have a place at your table.

However, where Allura falls short in Xenia, we see both Hunk and Lotor shine. Let’s examine Lotor’s expertise, first.

Lotor is ten thousand years old, and it’s implied he’s spent much of that time playing the political game of the Galra Empire, as well as learning about other planets. It’s canon that he has a thirst for knowledge, and so couple his curiosity with his need to survive a very blood-driven political environment and you have a golden host forged in fire. It’s difficult to surprise Lotor, since he’s pretty much always two steps ahead of everyone. When he forges an alliance with the Voltron Coalition after his victory at the Kral Zera, Lotor has banners hung that bear the same symbol that Zarkon and Alfor fought under, which also adorns the shield on Green’s back. He specifically sought to recall the good times between the Galra and Alteans, and personally greeted the Paladins on his flagship. He encourages the Paladins to explore and use whatever resources they need, because as their host, Lotor–and by extension the entire Galra Empire–is now at their disposal. He’s the ever-perfect host, inviting his lower-ranked guests to make themselves comfortable, and acknowledging Allura’s rank as princess and personally escorting her along. In a lot of other high fantasy or sci-fi stories, showing the heroes around would get palmed off to a servant of some sort, especially if the host is duplicitous. However, Lotor affords our Heroes and Heroines quite a bit of respect compared to what other characters in his place might do, even going so far as to offer his own personal time to the princess when he has an empire to claim still. Given the canon politics, Lotor logically should have been in constant communication with various officers and securing their loyalty to him, but instead he takes time to approach his new allies and make them feel welcome in the headquarters of their former-enemy.

So while Lotor is arguably the best example of good hosting I’ve ever seen in a show (without it turning out to be some sort of ploy), Hunk’s style of Xenia is equally good if in a different way. While Lotor is shown to essentially be a master of decorum, Hunk is a master in the kitchen and the art of making room for everyone at the table. Hunk has only been in space for a few months to a few years (depending on when in the series we’re talking), he hasn’t had the millennia to research planets and learn all their customs, or train in diplomacy to make up for any lack of education. He’s just a guy from Earth who likes to cook and who especially likes to cook for others. In all prior iterations of Voltron, Hunk has always been “the food guy” or “the slightly dumb, but lovable one”. It’s not particularly flattering, and VLD even pokes fun at how flat his character is historically in “The Voltron Show!” by adding fart gag noises. In VLD, however, we see that Hunk is intelligent and brave, if anxious, and he’s more at home in a home than he is in a Lion. Hunk is a good Paladin, but he is quite possibly the best diplomat in the whole show.

A large part of Hunk’s diplomacy lies in listening. When he’s out in the field, he’s quite possibly the best listener out of the entire team. When there are guests on the Castleship, or when the Alteans are on the IGF-Atlas, he doesn’t just listen, he welcomes them. In scenes from season 8, we really get to see this shine, because as Hunk says in “Day Forty-Seven”, “food has a way of reminding people of moments in time.” Bringing good memories with food can go a long way to putting stress and anger behind people.

Every person has a dish that, when prepared, makes them relax and think of happy memories. In Hunk’s kitchen, everyone eats, and nobody is unwelcome. Whether you’re Commander Lahn and working with Hunk to save your planet from devastating radiation, or you’re an Altean who just wants what’s best for your people, Hunk will meet you halfway and try to see things from your perspective, and offer you a cookie because he feels like it. Hunk’s Xenia is not wrapped up in protocol or etiquette. His Xenia is found just across the kitchen table, with a plate of warm food and a friendly conversation, ready to listen to your troubles and offer a hug, if not a solution.

Agape: Unconditional Love

Now that we have discussed the five prior categories of love as defined by the Ancient Greeks, let’s examine Agape, which can be difficult to conceptualize. “Agape” originates a Greek term, however it wasn’t used very often until Christianity came into the picture, and thus it encompasses far more than even xenia does, because while Xenia is love in the form of courtesy to travelers, Agape’s prevalent definition stems purely from the idea that God loves everyone unconditionally. In fact, “agape” is the term used in the Bible to describe the unconditional love of God, but when you translate it to English, the word simply becomes “love”, losing the weight that it carries in Greek.

The idea of unconditional and divine love is not unique to Christianity or the Ancient Greeks. Throw a rock in any direction and I’m sure you’ll find a culture with a similar concept to Agape. The key aspects of unconditional love is that it is sexless–meaning attraction is unnecessary to feel Agape–and that it is founded in goodwill for others. It feels cheap to throw the quote “love thine enemy” around in this section, because that discounts the importance of Philautia as we discussed it earlier in this essay, but at the end of the day that’s what Agape means. The Bible–which influences much of the definition of this kind of love–would have people forgive the ones who do them wrong, but forgiveness does not mean forgetting, and loving someone doesn’t require forgiving them either.

In VLD, a man loved a woman so much he tricked his closest friends and allies into opening a rift in an effort to save her life. In the process, they both died and revived, cursed with immortality and a thirst for destruction. Zarkon was a man who loved Honerva so much that he doomed the known universe to 10,000 years of his tyranny. Honerva, when she regained her memories, sought vengeance against Voltron for not just losing her son, but also because she blames everyone around her for being the reason why her own son rejected her time and time again. Honerva is the antithesis to Allura in pretty much every way, and in the edited season 8, Lotor is condemned to a cycle of abuse because he’s never offered an opportunity to speak, just like how he was violently silenced by his mother when he disobeyed his father on the colony planet in “Shadows”. Honerva, however, is not.

[ID: A screenshot of S8, featuring from left to right: Lance, Keith, Allura, “Shiro”, Pidge, and Hunk. They face Honerva, who is facing away from the audience so we see the back of her head and suit. Screenshot from “Seek Truth in Darkness”. End ID.]

[ID: A shot of “Allura”’s hand grasping Honerva’s wrist and vice versa. Screenshot from “Seek Truth in Darkness”. End ID.]

Allura being a paragon of growing into Philautia gives other characters the ability to do the same, but as @leakinghate notes in “Seek Truth in Darkness”, that is not Allura’s hand, just as that is not Shiro next to Allura in the prior screenshot. Allura is not the one who was most wronged by Honerva. She was asleep and hidden from the universe. Lotor, however, was subjected to centuries of abuse by the hands of his parents.

Agape is a complicated love, one that requires a person to be able to love everyone unconditionally, but love does not necessarily mean “forgive and forget”. It’s important that Allura impart the enlightenment she gained on her Heroine’s Journey, because this is the point where she can be at peace and claim her cosmic reward, but she cannot do so without the person who was most wronged being able to face his oppressor: Lotor.

[ID: A close-up shot of Lotor glaring at the audience, with the subtitle text reading, “maybe I will take pity on you when the time comes.” Screenshot from “Seek Truth in Darkness”. End ID.]

As @leakinghate pointed out, Allura is the one to use her abilities to restore Honerva’s sense of self, but Lotor being present makes this confrontation all the more poignant and intense. This is the opportunity for us to see Agape in its full glory, but with the edits to the final season it’s a pale shadow of what could have been. The universe is about to be reborn because Allura and Lotor stay behind to repair the rift in all realities. We need that Philautia that Allura is able to embody, but we also need Agape. We’re shown countless times throughout the show that good and evil are not so clearly delineated, and that there are shades of gray everywhere. Lotor has been hurt so much by the one person alive who should have loved him unconditionally.

And rather than continue the cycle of abuse and take vengeance, he chooses to let go. We should have seen him take his power back, not in a godly or violent sense, but his power over his fate. He is not his father. And he is not his mother. He is more. By confronting her in this rift of all realities, we see the foreshadowing of season 6 come into full swing and while we are missing much of that original sequence between him and his mother, it’s important to realize that regardless of the content that was removed post-production, he takes pity on his mother in a sense. She’s a flawed person who made bad decisions. He does not owe her forgiveness, and he does not owe her love, but in her finally letting go of not just him but all the spirits of the original Paladins, Lotor himself is able to be free to love in the way he was denied: unconditionally.

The universe needs people who love themselves enough to choose a path of peace, and it needs to be made with the unconditional love of a parent, a friend, a lover, a god. It needs the eternal goodwill of its new creators because the people of the new universe will fuck up. They’ll make mistakes and hurt each other and Weblums will eat planets and the circle of life will continue. But being able to look at the fucked-up universe and say “I love you” is a power that not many have. It takes courage to look at the universe that has wronged you, wronged billions, hurt the found family that’s accepted you, and still find a way to love it.

The new universe is made of love just as the old one was. It’s made with passion, for friends, for family, for strangers, and for yourself. It’s made by people with love and hope and the intent to make the world they live in a little better every day. And that, ultimately, is the true love that spurs the story of VLD forward.

Stay tuned for a companion meta soon, in which we will discuss these forms of love and how they can be twisted and taken to unhealthy extremes.

Works Cited

Dos Santos, Joaquim and Montgomery, Lauren. Voltron: Legendary Defender. Netflix.

LeakingHate, et. al. “Legendarily Defensive: Editing the Gay Away in VLD”. Team Purple Lion. 12 Mar 2019. Web. https://www.teampurplelion.com/gay-romance-cut-voltron/

LeakingHate, et. al. “Seek Truth in Darkness”. Team Purple Lion. 2 Mar 2019. Web. https://www.teampurplelion.com/seek-truth-in-darkness/ Liddell, Henry and Scott, Robert. “Eros”. A Greek-English Lexicon. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0057%3Aentry%3De%29%2Frws

Liddell, Henry and Scott, Robert. “Philia”. A Greek-English Lexicon. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0057%3Aentry%3Dfili%2Fa

Liddell, Henry and Scott, Robert. “Storge”. A Greek-English Lexicon. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0057%3Aentry%3Dstorgh%2F

“Self-love”. Merriam-Webster Dictionary. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/self-love

Payne, Will. “Botany for the Beginner”. Australian Plants Online. 2006. http://anpsa.org.au/APOL2006/aug06-s1.html

Potter, Ben. “The Odyssey: Be Our Guest With Xenia”. Classical Wisdom Weekly. 19 April 2013. Web. https://classicalwisdom.com/culture/literature/the-odyssey-be-our-guest-with-xenia/

@leakinghate @crystal-rebellion @felixazrael @voltronisruiningmylife

#TeamPurpleLion #Team Purple Lion #vld #freevlds8 #voltron

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marril96 · 5 years ago

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 37: Only Ever Yours

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: It finally happens.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You stayed on the dancefloor for an hour more, holding each other, basking in the closeness, before leaving. Your friends tried to get you to stay, but you and Rowena were adamant that you were tired.

Meg, the only one clued in on what, exactly, was going on, gave you thumbs up on your way out. A wordless encouragement that meant the world to you.

The drinks you'd consumed earlier loosened you up a bit. Your muscles weren't tense, rigid; you weren't wood on your feet, a puppet without its strings.

But still, going home with Rowena for the sole purpose if having sex was terrifying.

What if you messed something up?

What if you said or did something wrong?

What if, when she saw you — all of you — she wasn't attracted to you anymore?

Your looks were on an average scale, far below Rowena's divine beauty. You had no doubt her body looked as great bare as it did clothed; having a background in dance and working out from time to time had its perks.

Your body, on the other hand, was awful.

You weren't a dancer or an athlete.

You didn't work out.

You ate what you wanted without paying a shred of mind to the calories.

While Rowena's body was a temple, yours was a ruin in the middle of nowhere, overgrown with weeds and infested with rats.

What if she pushed you away?

What if she laughed and, stone cold, dead serious, told you to your face how disgusting you were, how sick looking at you made her?

What if—

No!

That wasn't Rowena, you told yourself.

Once upon a time she might have been cruel, but those days were long gone.

She was a different person now.

Loving.

Caring.

Kind.

She loved you.

Repulsion wasn't a choice, though.

She could love you all she wanted; if her body reacted badly to you, there was nothing either of you could do about it.

It's gonna be okay, you told yourself, trying to stay positive.

The night would go on as planned, just as the dance had, and, at the very end, Rowena would still love you as she loved you now.

Nothing would change.

Not for the worse.

Guthrie greeted the two of you at the MacLeod residence. Rowena sent him on his way, assuring him Gavin was safe in her hands; the boy had been fed and was asleep, requiring no additional care.

Just to be sure, Rowena went to check up on him while you got settled in her room. You sat down on the bed awkwardly, knees pressed together, cheeks burning with nervousness and alcohol flowing through your veins.

Your eyes fell on the sheets, on the pillows neatly tucked under them.

This was where it would happen.

By the end of the night you would be wrapped up in those sheets, bare as they day you were born, with Rowena curled up against you like a kitten.

You swallowed, hard, throat aching under the pressure.

It was going to happen.

After months of thinking it over, dreaming it up in your deepest, wildest fantasies, it was finally going to happen.

Oh, god. Jesus. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Would it be as good as you imagined?

Would it be heaven, bliss, everything magic and nice like you'd read in books and fanfictions?

Rowena knew what she was doing, you reminded yourself. If anyone could give you heaven, it was her.

She wouldn't disappoint.

"Sleeping like a baby," she said, shaking you from your thoughts.

Good.

One less thing to worry about.

"What about your mom?"

Being caught in the act by her baby brother was one thing.

If her mother were to hear anything…

You would never live down the embarrassment.

"Her shift ends at midnight," Rowena said. "I may have convinced her to take her colleagues for a wee drink after."

Of course she did. "Clever girl."

She let out a sound that suspiciously resembled a moan. "You know I'm a genius."

You knew all too well.

"It pays off to be prepared, no?"

"So you were expecting this."

Suspicions confirmed.

"I was going to give it a try." She winked. "Great minds think alike."

You blushed harder. "I guess you did that on purpose, too?"

The dress.

The hairstyle.

The makeup.

All part of a perfectly crafted plan, just as you'd thought.

Rowena smirked. "I had to give you some incentive."

She had no idea. "Oh, you gave me plenty."

If you weren't already ready, you would have been after seeing her like that.

She chuckled, a mischievous little sound that made your heart flutter.

"You're not playing fair," you said.

She raised an accusatory eyebrow, eyes settling on you, scanning you from head to toe. "And you are?"

Guilty.

"That's different. I'm not that hot."

"Och, my dear, you couldn't be more wrong." She stalked over to you, steps careful, calculated. Enticing. Her fingers brushed against your cheek in a gentle caress; you found yourself leaning into it, her skin soft against yours, a welcome comfort. "You are bloody perfect."

Far from it, but you still blushed like crazy.

Was she trying to kill you?

"Flatterer," you uttered, barely keeping your voice from breaking apart into trembles that took over your hands.

"Just being honest."

Her voice betrayed not a trace of deception.

Not that you were expecting any.

One of the many things you loved about Rowena was her honesty. What she thought, she said. What she felt, she showed. She was generous with compliments; not just in words, but in actions, never afraid to give a kiss or put on a smile that made you melt into a puddle.

You couldn't have asked for a better girlfriend.

To think less than a year ago you could barely stand the sight of her…

My, how wrong you were. How very mistaken.

Rowena pressed her lips to yours, The kiss was soft, sweet, everything you wanted and yearned for. You closed your eyes, melting into the sensation, body falling limp, a puppet whose strings she pulled. Your nerves exploded. Heart raced, pounded harder with each movement of her mouth.

Every inch of you burned, a feeling you found yourself enjoying and dreading all at once as tingles spread through you, electric, tickling.

Teasing.

They roamed your body the way Rowena roamed your mouth, explored you, taunted you before finally settling between your legs

You pressed your thighs together. Rubbed them against one another for friction.

God.

You hadn't even taken your clothes off, and you were already turned on.

"You're sure you want this?" Rowena asked as you parted.

Your lips trembled, swollen, aching for more despite knowing you would get plenty.

Patience wasn't one of your stronger suits.

"Yes." You looked her in the eyes as you said it, poured your scattered confidence into the gaze to contrast your weak voice. "I… I want you."

She had no idea how much.

Good god, she had no idea!

Rowena smiled, one of her sweet ones, the calm before the storm. "Ask and you shall receive."

"I, um…" Your cheeks flamed, this time from embarrassment. You swallowed a small lump in your throat. In a voice so small it was a wounded whisper, you said, "Rowena?"

"Yes, my dove?"

The pet name made warmth swell up in your chest. "I never… you know…"

"This is your first time?"

Her tone suggested she suspected as much.

You nodded.

"In that case, let's make it memorable, shall we?"

The grin on her face, wide, bright, told you she intended to make good on her words.

Your heart sped up again, anticipation building. "Sorry if I do something wrong."

"Y/N, please." She laid a finger to your mouth; perfectly manicured, her nail polish — a sexy, screaming red that made your head spin — shining in the fluorescent light. You wanted to kiss it, bite it. Suck on it like you did back in Branson. "You will do great. Just relax."

Relax.

You could do that.

In theory.

You swallowed. Sucked in a breath.

Yeah, you could totally do that.

"You're in good hands," she added confidently.

You responded with a small chuckle.

You were in good hands.

The best hands.

There was no one you trusted to teach you, to be your first, more.

"If it gets to be too much," Rowena said, "let me know. Don't pretend for my sake. Tonight is about your pleasure as much as mine."

"Okay," you said with a nod, appreciative of the gesture.

"If, at any point, you change your mind, tell me and I will stop."

"I won't change my mind."

You were sure of that.

Tonight was the night.

No more holding back.

Besides, this was Rowena.

Who, in their right mind, would say no to sex with her?

"I want you." You gently took hold of her hand and pulled her closer. Your lips connected with hers, locked in a kiss that betrayed your hunger, your ache for her. You wanted her; all of her, mind body and soul, right here and now. Wanted her all over you. Inside of you. "So much," you said through the kiss, eliciting a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a groan from deep in her throat. "I love you."

"I love you as well, my angel," she responded and accompanied it with a kiss of her own.

You never tired of hearing her say it.

Never tired of kissing her, of her sweet, sweet taste in your mouth that was magic and delight and everything you ever dreamed of.

How could one person be so delicious?

How could she be heaven and hell in one; virtue and sin, the sweetest dream and the worst nightmare?

How could she be so fucking perfect?

She had no right, you thought as she deepened the kiss, tongue breaking in, taking over. Making you shiver with anticipation as your mind conjured up images of that tongue someplace else, hot and wet and dangerous, your body writhing under its ministrations.

Your pussy throbbed at the visual. Excited. Overwhelmed.

She hadn't yet touched you, and you were already wound tight.

"Would you like to do the honours?" Rowena asked, voice a purr whose vibrations you could feel on your lips — your swollen, trembling lips, hungry for more, desperate like an addict craving a fix.

"W-what?" You released a small breath, then took in another one, and another in an attempt to compose yourself. A failed one for you were a mess of tingles and nerves and it was all her fault and you resented and loved her all at once.

She had no right to do this to you.

No right to control you like this, to have so much power over you with a single kiss.

"This dress isn't going to remove itself," she said, and, for good measure, added in a seductive wink.

"Oh."

Oh.

Before you could process what, exactly, she was asking of you, you were on your feet and on your way over to her. Body running on instinct, like a robot programmed to do her bidding.

A very nervous, very turned on robot.

"You sure?" you asked because — what were you supposed to ask? What were you supposed to do?

"Och, aye." It was a purr, so delicious your mouth watered and a fresh wave of tingles, hot and cold in tune with her teasing, swept over you like a downpour drenching you from head to toe.

Rowena turned around. You stood still for a few moments, frozen in place, a useless statue brimming with nerves and heat and static going off, swallowing you whole one breath at a time. When you finally dared reach for her zipper. you flinched. Her skin was hot, seething. Inviting. Dangerous. Everything you ever wanted right at the tips of your fingers.

Slowly, carefully, as if she were a dainty porcelain doll, you pulled the zipper down. The dress bloomed open, exposing miles and miles of flawless, milky skin you wanted to run your hands all over.

Laying your trembling hands on her shoulders, you asked, "May I?"

"Aye, darling."

You slid the straps down her arms, helping her free herself of them, then pulled the dress down and let it pool at her feet in a crimson mound.

You gulped, overwhelmed by the sight.

Here she was, standing before you matching bra and panties; black, lacy, sensual. A fantasy you'd had so many times come to life.

You unclasped the bra, cheeks flaming, and brought your hands to her hips, fingers curling around the hem of her panties. Still. Anxious. Not daring to make a move.

Rowena clasped her hands over yours gently. "Go on, love."

She helped you pull the lacy garment down to her thighs, then stepped out of the fallen dress, peeled them off, and dropped them beside the rest of her clothes. She shook her shoes off, the red of her toenails glittering, and turned to face you.

You barely held back a gasp.

God, she was beautiful.

Naked as the day she'd been born, she was the picture of perfection.

Her skin was flawless, not a blemish in sight aside from a small scar on her right thigh, sprinkled with freckles that covered her entire body like fairy dust.

Her breasts were small, supple; you wanted nothing but to cup them, to pinch those perky nipples until they were hard.

She had curves in all the right places and muscles that were tight, strong, making her look like a Renaissance sculpture.

A timeless beauty.

And so yours.

Every single bit of her.

The realization knocked the air out of your lungs as if you'd been punched.

God. Shit. Fuck.

She was yours.

This gorgeous, stunning creature was yours.

What had you done to deserve her?

"Like what you see?" Rowena said, smirking like the naughty thing she was.

You cleared your throat. Sucked in a small breath. "Maybe."

Very.

She let out a laugh, one of those teasy, confident ones. "You know this is all yours, right?"

Oh, you knew.

She took your hands and brought them to her breasts. They fit perfectly in your palms, and, instinctively, you squeezed them. It prompted her to smile. "All yours."

She kissed you, a small peck on your lips that left you wanting — craving, needing — more.

"Patience," Rowena said, noticing your turmoil, your face a pathetic, dirty traitor. "First let's get these clothes off you, shall we?"

Throat tightening, trapping all the words you wanted to say, you nodded.

She stepped behind you and quickly went to work, unzipping your dress and getting it off you. You shivered, more from fear than excitement.

What if she was disgusted by what she saw?

What if she hated your body — your plain, imperfect, ugly body you'd never shown anyone before?

A strange sensation on your shoulder shook you from your thoughts.

A kiss.

Soft.

Wet.

Gentle as Rowena's hands that rested on your forearms.

"You're exquisite, my love," she whispered and planted another kiss, then another, slowly moving to the back of your neck.

No, I'm not, you wanted to say. I'm awful.

You elected to keep it to yourself and instead closed your eyes and gave in to the feeling of her mouth on your skin, caressing you, loving you. Showering you with affection you'd been craving.

"My beautiful wee girl," she said amidst the rain of kisses. "So beautiful."

She helped you get your bra off, and stepped aside to allow you to pull down your panties and remove your shoes.

You faced her bare as she was, nerves popping, heart thrumming so hard you feared it would explode in your chest.

There was nothing but adoration on her face, pure, unadulterated. Wonder akin that of a child laying their eyes upon a mesmerizing sight for the first time.

She liked what she saw.

She liked you.

Exactly as you were.

And, god, you didn't think it was possible to love her more than you already did, but here you were, bursting with it.

You shouldn't have doubted her.

You shouldn't have doubted yourself.

Tonight was your night, both of yours; she would never do anything to ruin it.

She would never hurt you.

"You still in?" she asked.

"Yup."

You weren't going to give this up for the world.

Rowena grinned. "That's my girl!"

Before you could utter a response, her mouth was on yours, and you were lost in the kiss that tasted sweeter than any before.

A kiss of promise, of wonderful things to come.

Soon you were on the bed, and she was kissing you all over; your neck, shoulders, breasts, and stomach. She did things to you that you didn't know were possible. Things you'd never even dreamed of. She brought you to the edge of pleasure, pushed you over it, sent you on a high and expertly brought you down.

She was right — you were in good hands.

You couldn't have asked for better.

You tried your luck reciprocating. Rowena led you through it, ever an endlessly patient tutor. Told you what to do, how to pleasure her one little step at the time.

The night was long, and by the end of it you were both spent, laying breathless next to each other, smiles big and bright on your mouths.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Perfect," you said, having no other words to describe it. Fucking perfect!

"Well," she beamed, proud, "I am an expert."

"You are."

One with an ego, but an expert nonetheless.

You curled into her, pressing your forehead to hers. "I love you, Rowena."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

Your name falling from her lips was a pleasant melody. A peaceful, calming lullaby.

It echoed in your head as you drifted off to sleep.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #my fics #fanfiction #high school au

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mintmemories · 5 years ago

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tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us [1/?]

fandom: the raven cycle/the dreamer trilogy word count: 800 warnings: fucking sadness, fairytale vibes

comment and give kudos here at ao3

Once upon a time, there lived a dreamer, his creation, and two children he made.

The first child was dull, uninspired, a flight of fancy that resulted in exhausting responsibility, but he was also vital. A lesson in humility. Always make a rough draft before the final masterpiece.

In spite of the lackluster child he fashioned first, Niall Lynch cooked a second child. This time, the circumstances were right. A dream is a wish your heart makes. The second was an equally charmed being in his own likeness. It is said that Gods are narcissistic, prone to fantastical thinking. This is true of dreamers too. Ronan was born magical, fitful, and undoubtedly Niall’s.

His magnum opus.

Just as spiders know how to weave webs from birth, dreamers have an unparalleled aptitude for fantasy. It could be said that Niall’s only crime was profiting off his talent, but those who say it know nothing of his nightmares.

After all, what else are nightmares but lies we tell ourselves while we dream?

Despite this mastery – a child, two if you counted Declan – Lynch was a restive beast, a Sagittarius playing God. Niall did not care for the rules he had always been told existed; so, he made new ones. Homelife was a conjured mecca of things that were intended to be both warm and wicked because things could not all be good if they were meant to exist.

In a large barn, with rust-coloured paint peeling from rainwear, Niall stored a variety of sensical nonsense. In it, he stored visions of dark disquieting things and malicious machinery, each one beautifully crafted to deceive. There were seashell necklaces that smelt like the beaches in Kerry and perfume the confused the senses into feeling loved until it faded. In a rich oak chest lay a crown that, when touched, made you crave butterscotch and arsenic. Off in a tangle of richly coloured silk thread and cloudy quartz that made one relive their worst childhood memories was a watch that could stop your heart if you didn’t wind it every day.

His most treasured dream was not the thing named Aurora, but she was his most useful dream – a hard-pressed position to take in the thousands of things he had already created. She was especially valuable when it came to the children. Aurora Lynch was a tender creature, stitched together with good intention and whimsy. Her laugh was the taste of butter on toast, warm, melting, and satisfying. Best of all, she was loving. Everyone was her favourite and she was everyone’s favourite. A golden-haired delight whose sole purpose was to care. Aurora did not have to try to be anything. She just was. When the boys were very young, Aurora would read Declan and Ronan fantastical tales.

At night – the nights when Niall was off trading dreams for secrets – the three of them would climb into bed the largest bed in the Barns and curl up under rabbit-soft blankets together. Aurora would bring out a book that she stored in her bedroom closet on the highest shelf instead of where the regular books were. Her chosen book to read from was a large leather-bound book with a gilded debossed title that looked impossibly more art than word.

Her youngest, Ronan, would bunch at her side and curl against her stomach, rising and falling with every unnecessary breath she took. Declan would back against the opposite bedpost with sleep silt eyes, sceptical of secrets the book told.

The stories inside the book appeared like magic, changing each time. A new one wondrous tale for every night. Aurora delighted in reading to them night after night, if only to remind her sons that chromatically scaled dragons did exist and, subsequently, to teach them that monsters could be defeated.

Aurora did not lie, but this was a lie. Aurora was not cruel, but this was an act of cruelty. This was the worst lie. The worst cruelty. In the climax of the stories, Ronan would lie in bed beside her with shaggy hair and a whimper in the back of his throat. Declan would climb over her knees to look inside the tome with a widening gaze, unflinching, trying to determine how the hero will ever recover.

“Happily ever after,” she’d say, and Declan would sigh in relief, Ronan could sleep soundly. The Barns was at rest. The boys were content.

As with all fables, these are the things that happen: the father dies, the mother goes to sleep, and the siblings cut off a heel or a toe in exchange for a perfect fit in a golden slipper. They tell themselves: This is what happy feels like.

This story is no different than the ones you’ve heard before.

I’m sorry if you’ve already learned this lesson.

#trc #the raven cycle #lynch family feels #trc fic #trc fanfic #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfiction #ronan lynch #declan lynch #niall lynch #aurora lynch #cdth spoilers eventually #mine #writing #hey ho i'm kind of proud of this #hope you all enjoy!

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neo-nymph · 6 years ago

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The Truth Untold

..Genre: Romance

Themes: Mythological!AU

Member(s): Jimin

Word Count: 2,196

A/N: Guess whose parents surprised their daughter with a laptop for Christmas and can now do even more writing over winter break ;)

"Hades wasn’t the man the tales had made him out to be. The stories around his name painted a portrait of an unforgiving, sadistic man filled with nothing but hatred for the worlds that existed around him. To mortals, he was the proud image of a perfect nightmare; the epitome of all things any human with common sense would know better than to challenge. To the Gods, he was a forgotten lowlife who deserved no place in their highest palace, and no title but among the souls he guarded in the underworld. The connotations that circled his name had lasted thousands upon thousands of years, and yet it only took me a few encounters to understand the truth untold."

I found him in a vacant tower of the grassy hills I often escaped to, those which still graced their innate purity, isolated from the greedy hands of mortal beings. The serenity could be heard in the passing of winds against leaves in bushes and trees, it could be smelled during sunrise the morning after a gentle rain, and could even be felt when fingertips brushed against the velvet petals of daisies. The vacancy of the building was displayed by its old and dirty nature, vines growing in between the cracks of the aged and broken stone it was made of. Despite its obviously portrayed age, the tower stood grand with pride, trying its best to graze the clouds as it leaned to one side. Few could find beauty here, but the grace of the garden that surrounded it brought life to this old soul.

I'd come here ignoring the warnings and complaints of my mother regarding the dangers of the outside. I loved my mother dearly, but I couldn’t help the pulling desire to escape from her overbearing clutches, always trying to constraint me from basking in the light of the days star. Since I was born, she’s tried her best to keep me hidden from the outside, paranoid at the idea of my being corrupted or taken away from her by tainted souls. Despite her attempts to paint the world as cruel and frightening, I was drawn to the places she tried to kept me away from. I craved the feeling of the cloud like grass on my soles, to feel the burning of the sun light on my skin, smell the scents of the blooming spring and look for shapes within the clouds. So, when the chances presented themselves, I sprinted after them.

And this, the serenity of the garden that ignited the flames within me, was why I could never understand how such a world could be anything but beautiful.

The scent of the bunches filled my nose delightfully. The soil was soft and cold between my toes, and the leaves of the bushes gentle on the pads of my fingers as they dragged along to feel the blue rose petals. I felt as if I were in a trance, oblivious to the chirping of the birds, my picking of the flowers, and, for a moment, the feeling of someone's eyes observing my movements. Curious to find the source of such a feeling, I doubtedly looked towards the towers window, and caught his gaze on me.

If not for my better judgement, or the white of the mask he wore, I would've believed he was a being-less shadow, or perhaps a trick of the eye. His body was just distinguishable to contrast from the dark of the room he watched on from. He stayed motionless as I looked upon him, waiting for a comment or gesture to be made, but he remained as still as a stone. Such an encounter should have felt awkward or unsettling, but my mind, instead, registered him as another mystery of the world I couldn't help but feel a pull to discover. I stood frozen below him as I gazed on curiously before my attention was stolen away from the window as the still air was brutally filled with the dull noise of my mother calling me home. Just as a true mystery, it only took a few moments of ignorance for him to disappear when I turned to search for him again.

Months dragged along since the first day I saw him. I found myself venturing back to the hills as if by instinct, hoping the shadow would present itself again. To my dismay, the figure left behind nothing more than the blue roses I'd come to adore. So, to provide a dull satisfaction to my desires, I picked the flowers to admire at home on the days that I could not escape to venture the hills.

After a year, my hopes had already been tucked away in their graves, finding no purpose in waiting for something which no longer existed. I did, however, travel back to the garden now and again to take in the still serenity of the hills. Often I laid in the grass, tracing imaginary shapes and figures of the fluffy white clouds sitting in the sky, or reading with the rustling of the trees to break the silence. It was just as the day I first saw him, tranquil and isolated. Laying on the ground I bathed in the sun, eyes closed as my skin absorbed the warmth of the day time star, until a figure blocked the the flaming sphere from reaching my eye lids.

He stood dressed in a dark cape that covered his body from shoulders to toes, still dawning a white mask concealing his identity from my sight. At his entrance I rose to my feet, driven by curiosity to understand the mystery that plagued my mind for so long. The garden remained silent, the pair of us standing only a few feet apart as a soft breeze blew between us. I wished to ask for a name, but my body was filled with unwelcome butterflies that I feared would fly out if I parted my lips. A few moments passed before he raised his hand out to me holding a rose I’d never had the blessing of seeing until now. The white petals shined brightly as flakes of gold drifted off of them, a stem of vibrant jade standing firmly in his grasp. The beauty left me captivated, my hand slowly, unconsciously reached forward to take hold, my mind and body left helpless under the flowers spell. I’m not sure how long I stood fixated on the plant in my hands, but when I lifted my head, he was gone, and my mother was calling for me again.

Everyday for a month I went to see him. We walked through the hills together, smelling flowers, listening to birds, watching the sunsets. He was gentle when he held my hand, kind to me as he listened to my stories and my dreams, and patient as he taught me about the animals and nature of the hills I loved so dear. Most days I was with him, I would forget about the existence of the world outside of our own. The marks of mankind, rules of narcissistic gods, paranoia fueled imprisonment were all extinct in the hours I spent with him each day. Only the pure tranquility and beauty of mother natures design existed with him. This world that I resided in with him was the same as the world I spend so many days constructing in my daydreams on these hills, sinfully praying I could one day find in reality. This masked man was the escape I awaited to chase in my bedroom. He was the mystery I longed to discover, and the untainted soul I had begun to believe no longer thrived. He was the dream I’d held onto for so long, and in his hands my heart would soon come to rest in.

One day, as we sat beneath an oak tree, enjoying the sweetness of berries and fruits, I build up the courage to ask the question I feared the answer to. I was careful in my motions as I prepared to force the words past my lips. For months the wonder plagued my thoughts, momentarily ruining our tome together, but only for a second before his presence turned up the corners of the mouth again. I pondered the possibilities, attempting to find my own answers, but finding none logically or worthy to be true.

“...why do you still conceal yourself with a mask?”

Partly to my joy, and partly to my dismay, he seemed unaffected by my question. Rather, he finished consuming the red berry in his hand with his head slightly lowered towards the ground, seemingly avoiding my proposal. I waited beside him for a nod, a gesture, anything, too scared to ask again and cross a line I couldn’t see.

“..does your heart hold a space for me?”

My brows flexed and my head tilted at his inquiry. Carefully I laid my hand on top of his own upon the grass. “Is it not obvious?”

I stared at the side of his face as his eyes looked beyond us. The breeze was gentle as it played with the strands of his hair, tossing small, dark, pieces across the white of his mask. The beating of my heart became ever more noticeable as I waited for a response, the beat hard and steady against my ribs, filling my ears to distract from the feeling of anxiety bubbling at the pit of my emptying stomach. Beyond my command, my fingers gripped his that seemed to grow colder as the seconds passed.

A sigh left his hidden lips before he spoke, “Whatever feelings you believe you have for me may not remain when you come to find my identity.”

If there were any words left to be said, I was unable to find them. I didn’t know what could be said to calm his fear, no matter how irrational I knew it to be. My mind was blank as I scrambled to find something to say, and I knew each second of silence on my end was another second of a festering anxiety on his. So, I decided if words wouldn’t speak, I would let actions do so instead. Lifting myself from the cushioned ground, I placed myself comfortably on his lap, my thighs settled on either of his while my hands held his face to look up at mine. I took the moment to cherish the warm feeling that came with looking into his eyes before my fingers found the edges of his mask, lifting it away slowly.

The plastic covering fell from my grasp as the air was taken kindly from my lungs. I knew the stories of this man. I’d heard them time and time again from the Gods. I heard the about the hell he wished upon the heavens and the earth. I was told of the nightmares he cursed humans to see when their eyes closed, and the torture he provided to the souls he guarded in the hell he created. I knew the stories of Hades, but I couldn’t dream to believe them now.

The setting sun left his skin softly glowing gold, just like the flakes of the flower he presented to me the day we met, standing out perfectly against the midnight shade of his hair. Looking into his eyes now was like drowning blissfully into a pool of honey. I couldn’t help the desire to drag my fingers across his gracious features, or stare longingly at his fluffy, pouting lips. I looked to his eyes again and found a sadness I knew too well. The welling of emotion in his eyes was like that of a child, built on the basis of purity and innocence, fueled by the simple fear of loneliness and the unknown. The pain in his honey eyes was the last strike I needed to spark the flame inside me, to push me to plant my lips on his. His cold hands crept up from my hips, to my waist, crossing along my back as he tightened his grip on my body. The force of his plush lips on mine caused a heat to flush on my cheeks and my chest. The gentle touches he graced me with before were gone now as he pulled my burning body against his own as if he were scared I would float away. I could feel the steam from his body radiate to my own as the friction between us built with rushed movements. My hands pulled at the hair at the base of his neck while his forced my hips down to rub against the lump in his pants. My lips parted from his as a small whine of desire ghosted from my mouth. When I looked to him, the honey colored eyes he once adorned were replaced with dark golden orbs with pupils blown wide. Both our chests heaved as our lungs chased for the breathes we’d stolen from one another. His voice was raspy when he spoke again,

“Come home with me.”

Again, as my mind drew blank, the still air was filled with the sound of my mothers voice calling me home.

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #bts #jimin #jimin fluff #jimin angst #bts au #bts au fanfic #greekgod!bts #myth!bts #myth!au

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