#but something about the guilt and grief and responsibility and love and anger and jealousy and all that tangled mess between siblings

[joejhang]

i love you tragic sibling dynamics. i love you doomed siblings. i love you siblings that could've been so powerful together but were forced apart by circumstance (and shitty parenting). i love you siblings born to fight together forced to fight on opposite sides. i love you jinx and vi. i love you sirius and regulus. i love you azula and zuko.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

May we have more sad Kon drables?

you may absolutely have more sad kon drabbles babe. enjoy your angst. 

kon’s reliant on his ttk. almost an unhealthy amount. unhealthy by tim’s standards, because he’s always telling kon he needs to learn how to fight by himself without his powers as a crutch, just in case the worst happens. kon always shrugs and laughs, because how on earth is someone going to take his powers away?? that won’t ever happen, and kon likes using his powers. he’s fine. it isn’t until later that he realizes tim wasn’t talking about him losing his powers. tim was talking about kon’s powers not being enough. because it’s happened. multiple times. no matter how fast he pushed, he wasn’t fast enough to catch a falling tim. no matter much he gritted his teeth and tried to form a shield, it wasn’t enough to stop cassie from getting hit. he wasn’t always fast enough to stop a speedster villain after tim, he wasn’t powerful enough to keep all the bullets from hitting cissie. his powers weren’t enough sometimes.  it’s times like these when he realizes tim was right. he should have learned how to fight without his powers. or he should have trained his powers to get better instead of just trusting they’ll be enough. but even though he tries, now, he’s not learning fast enough to make much of a difference

kon’s never quite sure why his teammates act all fidgety when he talks about tana. it’s not like he’s explicit or anything. just small throwaway comments. an ice cream flavour she used to like, a pair of earrings that looked like the ones she used to wear. one day, while he’s telling tim about this date he and tana went on in an attempt to support tim going out with stephanie (yet again) while tamping down his own jealousy, cassie blows. she tells him to shut up, shut up about tana kon come on. none of the rest of us like hearing about her so please just do us all a favour and be quiet. it was easy to snap right back, to let the red rage fill his vision as he argued with cassie, but something about the grief in her voice made her pause. tim butts in awkwardly, telling kon that he knows kon loved her, he knows what she meant to kon, but the younger boy trailed off when kon demanded he explain what the hell he was talking about. it was bart that stepped up and told him, dude, you were fresh out of the lab, but physically only 16. she was 23. that’s not,,,,that’s not okay. no matter what way you put it kon gets it then. he remembers all the cases he’s worked with tim, saving kids from adults much older, holding their shaking bodies as tim beat the criminals up with his staff. but,,,,but it wasn’t the same. he was the one who started it. he was absolutely okay with the entire relationship. he had fun. he loved her. that,,,made it okay. right?

he had to find out from cassie. the two of them were on another one of their dates, desperately trying to make it feel like before. before kon had died, before cassie had splintered in grief, before kon came back but the two of them just didn’t click anymore.  joining a cult seemed like a bit of an extreme overreaction, but kon got it. he understood what happened when people were in grief. he doesn’t blame her, and told her so with an arm around her shoulder and her warm body tucked into his side. cassie just shook her head, her voice still achingly sad despite kon’s immediate forgiveness. it wasn’t her that he had to worry about, cassie said. it was tim. kon furrows his brow. tim? he’d suffered, obviously, and kon had seen pain in every line of his body when he’d visited tim for the first time after coming back. that hug had been full of more desperation than he’d ever seen on the younger boy. but he’d been told that all that grief, all that anger, was because of bruce’s death, and tim’s insane-but-not-really-insane quest to bring him back to life. cassie gives a humorless snort. then she tells him about the lab underneath the tower, the superboy shirt in the glass case. kon grows more and more horrified with each word cassie says, trying to imagine the story she’s laying out. tim, out of his mind with anguish. tim, trying to fucking clone him, over and over and over, knowing that it wouldn’t be the same but not even pretending to care, because any small piece of kon would be enough. the sleepless nights, the pills, the changed costume dedicated to him, the frantic energy dedicated to bringing kon back. he stammered out excuses, and cassie let him go without question. he didn’t even care that he left her hanging. he just knew that he had to go see tim, he had to find out if what cassie said was true. his death may have splintered cassie, but it shattered tim, and kon couldn’t help but feel guilt over it.

sometimes kon wondered if martha and jonathan kent approved of the way clark treated kon, or if she even knew. the two of them had taken kon into their home without a second thought, arms out and hearts open with acceptance. it was something he hadn’t felt until young justice had spent some time together, fought for their lives together. and for the kents, it was just immediate. kon wasn’t sure what it was about clark that made him push kon away. or, not really “push away.” more like straight up ignore at his own convenience. it was as if clark would rather forget about him; the only interaction the two of them had was when forced by lois or the kents, or when there was a global disaster and clark needed kon’s help. in his bitterest moments, kon wanted to scream at tim to cut damian some slack. damian had preyed on tim’s worst insecurities, he’d insulted him at every turn, he’d cut tim’s line and did nothing as tim fell. kon would always take tim’s side on this particular brotherly feud. but still, he sympathized with the kid. he’d been created without clark’s knowledge, like damian and bruce, before abruptly meeting them once older and being thrust upon them as an unwanted responsibility. damian was even worse than him, having years of brainwashing, abuse, and assassin-training. but bruce and the rest of the family still took him in, still gave him a chance, still tried so hard to love him until they didn’t have to try anymore to do so. when, exactly, had clark reached out to him to do any of that? other than a stiff, congratulatory smile after a battle or a mandatory dinner forced upon him by the rest of the family? he was getting better, kon could admit. it wasn’t enough, though. 

[tigerseye46]

D..... if were working with 'Pigsy was Baije' then does Wukong know? Were Wukong and Baije a thing too or is that exclusively an 'in the now' thing?

I mean either way that will be FUN to find out

TW: Death, Blood and Injury

Also Season 2 spoilers

Okay so I’ve thought about this a lot-

Thank you for giving me a chance to ramble, anon. This is going to be long

So, I would like to believe Wukong finds out eventually, either through Sandy (who I’d like to think is Sha Wujing), his golden eyes or a build up of hints. Since they’re stuck together on a ship, I think he has more time to figure it out because maybe he’s never really paid attention to MK’s friends until they had to be forced together. Or he did know before that and is just hiding it extremely well.

So for the ‘were Bajie and Wukong a thing’ I believe that even if they weren’t a thing, they at least had feelings each other that they never acted on because I am also a massive Zhuhou shipper.

Either way, it’s Wukong mourning for his lost love. We get a tragedy from two sides if Bajie died (from “To Catch a Leaf, it’s very implied something happened to him), although there are as just as much angles if we got with an alternate universe where Pigsy is just Bajie in disguise which I will elaborate on further.

If Bajie and Wukong were a thing, either married or still in the dating phase, and Bajie died, Wukong knows he has just lost the person he loved the most. Bajie’s death takes place possibly years after Wukong has already sealed DBK and has given up fighting. At this point, demons are still causing havoc and Bajie, who’s maybe matured a little bit, has decided to step up and be the hero for both of them.

Bajie, as shown in the first chapter he appears in, can fight Wukong on equal grounds but usually he does get lost in his cowardice and desire (since desire is what he’s supposed to represent) although when they do need him, he’s there.

Wukong isn’t worried about him fighting because he is strong. One day, there is word about an extremely powerful demon that people are having trouble with so they need Wujing, Bajie and some other warriors to help. Wukong feels something in his gut telling him to not let his husband go but he ignores it, the pig can handle himself. He gives his husband as much kisses as he possibly can with “Do your best, idiot. I love you.” Then he pats Wujing on the shoulder and watches them leave.

He chills on his mountain, suppressing the dread that lies in his stomach and eventually, he sees the top of Wujing’s hair and thinks “Oh, they’re back. I wonder how it went. I can’t wait to shower Bajie with kisses.” He sees Wujing’s face which is a mix of sadness, guilt, grief and anger all wrapped into one. The fish demon gets closer, holding Bajie’s body in his arms, bruises and blood present, the pig isn’t moving, isn’t breathing and Wukong feels sick to his stomach.

He rushes towards them, demanding to know what happened and Wujing explains that during the attack, Bajie blocked a blow meant for Wujing, the fish demon was on the ground when the demon was about to strike him, he was on his knees, breathing heavily and his reactions too slow to fight back. The pig gets knocked to the ground where the enemy demon hits him again and is about to give another blow when some soldiers attack him. It left Wujing enough time to go over to Bajie and try to help with his injuries but the bleeding was too much for him to stop, the pig leaves some parting words and passes away.

When he finishes, Wukong says the demon better be dead or he’ll go kill him himself, Wujing says he killed the demon and Wukong growls out a “good” and goes quiet.

He takes Bajie’s body in his arms, either remaining quiet with silent sobbing mixed in or screaming his lungs out and weeping more than he has ever before. He decides to bury his husband, aware that Bajie will be reincarnated one day, he has no idea when that will be. He leaves a small “Goodbye, my love…” as the pig is buried. And it hits him that he couldn’t protect one of the people that mattered the most to him and he decides to hole himself up on his mountain with the rest of his family occasionally checking up on him, he’s too lost in his grief to care rather they’re there or not while Wujing is in lost in his anger.

Eventually they stop visiting and Wukong believes they passed on just as Bajie did so he sets up a shrine for them.

Wukong holds on to whatever he has of them left, like the courtship bracelets. He makes sure to clean those regularly, holding back sobs as he does so, he gets defensive when anyone asks what they are, no one needs to know what those are except him.

Centuries pass and he finds Xiaotian, the perfect candidate to be successor, he watches the kid carefully, mostly focusing on him, barely taking note of the people around the kid.

So he trains him, hardly leaving his mountain, he doesn’t need to after all. Being around the kid brings him more joy than he’s felt in years but he still misses his family like crazy so he has the kid destroy the mural. It’s a painful reminder of what he has lost.

New Years comes around and we know how that whole thing goes, at the end, when Wukong is near MK’s friends, getting a closer look than he ever has before, maybe he realizes those are his family. He questions, did Tripitaka and Wujing reincarnate as well? An overwhelming feeling pops up in his chest at seeing them after so many years. When he gets a glimpse of Pigsy, he thinks “Oh my gods. That’s him. That’s my husband. He’s here, he’s alive… but he isn’t my husband, not anymore” and Wukong has got to get out of there before it becomes too much so he leaves.

And he suppresses all of it because he has bigger things to worry about.

Then at the last moment, when he finally has what he needs to defeat WBS, he flies just in time to see the kid lose to WBS and he pulls him out of there. Then he gets scolded by the man he once loved, still loves and he knows his husband the pig demon is right.

He tries to convince the others that they shouldn’t go, they’re mortal after all but they refuse and he has to bring them along. Now he and his family’s reincarnations are stuck in close quarters and he wants to get close to them again, he does but he doesn’t deserve it. He let the person he loved die and Pigsy doesn’t think that highly of him anyway so it’s better he just stay away as much as he can. Yet he’s still so hopelessly in love and he tries everyday to not wrap Pigsy in a hug and apologize, the same goes for the rest of his family.

Wujing, I mean Sandy, notices the king’s mood and asks what’s wrong where the king pushes him away, explaining how it’s none of his business. When Sandy tries to push further, Wukong shouts at him how the demon has probably never lost family and Sandy stays silent then explains how he lost a brother. And it hits Wukong, this is Wujing, actually Wujing, not some reincarnation and they hug and sob, maybe the others catch them and they don’t explain.

They’re all each other has and they cling to each other with the others questioning their new found closeness and Pigsy feels a twinge of jealousy but he has no idea why. Wukong tries to connect with Bajie while maintaining his distance because it still hurts way too much.

Now to explain, what happens if they weren’t an item. So, basically the same thing happens with Bajie’s death except they think something happened to Wukong since they couldn’t find him after he sealed DBK. Again demons are still popping up like crazy, taking advantage of the fact that the king is no longer around.

So Bajie steps up, gaining a more responsible attitude and despite, rumors spreading that the king dies, he ignores them as he believes Wukong will return one day. He gets extremely irritated when people say Wukong died or abandoned them. The same thing happens where he bleeds and dies, leaving Wujing, Bái Longma/Ao Lie and possibly Tripitaka, if he hasn’t reincarnated, to mourn (using this angle for a fic I’m working on).

Obviously Wukong thinks they’re dead and again, possibly at New Years, the king finds his family’s reincarnations and questions what happened, feeling a good amount of guilt for leaving them.

Then while they’re all stuck on the ship together or some other thing, Wujing reveals that he is still the same person and admits what happened to Bajie which just grows Wukong’s guilt and he has to stay away from everyone for a few days.

I would imagine he tries to respectfully maintain his distance from Pigsy while also trying to get closer, possibly sticking to him like a puppy. Again, does he really have the right to be near him? Because he left them and it could have been preventable if he just stayed.

The pig has no idea why the king sticks to him sometimes, he finds he doesn’t really mind it for some reason?? Also it’s easy for him to keep an eye on the king and makes sure he takes care of himself. And the king is kinda cute, he’ll admit. Wukong calls Pigsy little nicknames in his head a lot.

Wukong falls deeper in love with Pigsy, noting that no matter what life he takes on, he still loves him. Very much so and he doesn’t know how to tell him about who he once was.

In either sides, should he tell Pigsy this? Does he have a right to see Pigsy? Does he have the right to see any of them? It hurts to watch his family go on without him, but they’re happy, right? He shouldn’t interfere with their lives more than he already has. They don’t deserve that. On both, there is tragedy, longing and mourning and Wukong feeling guilty for so many reasons.

And we have the third take, the universe where Pigsy is Bajie in disguise.

Pigsy mourns Wukong like the king mourns him. Wukong is one of the few people that Pigsy has ever truly loved and vice versa. They miss each other like crazy, believing the other is dead and wishing they could talk to each other once again.

They wish they could have said something to each other, confess their feelings and maybe it would have changed something. Maybe the other would have stayed alive and well. While Pigsy’s working, sometimes it hits him that it’s better that he never said anything, after all, he isn’t Wukong, he’s not a hero, he doesn’t consider himself one. He was a slacker, a coward who did everything to cause problems and does Wukong really need someone like that in his life? Maybe that’s why he left. Pigsy ignores his good qualities from when he went by Zhu Bajie because he doesn’t think he has any good qualities.

The monkey would have rejected him, no doubt about that so it’s better he never admitted his feelings.

Time passes and he takes in Xiaotian, the kid can be good at his job, but annoyingly distracted. The kid is a big fan of the Journey to the west and a part of him feels joy as hearing someone so close to him enjoy the adventures but it’s also another reminder about all his stupid actions. Especially when Tang likes to point out his past mistakes to tease him for always getting them in trouble.

And one day, he sends MK on another delivery because he should really be working instead of listening to those stories. And what’s this, a bad review? Okay, Xiaotian needs to explain this! Where is he?

He’s about to scold him when Xiaotian reveals the staff and no, no, no, no, that can’t be Wukong’s. It just can’t be. Laugh, Pigsy, the kid must have just found a cheap imitation.

Then the kid accidentally breaks the table with it and oh my gods, it’s Wukong’s.

And Pigsy takes them to Sandy. MK believes that Wukong will be there and could the king be there? Yes, it is his home but they haven’t heard a word from him, the pig still believes Wukong is dead. There’s a small ray of hope that the king is alive.

Somehow, Tang and Sandy manage to convince Pigsy to go with the two. He grumbles about it and inside it hurts to go to the home of the man you once loved, still love, knowing that he won’t be there.

Then the fight with Princess Iron Fan happens and Pigsy believes he lost his kid as well.

And it turns out that Xiaotian is fine, thankfully. When Mei asks if MK managed to find Wukong and MK says yes, that cements it, he’s alive. And he never visited them. He tries to not clench his fists in anger and watches as the kid fights DBK.

His kid, the one he thought was dead, is now Wukong’s successor. The king let him believe that Xiaotian was dead, stupid monkey.

That night, he goes on and on to Sandy and Tang about how he hates Wukong, that’s a lie, and how the king should have told him he was okay. He manages to convince them that they shouldn’t see Wukong. If he wanted to visit them, he would have done so.

Life goes on with the pig hearing little things about what the king is doing from Xiaotian, his chest aches. He wants to punch the king in his handsome face and he is so tempted to charge up onto that mountain and do so but he holds off.

And he kinda wonders why the king left. And a thought crosses his mind, maybe it was because of him. Maybe the king didn’t want to be around him any longer and decided to leave. He knows how bad he was in the past so the king probably had enough and decided to go.

Maybe Xiaotian decides to finally introduce Wukong to his favorite people, he’s heard some thing and the kid convinces him to do so. And he meets them and they remind him of his family because they are his family including the person he loved, loves most in the world. Either Wukong knows they’re the originals or believes they’re reincarnations and how they’re so close yet so far.

Wukong yearns for that closeness once again especially with Bajie, the pig who has captured his heart even with their differences and he tries to impress Pigsy a little. Pigsy tries to keep the monkey at arms length, he is not having his heart broken again, that monkey is not getting close to his family.

And yes, I made this insanely long. Thanks to whoever reads this.

[jennana501]

Attachment and the Jedi Way

SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN AND STAR WARS REBELS

I always know a story is quality when what I want to say about it to my mother and sisters is too difficult to text, and I have to drive over and talk with them in person. Such was the case when I watched the Mandalorian Chapter 13. There were so many juicy details, plot developments, and general excitement about the long awaited appearance of one of our favorite Star Wars characters that I couldn’t stand being restricted by phone when I wanted to gush a million things. We were all so stunned with the emotion of her appearance. Truly a moment I will remember for the rest of my life. 

But after all the sweet outer frosting on the Chapter 13 cake had been licked clean, I dove into the center of this delectable episode and began to savor in its indulgent but substantial core. I have many thoughts about Thrawn, where Rex can be (is he dead or alive?) and where the season is going to go from there. What has interested me the most is Ahsoka’s reaction to our newly named green baby friend, Grogu. 

First I must say how much I love Rosario Dawson’s performance. I feel she knows who Ahsoka is and what she has gone through. I am reminded of little ‘Soka in her very first appearance in the Clone Wars animated movie when she takes care of the way less loveable baby Hutt. Seeing that she is  charmed by Grogu and that she clearly thinks he is cute makes me feel all sorts of warm fuzzies. Their very mythical and silent conversation in the moonlight shows how in tune with the force Ahsoka has become and that Grogu himself is much more than meets the eye. 

And yet when it comes to it, Ahsoka says she cannot train Grogu. The reason: his attachment to Din. I was surprised at first. Ahsoka does not see herself as a Jedi, at least as far as her association with the order that raised and trained her. I didn’t think I’d hear about attachment from someone who has forgone the Jedi way, especially since Ahsoka appears to have indulged in an attachment or two.

I immediately realized she was on to something. I recall Grogu’s moments of using the force: saving Din from the mudhorn; using the Force to save everyone from a giant fireball; Force healing Greef Karga; and Force choking Cara Dune. The latter example stands out to me as being the most violent use of the Force we see from little Grogu. He perceives that Din is in danger and acts against what we now know is his training to hurt someone in a manner that is often consistent with the dark side. 

Sure he is innocent and adorable. But he is also dangerous. And Ahsoka is right. It’s his attachment to Din that turns him from benevolent force using baby, to emotionally fueled deadly force bomb.

But I’ve seen Star Wars Rebels. I know that a Jedi can have relationships with other people and not turn to the dark side. You can love and still listen to the will of the Force. The Jedi were wrong. So I’m here to look into what attachment is, how you can love and not have attachment, and how Grogu might still become a Jedi, or at least the new wave sort of Jedi. 

First we must look at the poster child for attachment issues: Anakin Skywalker. The Clone Wars TV show could be renamed- Star Wars: Attachment and How it Disrupts Nearly Every Mission the Republic Assigns Anakin. He prioritizes Padme, Ahsoka, R2, and even Obi-wan over everything else. He is constantly  defying the orders of his commanders and putting the mission in danger. 

This all comes down to what happened to Anakin’s mother. 

When Anakin is taken from Tatooine, he has to leave his mother behind, with whom he shares a strong bond and attachment. When he is brought before the council and they say “he is too old”, what it really means is “he has already attached himself to something other than the Force.” Why else would being “too old” matter? The Jedi prefer blank slates for a good reason. Very small children have not developed strong attachments.

Anakin does turn into Darth Vader, after all. 

It would appear the Jedi are very right to say that Anakin should not be trained. He is ripped away from his mother; the man who believes in him is killed; and he is forced to be trained by someone who treated him with bitter indifference. After losing his mother he has no help, no advice, no direction other than to stifle his negative emotions. 

So instead of processing his grief and finding peace, he latches onto Padme. This attachment he will never abandon. He trains harder and becomes more powerful to always be able to keep Padme alive. The guilt Anakin feels for not being able to save his mother gives fire and passion to his obsession with Padme. And this obsession slowly erodes their relationship. 

Anakin says things like “There’s nothing more important than the way I feel about you.” (Hostage Crisis) During the Mortis Arc when he sees a vision of his mother, they have this conversation: 

“The only love I feel in my heart is haunted by what would happen should I let go.” 

“Then it is not love. It is a prison.” 

“But I have a wife…she’s everything to me.” 

“She’s not your destiny.” 

“But I love her.” 

We see the very ugly side of Anakin’s obsession and jealousy in the arcs that involve Clovis. Anakin's insecurities are valid, but they simply drive home the point that his attachment to Padme will eventually unravel him and lead to violence. 

Anakin and Obi-wan have a very interesting conversation during the episode “The Rise of Clovis” that reveals that Obi-wan is worried for Anakin and senses Anakin’s anger pitted towards the man he perceives as his rival. 

Obi-wan: Master Yoda is feels that your judgements concerning Rush Clovis are clouded. 

Anakin: I believe he can’t be trusted.

Obi-wan: Yes, but there is more isn’t there? I sense a deep anger in your by my simply saying his name. 

Anakin: He almost got Senator Amidala killed and I would have been responsible. 

Obi-wan: The Senator has risked her life many times. She’s quite capable of taking care of herself. 

Anakin: They had a relationship...once. I simply feel she is vulnerable to her emotions. 

Obi-wan: She is, or you? 

Obi-wan then empathizes with Anakin, telling him that he knows what it’s like to harbor feelings for someone. He tells Anakin to not be ashamed of these feelings, but that he must make the rights choice “for the order”. The conversation ends with Anakin becoming very angry, asserting he knows what his responsibilities are and Obi-wan leaves the room, leaving Anakin to deal with his distress alone. 

 And since Anakin is denied the support he needs, he resorts to controlling, intimidating behavior. He commands Padme to stay away from Clovis, is cruel to him, and chooses to punish Padme emotionally for Anakin's own insecurities. When tensions reach their peak, he attacks Clovis. This fully expresses Anakin's own fear and rage at the idea of losing Padme to another man. 

Anakin’s unchecked and untreated attachment to Padme, as we all know, results in the ultimate ruination of the both of them, the Jedi Order, and the Republic. He will never out anything about her. She is his center. Nothing else matters. 

This is not Anakin’s fault. This is the fault of the Jedi. Their teachings about attachment are unhelpful at best, and this stems from their crippling confusion over the difference between “attachment” and “love”. 

It makes me wonder if they even know what they are talking about at all. Their advice about attachment involves regurgitating confusing platitudes.  

In “The Revenge of the Sith"; Anakin goes to Yoda to seek his counsel. Anakin is told that “attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed that is.” When Anakin asks what he must do to overcome attachment, Yoda tells him simply to “train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose”. 

Thanks Yoda, I’ll get right on that. 

Anakin needs to “let go”, apparently, and if he is holding onto something dangerous, what should he be holding onto instead? No one ever explains. The Jedi simply tell him to “let it go”. 

It’s no wonder that Anakin can’t ever consider letting go of Padme. For all he knows, that means cutting her out of his life and never speaking to her again. Or worse, does that mean letting her die the next time her life is in danger? Does it mean he should replace love with indifference? He has no idea. As he is given no tools, Anakin fixes nothing and plummets to his unavoidable demise.

Divorce papers and deleting Padme’s number isn’t how Anakin is to overcome “attachment”, and it was never going to be. Obi-wan tried this method with Satine, and though he didn’t fall to the dark side, he never recovers from the bitterness and regret he feels.

In “Voyage of Temptation”, Anakin and Obi-wan discuss his and Satine’s relationship. Obi-wan explains his Jedi duties forced him to leave Satine after forming a strong bond and love with her over the year they were together on Mandalore. The Jedi teachings dictate that he let Satine go. So, obedient Padiwan that he was, Obi-wan cuts off his relationship with Satine. The results show that this was not the way. If the goal of the Jedi is to avoid negative emotion, then this technique fails and perhaps cripples Obi-wan forever.

Anakin: “As Master Yoda says: ‘A Jedi must not form attachments.’”

Obi-wan: “Yes, but he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse.” 

I’m here to tell you today that Obi-wan perhaps gets screwed over by the Jedi Code more than any other Jedi. Obi-wan does not have an attachment to Satine. Sure he says “Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order” but that’s only because that is what he has been taught. He is taught you only have two options: love someone or be a Jedi. 

Obi-wan loves Satine. He has a relationship with her. Some even think, myself included, that he is physically intimate with her. Qui-gon no doubt encouraged this relationship. He probably carefully nurtured Obi-wan during this time, helping him be able to love without forming an attachment. But Obi-wan is not able to see that he could love Satine and still be a Jedi. Leaving the order means that his Jedi journey would be over. If he had realized love and attachment are separate things, he could have been a Jedi and could have had Satine's love, too . 

Qui-Gon nearly convinces Obi-wan to be different: Obi-wan could have been a Jedi with feelings and love. Satine is a person who values duty above all, just as Obi-wan does. She respects that he answers to the Force. They would have been able to perfectly rule together with that mutual understanding. He could have been her force wielding husband without being attached to Satine and falling to the Dark side. 

True attachment is so dangerous to a Jedi because if they attach to a person, an idea, or a cause then they are not attached to the will of the Force. 

This is the missing detail Anakin and Obi-wan needed. Obi-wan could have been completely attached to the Force, even while loving Satine and even becoming her husband. Anakin needs to know that he could attach his center to the Force, and that this would not interfere with a deep and meaningful relationship with Padme. While centered in the Force, Anakin could be Padme’s husband loving and living with her, but ultimately his duty is to the Force, just as her duty is ultimately to the Republic. 

We know all of this is possible because of two characters from Star Wars: Rebels. Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla share what is essentially a marital bond. They love, live, and lead together. They are physically intimate, but they do not have each other as their centers. We see evidence of this in the episode “Call to Action”, when Hera leaves Kanan in the hands of the Empire. She  knows that if she risks saving Kanan then everyone else will be killed. 

If Hera had an attachment to Kanan like Anakin had to Padme, she would have risked everything to get Kanan back. Since Hera is not one of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, she would have failed and the rebel cell would have been stopped dead in its tracks. 

We also see evidence that Kanan is not attached to Hera. At the very end of their journey, after Kanan and Hera have fully expressed their feelings to each other, Kanan sacrifices himself for Hera and the others by using the Force to hold back an explosion. Though it appears as  Kanan is doing this because of his love for Hera, that is not the true motivation. If Kanan has an attachment to Hera, things would have gone differently. 

It is heavily implied leading up to this event that Kanan knows it is the will of the Force that he is to die. He knows this because the Force is his center and not  Hera. If his center is attached to Hera, I believe two things would have happened. Kanan would have tried and failed to save himself along with Hera and the others.  His actions would have been motivated by selfishness and desperation to extend his time with Hera. If Kanan tries to save himself, the conflagration consumed them all. The only way Kanan can prevent this is to draw upon the dark side of the Force. This would have thrown Kanan out of balance with the Force, and put him in very real danger of falling to the dark side. 

Instead, Kanan allows the will of the Force be done: he dies and his time with Hera comes to an end. Hera knows this about Kanan, and has always accepted the possibility he would choose the Rebel cause over their time together. Kanan knows the same of Hera. This mutual respect is the foundation of their love for each other. A Jedi can have a love and a bond with someone as long as they understand that ultimately, if the Force wills them to do something they must do it, regardless of how that affects their lives together.

So, can Grogu live like Kanan? The issue with Grogu, however, is that he already has attachment. His center is his adopted father, Din. Grogu is currently like Anakin, and if Din hands Grogu over to Ahsoka, they will have very Anakin-like troubles. From whom is Grogu going to learn? Ahsoka is unable to teach Grogu how to let go of deep attachment and center on the Force. Ezra Bridger can. 

In the second part of this post, I will discuss how Ezra Bridger is one of the most important Jedi who has ever lived, because he will be able to Grogu learn to let go, attach to the force, love and live, and yet do what needs to be done. 

[pynkhues]

i know this scene was from forever ago but i’m still caught up on it and i’d love to hear other perspectives. the scene in season 3 when beth is keeping the $10 plates in her house and dean destroys one: he says "you don’t kill something you love", referring to rio not being able to kill beth, but just because we as the audience know he won’t kill her doesn’t mean beth isn’t experiencing legitimate fear for her life. it always pissed me off that he so clearly believed that you don’t kill what you love, but here he is dangling her life on a hook and still claiming to love her. leaving a man is much easier said than done, but i wish they’d at least explored more of a dynamic shift

Ooof, I completely agree, anon, it wrecks me.

I did a six-part workshop series with a script editor a few weeks ago, and it was immensely interesting and rewarding overall, but one of the things she said that really stuck with me is that in a scene, you should always have three things happening. Those three things can range in scope and scale, in type of conflict and exchange and emotion, but those three things are what's going to create texture and authenticity, because in reality, there's never just one thing happening.

That scene with Dean, Beth and the plate in 3.05 is a perfect example of that because there is so much happening. There's the immediate action of Dean having found the plate and deciding to destroy it, there's his exhaustion, his anger, his jealousy, there's the immediate history of Rio trying to kill Beth, the business of these plates being her only leverage, and her extended history with Rio of their intimacy being forefront in Dean's mind. It's this complete cocktail of anger and pain and a bone-deep lack of understanding of one another, and the way that it catapults the tension in that scene is honestly one of my favourite things.

It feels like such a white knuckled grip of a scene giving way to this sort of simultaneous wave of dread and grief because Dean's not wrong, but as you said it, Beth doesn't know that, especially not at that point in the show, and Dean knows what Rio's capable of. Hell, he was on the receiving end of it.

It's infuriating because it works as a scene. Dean's right about one thing, but wrong about everything surrounding that thing, which we know because we know the context, which ultimately makes for a delicious emphasis of how little Beth and Dean know and understand each other at this point in the story.

I actually like that the scene sort of happened in isolation too? I liked that Beth suffered the consequences and that she never told Dean, and that the season went on to emphasise how much Beth wraps Dean in bubblewrap and puts him on a shelf to be brought down only when she has use for him, because I think it feels authentic to the aftermath of that fight. Beth sees Dean as a child she's responsible for, but also one she wants to wheel out and have perform for her friends when she needs him to. It's a deeply toxic dynamic and I think she knows it from the guilt we've seen her battle across various episodes, particularly with his arrest, and it's a role I think Dean's more and more starting to realise he occupies.

I can't wait to see the scene with the two of them and Rio in the backroom of Paper Porcupine. I think we're about to see it all come to a fresh head.

[duskwolf]

HEADCANONS 7/?

Jacob was only nine when his mother died, but just because he was younger than his sisters didn’t mean that he was spared the burden of grief and loss.

Billy mourns the loss of his love, his wife, and deflects responsibility of looking after Jacob to the girls. As twins, Rebecca and Rachel are close and they can talk about it together more easily than they can with him being much younger -- he’s still a little kid, in their eyes. How could he possibly understand? So he gets swept under the rug a little, forgotten in the grieving and healing process, left to find his own way in it. He knows everyone is trying, knows its not their fault. But he learns loneliness for the first time in those days.

He has people around him that make up for her absence -- or try, at least. Uncles and aunts who step in, help Billy out for a while. And cousins, a number of those all bringing over casseroles and inviting him over to play as if being distracted for a little while will make the confusion of empty nights more bearable. But that slows after a few months, and then by the year mark there’s a new normal established, with the old to never return.

He mourns her more silently, more quietly, in the background as compared to the others in his family. He has fewer memories, and they tend to bleed at the corners and shift over time, the more inaccurate the harder he tries to remember. He finds it so hard to ask his dad or sisters for stories, but every time she comes up between them, he listens with an eagerness that can’t help but show. In his teenage years and onward, he feels a multitude of things : anger and resentment, because they all got more time with her than he did. Jealousy to his friends with both their parents still around -- even if they aren’t the best. Hollowness and guilt when he doesn’t feel sad because he can’t remember her enough to miss her at times. And hope, sometimes too -- when he thinks he might have made her proud by something he’s done, or by who he’s become. 

At first, he’d try to picture her in places where she’d usually been -- leaning in the doorframe of the kitchen, coming up the driveway, pressing a hand into his mattress as she bent to kiss him goodnight. He stops doing it after a while, but occasionally the imagination takes back over and he thinks of her there with all of them, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen as they all go about their lives. 

It never stops being a part of him. It’s always there with him, both his mother and who she’d been as well as the loss and absence of her. 

[tordenvejr]

Inviting Joy

Exercise for increased happiness/fulfillment/excitement/feelings of love/peace, etc. and the workings of it.

Don’t skip healing and being with hurt in favor of overriding it with this, all parts of you deserve to feel the sun, accept and embrace pain and bring with you the parts that have or are experiencing it.

There’s a feeling bridge that is of course very complex and nuanced, but that generally goes something like shame, depression, fear, grief, apathy, powerlessness, passivity, insecurity, guilt, unworthiness, jealousy, hatred, revenge, anger, pride, discouragement, blame, worry, doubt, disappointment, overwhelmed, frustration, irritation, impatience, pessimism, boredom, contentment, hopeful, courage, neutrality, acceptance, hope, optimism, reason, purpose, enthusiasm, appreciation, passion, empowerment, freedom, joy, freedom, gratitude, love.

It is not the goal to change a feeling about something that hurts us to joy and gratitude /for/ that hurt, but rather to feel and embrace the hurt and hear its message or what it asks for and caringly give what that is to the part of us that hurts. And as all within that experience is brought to the light, move into peace or joy so that we can clearly see the changes that needs to be made, which boundaries need to be set or which cords need to be cut, to feel worthy of what is on the other side of our hurt (i.e. to put it simply, if we feel pain from being mistreated our heart is saying: “I do not wish to be mistreated,” and we can then find clarity for what is within our own power to do in working to honor that message) and to allow ourselves to have it.

To deny yourself your less pleasant emotional responses would be to deny yourself your complexity and wisdom. Emotions give awareness, they lead us to where we are sensitive, where we need change or healing and so on.

There is also nothing more righteous about forgiveness over hatred, but it is important to remember that hatred comes from experiencing a threat to what we love or deem important (and with that that love is hidden deep within the hate).

It is not in our best interest to aim to live a life only of happiness and never of any negative feelings and turn them away when they come, this will only distance us from ourselves and our truth. It serves us best to learn to meet ourselves and any and everything we may feel (pleasant or not) with a goal to understand and cultivate compassion and care for it and ourselves. It takes the willingness to hear and heal our wounds to live a life where joy and fulfillment are most prominent.

We’re capable of meeting our pain and to work with it when it comes and at the same time devote and deliberately fill our heart and bodies with warmth consistently, and have well being be where we live our lives.

When we fill ourselves with good-feeling feelings we get access to similar and even better feeling feelings, thoughts and ideas. We open to our higher excitements which ultimately are our gifts to the world and where our experience walking through life will be most fulfilling and joyous. Tending to yourself and bringing a smile to your heart is the biggest gift you can give to yourself and to the world.

The Exercise

• Pick a feeling (from contentment and on) on the list and set off time (a minute, 5, 10, more) to fill your body with it. You do this by asking: what does this feeling feel like? Where does it sit in the body?

It could be the heart, the shoulders, the knees. Does it warm, does it buzz, does it tickle?

It can be helpful to affirm: I invite and welcome (feeling) into my heart and being.

• Then sit in this feeling for as long as you set off for it, notice where it’s most apparent in your body, how it feels, what quality it holds and let it shower you and fill you. Let it extend from your body, fill the whole room if it wants, let it radiate from you and bring a smile to your lips.

I recommend doing this every day, as many times as you want. Notice the differences in your regular feelings and thoughts following.

Help for Getting Started on Feeling Feelings

Contentment: feels like ease, a lightness in the body, in the shoulders, the forehead, a pleasant increasing emptiness and openness, airy, accepting.

Courage: feels like if red were a color, feels like strength in the chest, like you get stronger just by your decision to be, feels like action, feels like determination, it fills the body with force and focus, goal.

Optimism: feels like hope, it feels like a seedling is sprouting in your heart, a bit tentative but excitement begins to shyly spark and grow, it feels like sun is in your head, fills the chest like a sunny spring day.

Purpose: feels like yellow and gold, feels like your joints tingles, like there’s a buzzing under your skin, it feels giddy, it feels like you were trying to walk in water before and now you’ve reached land, feels ease and feels like piercing focus, feels like belonging, like devotion, passion, excitement.

Freedom: feels like opportunity, expansion, possibility, resourcefulness, endless, liberation, it feels like your body is so light you’re one jump from flying to the sky, like abundance and being held by the universe, it feels like playing and lightheartedness, feels like breathing.

Gratitude: feels like a warmth and fondness in the chest, feels like presence, feels like all your surroundings light up with love, feels like wanting to take a moment to smile at everything, it feels like a sun radiating from your chest.

Joy: feels like being filled with a million colorful flowers, like you can’t help but smile to everyone you see like you want everyone to be filled with the same beaming happiness as you, like nothing can tear you down because you have an eye for all the joy within and around.

Love: feels like care, warmth, it feels like truth, like you become love in your seeing of another, of yourself, of the world, feels like coming home, feelings like everything is okay, everything is good, it feels like illusions fall away, it warms the body, it illuminated all that is beautiful and real, it beams from you when you hold it, it brings kindness and compassion, it lets everything be as it is and loves it while it does it.

If you’d like more help let yourself remember a memory where you held the feeling you’re focusing on.

It can set you up for brightness to take more feelings after each other!

If you feel far down the negative end of the list it can also be helpful to begin with that end and (in a minute or in a few days, whatever you feel called to is right for you) work yourself up the list. For example, if you feel frustrated it can be easier to ease the body into neutrality and then contentment at first, rather than try to bring yourself to the feeling of excitement or unconditional love right away.

If you’re experiencing intense sadness regularly I urge you to care for it, listen to it and what it tells you, find in it where the love for you is. If you feel powerless what does that discomfort tell you? That powerlessness is not your truth? That you want empowerment? What’s the next move towards empowerment?

Here, you can use the scale to first detect how you feel: misery. Then imagine it change form in your body to insecurity, then to unworthiness, then to anger, to worry, disappointment, overwhelm, impatience, etc. Feel how it gets lighter in the body. Continue as far up the scale as you feel like. Don’t overthink how you make the feelings change form and morph to the next, however you’re doing it is right.

Happy beaming, you’re doing great!

[sasorikigai]

Ten Most Pivotal Emotions for Hanzo Hasashi and Kuai Liang. 

1. Happiness (or lack thereof): One of the first core emotions Hanzo experienced was happiness; when he was younger, happiness was an emotion derived from a sense of safety and security from his parents. It arose from the knowledge that he was being loved and being taken care of. as he grew older, he began to associate it with feelings of contentment and emotional connection originated from building solid, trustful relationships with his peers and later, with Harumi. Joy, pleasure or satisfaction all existed to remind him of what it is he values the most. Kuai never got to experience the true sense of happiness, at least the safety and security aspects that he could get from his parents, since he was orphaned at a very young age along with his brother. 

2. Sadness: Sadness is probably the most complex and nuanced emotions that they can go through; because they can vary in degrees and manifest in a lot of different ways. And it also helps them to process grief and disappointment. Feeling sad allows them to take a step back and allow themselves to take a look at themselves and their situations to better understand what it is that’s causing them such pain. It teaches them to be introspective, resilient, and to learn from their mistakes. Hanzo’s rebirth as a hellspawn specter was originated from the very guilt and incompetency that he could not stop not only his family’s death, but the Shirai Ryu’s complete extinction. Kuai has lost so many of his peers, and notably Bi-Han (in the hands of Scorpion) and Smoke (in the Netherrealm) due to the corruption of the Lin Kuei. Sadness is one of the most raw, visceral and persistent emotions they would experience throughout their lives, only exacerbated by their PTSD and depression. 

3. Anger: Clenched fists, tense muscles, flushed face may constitute as negative somatic sensations, but anger could be a learning experience if they take their time to introspect in their own ways. Anger definitely does more than beg an individual for it to be unleashed; it forces them to act and fight against the problems that they’re facing. One of the most associated emotion towards Scorpion had been anger (along with vengeance), deeply originated from his guilt and incompetency to protect his loved ones. That manifested and exacerbated his need to be manipulated and misguided by Quan Chi, to stand against the Forces of Light protecting the sanctity and sustenance of the Earthrealm to fight for the Forces of Darkness. While Kuai was turned towards the evil’s side against his volition, he too, is, like any other human, is susceptible to be prone to anger, mostly at himself for killing the innocents. 

4.  Anticipation: It is the psychological state of arousal, that they experience when excited, anxious, or uncertain about what’s to come. It’s mind’s way of reminding them to plan ahead of time and better prepare themselves for the future. It’s less of nervous excitement that pushes them outside their comfort zone, because they both has mounted spectrum of experiences that define them as capable, hardened and ferocious warriors. As both of them being mortal humans with only supernatural powers (pyromancy and cryomancy) as their weapons, both Hanzo and Kuai obviously cannot predict anything for the future, but as they are prominent figures in the Earthrealm as two of the most popular clans in the Earthrealm (the Shirai Ryu and the Lin Kuei, respectively), they do their best in their abilities and capabilities to prepare for what’s to come. 

5. Fear: Evolutionary psychology tells them fear is the basic survival mechanism of their ancestors, which is meant to keep them safe from potential danger. That’s why they have innate fight or flight response that is triggered whenever they feel physically or emotionally threatened by someone or something. Most often, they feel fear towards something that are not lethal; such as failure, uncertainty, emotional vulnerability, and loss of control. Both Hanzo and Kuai never let fear take complete control, despite highly probable to experience such fear mentioned above (Hanzo much more prone to all of them compared to Kuai), preventing them from taking risks, challenging themselves and going after what they want. Hanzo tends to experience extremes of such, for his depression runs more bone-deep and he still faults and blames himself for being turned into the wretched Netherrealm spectre. Despite his fear of all those four aspects mentioned, he is paradoxically more likely to take risks, jump into danger to protect another and act on his aspirations quicker than Kuai. 

6. Loneliness: Loneliness results when they feel isolated even with people around them. One of the most basic human needs is the need for belongness, along with the physical needs for food, water and shelter. As a human being, one of the deep-seeded requirements is social interactions, and feeling of loneliness tells them they need to reconnect with their loved ones and attend to relationships with those who they care about. While loneliness is a common emotion they both go through, Hanzo had more luxury of experiencing various kinds of relationships, including platonic, fraternal (with some of his peers, as he was an only child), romantic/sexual (Harumi) and paternal (Satoshi), and even serving as a surrogate father for Takeda Takahashi. Obviously compared to Hanzo, the scope of Kuai’s relationship lacks both depth and spectrum, as loneliness is more of a Kuai’s deep-seated fear that he has accepted as his fate. 

7. Jealousy (or lack thereof): Jealousy gives way to insecurity and lower self-esteem, because it makes you to think that you are not good enough to have everything that you want. It’s important for you to pay attention to what sparks that very feeling in you, because it speaks volumes about what exactly is missing from your life. Jealousy isn’t something both Hanzo and Kuai feels; because they are confident, proud, assertive in their mannerisms without coming off as too imposing and commanding (although their gravitas as the Grandmasters of their clans may exude such aura), and when they get into any relationships, they are based on utmost trust and devotion. 

8. Disgust: Disgust is another emotion rooted in their evolution; they could feel repulsed by things they consider unclean or disease-ridden. Most likely, they often feel repulsed by things that go against the most fundamental social norms, such as heinous crimes or abnormal sexual behaviors. Feelings of intense dislike and aversion and disgust are emotional responses they feel towards something that is unhealthy for them. Since they have faced other nonhuman kombatants and literally been hell and back, both of them find repulsed by amorality and lack of honor and code of ethics; for example, they both find D’Vorah disgusting, not only because she is a non-human insect who has ovipositors, but her morality is abominable and contemptible. 

9. Surprise: Surprise is something they feel when something unexpected happens to them, or those around them. Shock and surprise can intensity their current emotion, like happiness, anger and despair. When they become surprised, they become more curious and alert, because it forces them to change their perspective, and adapt to new situations. While Hanzo and Kuai has experienced ample positive emotions, such as for Hanzo, when he married Harumi, he watched Satoshi being born, and when he rebuilt the Shirai Ryu multiple times and watching it thrive and prosper etc. Kuai has only experienced shock in such negative connotations. He has came to acknowledge Bi-Han’s death, had gone through excruciating change from being cyberized, back to turning into a Revenant, and losing so many loved ones to evil including Smoke and Frost. And he also lost Hanzo in MK11 storyline. Hanzo also has fair share of dealing with negative shocking, as mentioned above, including his own death and reliving his family’s death and clan’s massacre over and over again. 

10. Trust: While trust isn’t as an instinctive feeling as the other emotions, it is still a feeling that they both experience in daily to daily basis. Trust is an emotion built on their experiences; and it’s meant to remind them both the good and the bad that the other people have done to them, so that they can better protect themselves against emotional pain. Often times, trust and love go hand and hand. In the end, the self-exploration towards emotional awareness towards the other through trust will help gain more emotionally fulfilling lives. For both, trust is a hard-earned trait; they had been deceived, manipulated and violated as pawns doing the bidding of the darkness and evil, and as protectors of the Earthrealm, the one that serves the light even in the midst of the dark, they are loyal and fully devoted almost to a fault once such hard-earned trust solidifies and anchors. 

[trevor-brown-artist]

What You Have by @trevor-brown-artist

I think we come into this worlds as whole beings and unlike the popular notion that we find pieces of ourselves as we move through the world I would posit that we loose pieces of ourselves and become fractured reflections of the whole.

Yesterday, while participating in some self care and socializing with a friend I was waiting with her for the bus to come this sweet gentle soul who was clearly intellectually challenged but emotionally more whole then I currently am, floated between me and my friend and at least six other people discussing her concerns about being late for an event due to a tardy bus. Now I don’t know anything about the bus, I don’t take the bus, but let her know before she flitted away that she wouldn’t be punished for something that was beyond her control.

I remember in the moment not feeling putout but feeling giddy by her sincerity and the honesty of her emotions and quite frankly the pure trust she had in engaging with several people she obviously didn’t know. I admired her abandon and wondered what had happened to my own, when did I become so mistrustful when did I withdraw from the world, that this young woman so clearly embraced.

Patricia Jackson, the future mother of my former brother was one of the characters from my childhood that took pieces of me that I never recovered. One of the things she took was my sense of feeling safe in the world and this occurred because of her own personal traumas and abuses that played out in her own insecurities.

These insecurities and obvious mental health issues lead her to feel a level of hostility and jealousy towards me even though I was a child aged in the single digits. Her own trauma and demons lead her to becoming one of my own demons, that I didn’t conquer until much later in life.

This woman my father’s girlfriend felt so threatened by my natural bond with my dad that she sought to beat it out of me. She took a wooden heeled wedge, a very lovely shoe, summery and comfortable and she used this shoe to beat me in my head until I fell unconscious over the tub in the bathroom of the Harlem apartment she shared with my father. When I revived she carried me to the back bedroom that I shared with her daughter who was a few years my senior and then bought me ice to treat the knot that was forming on my head. I’m sure an x-ray of my skull would show the remnants of that trauma I know my fingers remember where that place is on my head decades later.

As she ‘nursed’ me she whispered to me “I will kill you if you tell anyone”, and my single digit aged self beloved her and gave her a piece of my trust that the world was a safe place because clearly it wasn’t, this monster had attacked me, nursed me then threatened me while my father slept in the room only a few feet away, clearly this world wasn’t a safe place.

Marvin Church, my surrogate grandmothers oldest child was methodical in what he took from me, so much so that I didn’t even realize the pieces were missing until decades later, this kind of robbery is masterful and even more devastating.

As a child I was not known to talk back as much as to try to debate a point, as a highly emotional intelligent child I was hyper aware of unfairness and would seek to balance the scales, I didn’t realize this was an un-winnable fact of life, but as a child we have a tendency to see the world in blacks and whites, not the grays that truly color our lives.

In one of these debates with my ‘grandmother’ where my voice wasn’t raised but nevertheless I wasn’t feeling passionate about the topic, her son had come home from work to hear this disagreement and thought mistakenly that I was being disrespectful to his mother, and this man who was at least three decades older decided the best way to handle this insurrection was to punch a child who was one third his age in the stomach, knocking me backwards into the foldaway bed my brother slept on and falling into a chair breathless.

He hurriedly took more of my feeling safe in the world and helped himself to my passion for debating and expressing out rage to injustice, and as I sat there wheezing stunned and dazed about what had just happened he took my belief that there could ever be justice in this world because the crime committed against me was never reported and no one was ever made to atone for my missing pieces.

Robert Raymond Brown, May have participated in giving me life but also sought to take this same life away from me as he wrestled with his own demons bought back from a war we should have never been in.

I have always been a truth teller and this lesson I learned at the hands of my father as he tried to choke the life out of me is that the truth doesn’t matter and it could literally get you killed. The betrayal, shock and pure devastation as a man who had never as much as chastised me mentally took a departure of his senses and was refusing oxygens access to my lungs as he banged my head against his parents carpeted floor and screamed at me he was going to kill me.

Patricide is the word for the killing of a parent.

Filicide is the word you have probably never heard of, for when ones parents tries to kill their offspring.

Not hearing my neck snap or maybe finally coming to his senses and realizing what he was doing he stopped, but wasn’t finished he had more things to take from me. ‘Why don’t you call your grandmother and tell her I was trying to kill you!’, which is exactly what my double digit adolescent mind wanted to do, but the leering way in which these words were delivered, clearly signified this was a trap. And like human beings have done since time immemorial I took flight and left the apartment barely able to see through my tears and shock and made it over to a friends house in the adjacent project where his mother called my grandmother who was at work.

“Effects of Childhood Trauma on Adults

Experiencing abuse or neglect as a child can have a significant impact on an adult's quality of life. The impact can be felt across several areas, such as emotional health, physical health, mental health and personal relationships.

Emotional Health

Survivors of childhood abuse can often experience feelings of anxiety, worry, shame, guilt, helplessness, hopelessness, grief, sadness and anger.

Mental Health 

Surviving abuse or trauma as a child has been linked with higher rates of anxiety, depression, suicide and self harm, PTSD, drug and alcohol misuse and relationship difficulties.

Physical Health 

Children who are exposed to abuse and trauma may develop what is called ‘a heightened stress response’. This can impact their ability to regulate their emotions, lead to sleep difficulties, lower immune function, and increase the risk of a number of physical illnesses throughout adulthood.” - International Society for Traumatic Stress Studies

My mental health and personal relationships have indeed been impacted by this handful of people who took important things from me when I couldn’t defend myself but has also given me and incredible amount of character, empathy and resilience. I would have preferred to keep all of my original parts but no one gets out alive with everything they came in with this is a fact of living.

I hope that I can try if even in the smallest way to embrace life the way this young woman has and attempt to find joy where I can and most importantly focus not on what I am missing but the person I have become irregardless of my misfortunes.

[m-oana-archive]

Caught (Scorpius x Albus)

Summary: When Scorpius catches his long-time crush and best friend, Albus, snogging someone in their bedroom, jealousy and arguing ensues. 

Words: 4,105

Requested by anonymous and @who-cares-unknown using 

2: “Close the door.” // 10: “Come here.” // 24: “You’re trembling.” // 31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” 

read on AO3 | read other requested work | Masterlist

Scorpius’ first thought: of course she’s beautiful.

With one hand holding the still-cold metal doorknob and the other his fast-beating heart, Scorpius stood in the doorway of his dorm room stuck in an unrealized inhale.  Because ten feet away from him, on the edge of his barely-made bed, was Albus.  Albus, with one hand holding “her” face and the other a combination of blue bunched-up bedsheets and blankets.  Though the obviousness of what they were doing hit Scorpius into stillness, he felt as though he was sinking down into the ground at the same time, far into that hardwood floor, as if the capacity to hold himself up was no longer something he acquired.

Perhaps that’s why he tripped forwards: the lack of bodily control.  And suddenly, his body fell into the threshold, shoes scuffing across the floor and catching the attention of Albus and the beautiful girl.  Once Scorpius looked up from his now-stable feet, he met their faces for the first time.  Their lips were on the brink of purpleness and for a moment that sent a shockwave down his spine, Scorpius wondered how long they had been at this, if it was so good that they would have continued with Scorpius’ body in the doorframe if his arrival hadn’t been so unceremoniously announced.

The glances he was given were completely opposing.  The girl was scowling at Scorpius, etching sharp lines in her face that seemed misplaced on the roundness of her cheeks, the wideness of her eyes.  It terrified Scorpius still.  But not nearly as much as the deep sadness Albus looked at him with, as if Scorpius had disappointed him greatly by not realizing what was going on even before he knew.

Scorpius didn’t know if he would have preferred knowing earlier, though.  He pictured himself in the spot in the library where he was previously, desperately attempting to shove sentences of textbooks into his brain as to distract it from what was going on.  In this daydream he saw himself tapping his foot relentlessly, tearing his hands through his hair, slipping into the dangerous hypotheticals of what they were doing.  In this daydream, he only lasted a good fifteen minutes before he came barging in with some lame excuse—constructed entirely out of selfishness—of why Albus had to stop kissing her immediately and flee the scene.

Maybe it was better to stumble in on it.

The girl’s response made him think otherwise.

“Uh, excuse me,” she scoffed.  “We’re in the middle of something.  Close the door.”

Scorpius just gripped the handle tighter, his jaw emulating the squeezing action by clenching teeth against teeth.  “So, I guess this is your room now?” he asked her, pouring all of the sarcasm he could into the question.

Her eyebrows raised while looking around the cluttered bedroom, as if she was actually considering what it would be like to live amongst Albus’ unorganized shoes and the faint yet ever-present smell of cologne and tea.  But her eyes settled back on Scorpius as she responded, “What do you mean?”

“Well, considering you’re giving me orders on how to behave and what to do, I guess this is your room then, right?”

“Scorpius— ” Albus butted in, but the girl kept speaking over him.  In the resulted powerlessness, Scorpius risked a glance in his direction.  Albus still looked thoroughly miserable (and miserably handsome, so Scorpius kept looking at him because he couldn’t stop himself).

Therefore, all he heard was the last few sentences of the girls’ argument.  “Plus,” she said, in that over-enthusiastic way people do when they get new ideas to tack on to an old one, “Albus is your roommate.  He has just as much say as to what goes on in here as you do.”

Responding to her point, but not to her—he was still looking into Albus’ green eyes, putting all his effort into not getting lost in them—Scorpius asked,“So I guess you can do just anything you want in here, then, Al?  Regardless of how it affects your roommates?”

As if he knew he didn’t have much time, Albus blurted out, “I didn’t think you’d be back.”  But it was said like an accident, an afterthought, with pouted lips and a soft tone.  Almost apologetically, but, after years of being best friends with him, Scorpius knew it wasn’t exactly not knowing Scorpius’ schedule that Albus was apologizing for.  It was something different and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But Albus’ were still awkwardly dangling on the girl’s arm, keeping Scorpius’ glare ever-present, his face red as apples.  Albus kept glancing between his fingers and Scorpius: a silent questioning of, “Is this okay?”  Even though he knew the answer, but not the reason.  Scorpius would rather endure a Crutiartus curse than tell his best friend, his only friend, that for upwards of a year he had been craving for something more.

Hence the anger.  The anger that wasn’t anger at Albus for kissing someone else, but at himself for never being good enough to be on the receiving end.  And just at the thought of it, his chapped lips burned.  If only he was the one getting Albus’ lips to that purpley-blue, getting to coax them open and bite them and press his own against them.

“Well I am back,” Scorpius stupidly retorted, feeling foolish but powerful as Albus frowned further.  “So are you going to let me have my room back, or are you going to make me leave again?”

Scorpius didn’t realize his heart could hurt more than it did when he opened the door on this mess.  But when Albus’ open mouth didn't speak another word, Scorpius had to grip even tighter on the doorknob to keep his torso upright from the force of his heart’s aching.

Trying to appear unaffected, Scorpius cleared his throat aggressively.  “I see,” he noted, forcing as much disappointment into the words as he could muster before turning around and closing the door behind him, trapping Albus’ call of his name behind the wooden slab.

He wouldn’t turn back.  And he wouldn’t wait up.

So Scorpius started darting down to anywhere else, dodging students passing through the common room, some looking concerned and others looking amused.  A few cruel comments were called out from behind him, but nothing could hurt him more than seeing Albus with someone else, than Albus not caring that he had seen, than Scorpius blaming his best friend for something so obviously his own fault.  Albus didn’t have control over the fact no one else wanted to befriend Scorpius; or that no one could make Scorpius laugh as hard, as often; or that Albus was so irresistible without realizing, like how he woke up curly hair in uneven tangles and smile so lazily warm it made Albus feel as though he was being dipped in sunshine.  And his voice was deeper then, coarser, but never callous.  Whenever he spoke in the morning, it caught Scorpius off guard, and he almost dropped what he was carrying or tripped over his feet.

Albus was just Albus.  It wasn’t his fault he was everything to Scorpius.  It wasn’t his fault that Scorpius was in love with him.  

Scorpius froze at the realization, stumbling out of his running.  His lungs were dry and heaving and he wished he hadn’t had ran or argued or left Albus’ call of his name hanging in the air to no avail.  For months he made sure Albus couldn’t suspect the truth; he shoved every piece of evidence deep inside of him so Albus wouldn’t tease him about being jittery or notice the elementary sketches of initials in hearts he scratched into parchment corners.  So how was Albus to know what kissing some random bird meant?  How was he to realize what he meant to Scorpius if Scorpius was doing everything in his power to keep Albus from knowing just that?

“Fuck,” Scorpius whispered.  For the briefest of moments, he watched his breath turn white in the air, transfixed out of not wanting to drown in guilt, before he fell forwards.  He stumbled into the fluffy snow of the Divination courtyard, almost landing on his hands from the thickness of it.  Scorpius almost laughed at the fact the “fuck,” he let out seconds earlier now seemed like a precursor as opposed to a reaction.  

But he didn’t have time when, from behind him, he heard a voice unmistakably belonging to Albus spit out the same word, making him freeze once more.

“Shit!  I didn’t mean… I should have stopped running earlier.”

Scorpius turned around, the motion full of tentativeness and apprehension.  He was met with just as much from Albus, who stood with a head tilted downwards, shifting gaze, and hand on the back of his head.

Years ago, in a makeshift pillowfort the two had spent far too long on considering its finalized appearance, Albus and Scorpius had sworn to always be frank with one another.  “Not telling no secrets,” Albus had said, as if he knew what was to come, the way he would grow to hold Scorpius’ heart unlike anyone else.  “Just, like, if something is bothering one of us about the other person, or there’s something we have to say, we don’t take offense.  Got it?”  

Scorpius had nodded his head, and, in this moment, he was happy he had, as it gave him the permission to bluntly ask, “Why are you nervous?  I was the one being the asshole.”

Like the snow they stood on would in the spring, Albus’ expression of grief melted, replacing his frown with a small smile.  He even looked up at Scorpius; those green eyes effectively destroyed every ounce of Scorpius’ composure within milliseconds.

“Really?” Albus asked.  Everything about him was unsure.

“Yes.  I overreacted.  I’m… I’m really sorry about it, Albus.  It’s just,”—“not telling no secrets”—“I had a really long day.  It’s not about you.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if the soft, “oh,” Albus responded with wasn’t enough of an indicator, his focus was down and his feet kicking at the snow, emphasizing his displeasure with the explanation.

Besides himself, Scorpius felt his anger returning.   “What?  Did you want it to be about you?” he spat out.  If it weren’t for his coldness this morning, the sharpness of his voice would have surprised him.

But not as much as the defeated, “Yeah,” Albus directed towards the ground.

Like a balloon that was just untied and hissing out oxygen, Scorpius felt all of the madness flush out of his body instantaneously.  Every part of him that used to hold rage was filled with shock instead and the world felt wrong.

“What?”  Scorpius could feel how scrunched his face was in confusion, how it almost looked appalled as a consequence.

“It should be about me,” Albus continued to the ground, as if he was talking to himself.  “I knew you were coming back.  You told me this morning.”  In a flash Scorpius recollected their conversation, recollecting more of Albus deep morning voice than what he said when using it, making his memory fuzzy; Scorpius shook his head side to side in an attempt of clarity.  

“I… I don’t remember mentioning that.”  For some reason, Scorpius’ throat suddenly felt dry.

“Well, you did.  And I… I fucking knew, okay?  And I’m sorry.”  

Albus still wasn’t looking up, was still directing his gestures towards the ground, so Scorpius let his face fall into a frown and pressed on Albus slightly.  “It’s okay,” he reassured.  “I’m not that mad, I swear.”

“But you should be.”  Albus’ breathing was ragged, and Scorpius knew it wasn’t from the running, but how much energy what he was saying took out of him.  So Scorpius kept quiet, fiddling with the edge of his jacket nervously, afraid of why Albus was so adamant to take the blame.  So for a moment, all that was heard over the high howls of winter wind were Scorpius’ coat’s fabric rustling and Albus’ heavy breaths.  Even Scorpius’ heartbeat was muffled, because, for some reason not apparent to Scorpius, Albus’ eyes had flicked back up, causing Scorpius’ heart to stop moving altogether.

All until Albus broke the silence he had began.  “I knew.  I planned it so you’d walk in on us kissing.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked so quickly, the question beat the confused expression which fell across his face.

“I wanted to see if I cared.  If you cared.  If I cared whether or not you cared.”  Albus was letting his eyes flutter around in nervousness, never landing on Scorpius as he spoke, so Scorpius didn’t expect him to see the confusion from the last question still residing in his expression.  Therefore, he stayed silent, waiting for those wandering eyes to land on his face once more and see the questions he wasn’t vocalizing.  So Albus kept going once his eyes saw what Scorpius had left for him.

But this time, he sounded less confident and less icy from that composure.  It seemed as though something got lodged deep in his throat.  “You see, I thought… I thought, well, really, I was looking back at the past to see how I felt, so I concluded, I suppose, that I, uh, have a crush on you.”  As if they weren’t already rosy from the chill, Scorpius felt all the heat in his body rise to his cheeks, reddening them further, he was certain.  He glanced over at Albus with a gawked expression but, as was usual for Albus in that conversation, his focus was elsewhere.  There was never a time Scorpius could remember wanting Albus’ eyes on him as much as he craved them now.  

“But I never really felt like that towards someone before,” he continued, voice still full of uncertainty.  “So I had to test it, of course.  I kissed a couple of birds, a couple of blokes,”—Scorpius, for the first time, allowed his face to fall as Albus spoke of kissing other people—“but it still… it wasn’t enough.  But I still didn’t think I liked you in that way.  So I supposed it was jealousy or something.  I don’t know.  I guess I thought I wanted to prove that I could get someone.”

“You can have anyone you want,” Scorpius blurted out.  It was a truth he had withheld for Merlin knows how long, how he felt no one could be compared with Albus or his smile or sense of humor or way of making the world seem brighter.  “And you got her.”

Albus was shaking his head.  “She’s… she’s no one.”

Remembering her beautiful face, deep eyes, long lashes, Scorpius retorted, “She’s someone.”

“She’s not you.”

Scorpius thought Albus’ torso jamming into his back was the maximum force Albus held that could make Scorpius feel the unbalanced.  But as that statement faded into nothing in the air but everything in Scorpius’ heart, he felt his knees buckle slightly, his ribcage contract.  The weight of Albus’ words were enough to make him melt.

What was worse—or, perhaps, better, if it weren’t for the fact his words kept making Scorpius feel faint—was that Albus kept going.  “I was wrong, Scorpius,” he said, tearing his hands through his unruly hair.  “It wasn’t about making you jealous of me, but jealous of her.  So I ran after you because… because I’m so tired.  I’m so tired of pretending you don’t mean as much to me as you do.  I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

He was unsure of where the sudden bolt of sympathy came from, but Scorpius found himself asking, “Does she know?”

Albus’ eyes darted upwards, cold and confused at first, but turning softer the longer they looked at Scorpius’ face.  Scorpius guessed Albus was trying to wage exactly how defensive he needed to be.  But, Scorpius focused on keeping his expression more doubtful than accusatory and watched it work as Albus’ glare disintegrated.

“Yes,” he admitted.  “Of course.  I explained myself right after you left.  It was short and terrible, but I wouldn’t have come after you otherwise.”

“Good…” Scorpius nodded, focus drifting off to nowhere in particular.  A lump began rising in his throat, one he could not seem to push down, because, suddenly, the air between he and Albus was charged.  There was tangible energy between the two of them, and Scorpius wasn’t sure how to take the lead, now that Albus had spoken his truths.  There was no smooth and suave way to reciprocate.  No way Scorpius could conjure that wouldn’t make him seem like a pathetic, lovesick mess and be sure to scare Albus away before something even began.

Apparently, he had been quiet for longer than he had realized, or looked even more dazed than he felt, because when Albus whispered out his name, the utterance full of concern and fear.  Yet it still remained so soft.

So, this time, it was Scorpius who looked up, whose eyes had to rise to meet Albus’.  Against the whiteness which covered every tree, bush, rock, archway of their backdrop, they looked even greener than usual.  For the first time, Scorpius indulged himself in the act, not looking at Albus’ eyes but into them.  If it weren’t for the fact the December chill could turn anyone’s face red—and that, even though it was after Albus admitted his feelings, Scorpius still felt as though he didn't have the capacity to make anyone blush under any circumstances—Scorpius may have let himself believe it was his attention that caused Albus’ face to flush.

“Sorry,” Scorpius muttered.  He wanted to continue with, “your eyes are just really beautiful,” but decided against it, knowing Albus felt as though they were of his father’s ownership more than his own.  Instead, he shook his head side to side to try and refocus.  Nothing he could say felt adequate enough, yet Albus’ lips had turned upwards into a smirk, as if Scorpius was taking things far too seriously.  

So the, “It’s okay,” Albus responded with was more of a chuckle than an apology.  “I’m just assuming that you’re stalling to try and find a way to let me down easy.”  He was still smiling, somehow, and it made Scorpius’ stomach turn in on itself.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll still be your friend.”

“No.”  

Scorpius surprised himself in the delivery; it was sharp rather than desperate, and would have been too aggressive if not for the involuntary swinging of his arm towards Albus’ chest, begging for his presence (somewhere deep within, Scorpius knew the previous dialogue was an attempt at an outro, but Scorpius wasn’t finished yet).  

The motion caught Albus’ attention.  He glanced down at Scorpius’ hand, considering the fingers stretched flatly against his coat’s chest pocket, before resurfacing with scrunched eyebrows and an almost-frown on his mouth.  Scorpius found himself wanting to kiss that scowl off of Albus’ lips; he swallowed down the craving until he realized he no longer had to.  The epiphany made his body buzz, his knees weaken, his heart stop yet beat even faster at the same time.

Because he wasn’t sure when it began exactly, the desperation for Albus.  He assumed the fuzziness in memory was due to the fact they only had one another—or, more honestly, Scorpius only had Albus—turning their friendship into a kind of necessity which easily covered up the underlying romantic feelings Scorpius developed.  But when it hit him, it felt more intense than falling off of a broomstick from thousands of meters in the air, headfirst.  He was thinking of Albus in class and while he was talking to someone else and before falling into sleep and while sleeping.  Albus consumed Scorpius’ mind during times when Scorpius didn’t even notice he was thinking; during walks from the bathroom back to class, packing up his parchment and quill, making his bed.  Yet, even with the shape of his face and sound of his laughter ever-present in his mind, Scorpius found himself yearning for Albus’ presence.  Scorpius wanted Albus around longer, body closer to his.  Close enough to “accidentally” brush hand against hand or shoulder against shoulder.  Just enough to make Scorpius realize how truly alive his best friend was.

He wasn’t sure when it began exactly, but Scorpius assumed he’d either die in the attempt at love, or due to the pain of it.  When he imagined his future, Albus was never an option as much as a pipe dream.  If he had other friends, Scorpius would have been embarrassed to tell them his feelings, not because they were directed at Albus but because they felt that impossible to be realized.

So he wasn’t quite sure to do with himself with a hand resting on Albus’ chest and the entire English language at his disposal, broad yet lacking in words to describe how he felt.

Scorpius settled with reusing the same expression.  “No,” he repeated, letting his head dip down in unnecessary shyness, “I… I don’t want to be your friend.  I want to be your boyfriend.”  He felt his fingers start slipping down slightly, and his voice was shakier as he said, “It’s all I’ve wanted for so long, Albus.  I can’t even remember when it started.”

“You’re trembling,” Albus muttered, voice overlapping the fading of Scorpius’.  Yet it was delivered almost just as softly, quietly, like he hadn’t meant to say it.  But the way Albus reached his fingers up to catch Scorpius’ falling ones convinced Scorpius otherwise.

It was only in watching that action take place that Scorpius saw his fingers shake.

“Sorry.”  Scorpius’ blush was so strong, he felt the warmth of his cheeks regardless of the winter chill.  “It’s just… I don’t even know how long I’ve been bottling this all in.  It’s a lot to finally say it out loud.  To even be able to.”

Albus took hold of Scorpius’ wrist, looping his fingers around it loosely.  “Come here,” he whispered, and Scorpius let his body do what it had been desiring for years: fall into Albus’.  His forehead dipped down into Albus’ chest and both of his hands cradled Albus’ back, forcing Albus to let go of the very wrist that had led them into this position.  

But, if Ablus’ words were any indication, he didn’t mind the release at all.  Instead, with his own palms across Scorpius’ back, lips brushing against his ear, Albus’ murmured one more apology into his ear.  Even though it was the most simple one, most quiet one, most indirect one, it still washed over Scorpius’ body with a power unlike the, “I’m sorry,” screamed at him earlier.  Scorpius felt absolutely defenseless against the tenderness, the vulnerability.  He allowed his head to roll to the side and rest against Albus.

For a moment, all Scorpius could hear were the deep beats of Albus’ heart in his chest; sometimes, a gust of wind would whistle intensely enough to be noticeable, but that was the only other sound recognizable.  And it was more than enough.

Albus was the first to move.  He took the smallest of steps back—just to get my attention, Scorpius assumed, not to get away from me—prompting Scorpius to look up.  Perhaps it shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but when Scorpius’ eyes met Albus’, his heart fluttered at the fact Albus was already looking down at him; he wasn’t used to being the focus of anyone’s attention like this, and wasn’t quite sure how he’d handle the fact that it was those green eyes giving it to him for the first time.

He gave Albus a smile that felt only about half as pathetic as he knew it must have looked.  Albus laughed through his nose, through an exhale.  It was in the short jolt of his body that Scorpius realized Albus’ hands were still on his back, just trailing up, up, up.

One stopped on the nape of his neck, the other on the back of his head and he knew what this meant from watching Albus with that girl before—not that that mattered anymore; nothing except this did—so his heart started pounding like heavy rainfall and his fingers twitched again and he closed his eyes and lifted his chin.

In the second before the kiss, Albus realized with a sort of ironic nostalgia that it was the last moment of his life he’d live without knowing what it was like to kiss Albus Potter.

But, once their lips connected, Scorpius recognized he was more than fine knowing.

⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas  @boring-viola  @gryffndor @finnofamerica @the-apple-princess @theboywhocriedlupin  @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @just-a-blonde-hufflepuff  @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @jamcspotters @diggorysghost @niffleurs @theseuscmander @wzardings  @siriusement @just-some-nerd @swellwriting

[theprojectatedensgate]

If it's okay with you could I get a short little ficlet where John and Sharky see Fem Deputy shot down by Jacobs men and since John is...well mentally damaged he just loses his mind and Sharky just stops fighting back cause John's immense grief over the deputys death and nonstop killing is too much to watch

I apologise for hurting every ones feelings before I begin, but you asked and you shall receive!

Warnings: Implied self harm, graphic depictions of violence, angst, may cause heart break.

“…I loved and I loved and I lost you…”

Have you ever seen a meteor shower before? As it plummets bright through the night sky, the white hot rock and metals burning off into the atmosphere as they rain down onto Earth? Fire pouring from the realm of angels? Your stomach lurching in primal fear at something so wondrous and full of awesome power?

Sharky was a pyromaniac, there was no simpler term for him. Every sight of fire brought a passion though his chest as he watched the flames eat at the fuel it had been gifted. Fire was his life. Fire was his soul.

But as he watched the plane explode in a thousand shards, fire and smoke pluming around it, the scraps of metal raining down onto the tree canopy. He felt no passion, he felt no stirring in his gut at the beauty of it. No… Sharky felt hollow, like his heart had been torn from its resting place.

And he would never feel the same again.

He fell to his knees as it happened, an inhuman wail a breaching in his lungs. His partner, His cop, his friend… 

The Deputy was dead.

It was Jacob’s doing, and none of that surprised anyone. He was not a man to be reckoned with, but the she had survived so much, giving the illusion of immortality that only God’s chosen few could embrace. Now, the one he had called his best friend, was in the embrace of death…Over… In the blink of an eye.

John had witnessed the explosion from his balcony, tugging the binoculars to his eyes. He recognised his big brother’s choppers, in attack formation as the wreckage tumbled to the ground. He smirked at Jacob’s ferocity, he always was a fighter. The crackling of the radio at his side startled him, tsking at his over reaction, he clasped his fingers around it, bringing it up towards him.

“The Deputy is dead! God has purged the sinner from this land!”

Time had cease, the blood flowing thick in his veins froze over, the numbness swallowing him whole. He stared at the pocket of air where the plane had been, a deep nausea climbing up his gut. Everything became a blur, his surroundings moved too quickly and too slowly all at once, he felt everything and nothing, every fibre of his being torn to shreds, his mind unravelled before him. He felt lost, helpless…

He felt Rage. 

His hand crushed the radio, squeezing it so hard the plastic cracked under his fingertips, causing the crackle to cut off, his blunt nails scratching against it.

Sharky had heard things, rumours of John’s Wrath. The concern Joseph had for him. There had been killings, some resistance, others… Their own flock. Corpses hung from the bridges and tunnels, ripped open at the abdomen for all to see, eyes and tongues removed, and blood poured from the hollow sockets. It had been a month now, the emptiness still chewing his insides. He didn’t understand John’s fury, shouldn’t he be celebrating? His mind flashed back to night he caught them both, their lips pressed together under the pale moonlight. Guilt clawed at his brain as he remembered, to judgement he had placed upon the Deputy, how they begged him to give him a chance. Sharky didn’t trust him then, he had been in Hope County his whole life and witness the atrocities of the Cult, but now it was different. The Deputy had truly loved John and generously returned the favour. She wanted no bad blood between them both, being the most important people in her life. She did everything for the County and both men, holding them close through her time here. John was actively killing out of revenge, he refused to speak to his eldest brother, and if he wasn’t out causing death and destruction, he was holed up in his Bunker, torturing all those who resided within, his sadism had a whole new meaning. Whispers in the leaves reminded of Sharky of her, and he could hear her voice.

“Help him.”

Sharky fumbled with the radio, perched on top of his trailer, nerves causing sweat to pool in his palms. Why was he doing this? Was it to stop the whole sale slaughter of Hope County? Maybe. What is to ease his own regret? Perhaps. Was it because that Dep’ would have wanted? Definitely. He flicked through the channels, hesitating when found the frequency he wanted, he glanced up to the night sky, a tear streaming down his cheek. He’d do it for her, he always would.

“John?”

The static crackled with interference, bile rose in his throat at the tension, it was so unusual of him, but it must be done. Finally the static quietened as he got a response.

“Who is this?”

Sharky sighed, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair, he chewed at his cheek. John sounded exhausted, his usual flourish and smug tone now non existent, he was a man plagued by grief.

“John, don’t hang up okay? It’s Sharky. I just wanna’ talk.”

The silence was deafening and Sharky could almost see John’s confused and irritated expression, there was a metal clattering on the end of the line.

“Charlemagne.” His voice was filled with venom. “You picked a bad time to mock me, did you not?”

Sharky clutched the radio to his chest, attempting to search for some inner strength.

“Actually, I didn’t call to fight, there’s no reason for us too. Not now.”

“Then what do you want?” John hissed through the radio, and Sharky remembered just who he was speaking to, he was playing with fire. And no thrill came with it.

“Look man. I know we had our differences, we didn’t always see eye to eye and I know I made some mistakes about you and Dep’. You did too, but we were her priority. We mattered to her more than anything, more than herself

Sharky was greeted with a silence and his chest tightened. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for John, it wasn’t for him either. But the man who gave the impression of someone who had next to no emotion apart from anger and gratification at peoples misery, his heart broken in two by the bereavement. He saw the love John held for them, in the form of broken and bloodied bodies.

“So… I called to say that I won’t be fighting anymore, not for the resistance, not for no one. I can’t do it. And I want the same for you man, you’re tearing yourself apart. I don’t care what side your on, you loved them and I see that now. I’m sorry for putting you through so much shit about it, I just care about her, she’s my best friend.

“Don’t you dare speak of her. How do you know how I feel? You only wanted her for yourself, your selfishness and greed. You have no idea, how I could possibly feel. You didn’t understand. You didn’t believe. You didn’t care! I should string you up with the rest of them.”

Sharky nodded at his words, true he had craved the Deputy’s affection ever since he met them, he allowed jealousy to plague him often. But all had changed now, this isn’t what the would have wanted.

“I know and I’m sorry, my feelings got in the way. But I know pain, John. She wouldn’t want you to do this. Didn’t she always say how badly she wanted things to be still between us? Isn’t it only right that we fulfil that? Not mindless killing  in their name. You know that wasn’t her way.”

The radio was silent for what felt like a thousand years, Sharky’s heart beating the only sound in the darkness. He looked over the radio, fidgeting with his hands.

“…It’s the only way.”

“It’s not John, she wouldn’t want this. She would want you to be strong for her, not punish everyone around you. And you believe in God right? Well I bet she’s with him right now, telling him how much of a good person you really are. Do you want to go against that?”

“…Thank you, Boshaw…”

Sharky couldn’t believe it, his mouth hung open with relief and astonishment. This was the most civil conversation they had ever had, born from loss.

“What for?”

“I know you didn’t accept us, I know it tore you apart from the inside out. And I rather enjoyed it, but she spoke of you all the time, how important you were to her, how you made her laugh… Your little adventures together. I admit, I was envious of the time you spent with them, working hard to undo all my work. But she spoke of your qualities, the talks you would have over a drink, how much those mattered…”

He trailed off, and Sharky picked on the sound of a muffled sniffle on the line. Was he really crying? He let John’s words ring in his head, he couldn’t stop the tears that fell, attempting to keep them hidden.

“She said that?”

“She did. I cannot control the Wrath that’s buried so deeply in my core, I carved it onto to my flesh over and over and over until I dulled the blade. I used to crave her death before I knew of my feelings, dreaming of wrapping my hands around her throat and holding her there till she stops kicking, wishing for end to her belligerence but now… I’d kill anyone for a chance to see her again.”

“I understand. But John, this isn’t your fault you can’t blame yourself. You cared for her, deeply. More than I’ve ever seen you care about anything that wasn’t yourself.”

A broken chuckle came through end, and Sharky cracked a grief stricken smile, masking over the sounds of quiet sobbing. Sharky’s heart crushed at the sound, tears of his own falling into the dirt. 

“Where did we go wrong Boshaw?”

“We went wrong, when we caused a War.”

There was another long pause, Sharky tried to collect his emotions together, but they tumbled from his arms, he heard the sounds of scraping on the end, and grimaced.

“We are in too deep now Boshaw, the choices we have made will define us both in the end… The War won’t end until the county is soaked in blood. I could cease killing, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Tomorrow more will die, by my hand or God’s.”

Sharky sniffed, nodding his head lowly.

“You’re right. But whatever choice you make now, do it for her. Always do it for her. I’m leaving for the mountains, I’m going to search for the wreckage, I don’t think I’ll find a body…You can come with me if you want? You don’t have to tell anyone, I have a cabin that my uncle used to own up there, it’s real cut off from everything and everyone. It would just be us, no one else.”

John straightened himself up, looking down at his blood soaked forearms, a mix of his and the others. He considered Sharky’s offer, though it would be strange if people saw them, he wasn’t sure if he would ever speak to Sharky again. But that’s not what she wanted, and he couldn’t disappoint her.

“I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow. Be ready.”

And he would be, they would travel to the North together. A new friendship formed out of loss and grief. Out of the end, a beginning, and rising like a phoenix reborn from the ashes, the fires of hate born anew, into companionship, a new dawn.

And they would do it for her…They always would.

This killed me! And I’m going for a cigarette lmao Enjoy! (if you can?) and thank you for requesting, this got me in the feels.!

[sevens-evan]

pride month day 2

author: daisys-quake

rated: g

pairing: natasha romanoff/wanda maximoff, discussion of past one-sided natasha romanoff/steve rogers

word count: 984

summary: Wanda didn’t sign up for this.

a/n: don’t even ask me where this fits in the marvel timeline, i literally do not know. i know this a rarepair and all but listen they’re in love. anyway. i’m accepting any and all lgbtq prompts through the end of june for pride month (see my post with details here). enjoy.

“Sorry,” Natasha says quietly as she sits down beside Wanda, who jerks slightly in response to the sudden presence by her side. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Wanda moves over a bit, putting a little more room in between them on the couch. She notes the slightest unhappy twitch of Natasha’s mouth as she does so, a tell so small it’s practically invisible. But Wanda was observant long before she joined Hydra, and besides, she’s been in Natasha’s head, which always provides her with certain insights.

“You never do,” Wanda murmurs. Natasha has an unsettling manner of movement; completely silent, smooth, graceful in a way that reminds Wanda of a jungle cat, vicious and wild and beautiful. It doesn’t disturb her, exactly, but it’s rather unpleasant being snuck up on constantly. Because Natasha is around her constantly; at first, Wanda had been sure it was a security measure of some sort, a standing order to keep an eye on the newest loose cannon. But it’s been months now, and Wanda’s powers are under control, she’s under control, and still, Natasha seeks her out.

Wanda is fairly sure Natasha thinks she’s being subtle. Truthfully, she’s about the furthest thing possible from it. Wanda goes to make breakfast, and despite the fact that Wanda knows Natasha rises with the sun (or even earlier) on a daily basis, Natasha is invariably in the kitchen, nonchalant and innocent, drinking orange juice and watching Wanda as she goes about making her toast and coffee. Wanda spends her free time reading by the window in the lounge in the east part of the building, and Natasha is there, lying across one of couches, reading her own book or napping in the sunlight from the windows, again reminding Wanda of a cat, curled up and dozing in a sunbeam. It amazes Wanda that Natasha trusts her enough to sleep in front of her after Wanda violated her mind. But Natasha is perceptive, too, and maybe she can see the guilt behind Wanda’s eyes, mixed with all the fear and anger and grief and pain.

“How was training this morning?” Natasha asks. Wanda had trained with Steve that morning, since Natasha had been busy with some unspecified errand.

“It was good,” Wanda says. “I like Steve.” Natasha smiles just a bit, almost involuntarily.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “He’s…” She doesn’t finish the thought, and Wanda arches her eyebrows curiously. Natasha catches the look and, interpreting it correctly, rolls her eyes. “Stop it,” she says. “We’re friends.”

“But?” Wanda asks.

“No buts,” Natasha insists. Wanda says nothing, simply staring at her until she relents. “There was a time…” Natasha begins. She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “It was awhile ago, and it was stupid. It doesn’t matter.” Wanda turns, leaning against the back of the couch and facing Natasha fully. Natasha looks down at her lap, absently picking at a loose thread on her leggings. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, resignedly. “He—he put a lot of trust in me, when we took down S.H.I.E.L.D., and it was sort of…intoxicating.” Natasha pauses, as if waiting for Wanda to say something, to judge her, but Wanda just watches her, waiting for Natasha to continue and ignoring the odd sensation forming in her stomach that feels a bit too much like jealousy. “It was—he’s Captain America, you know? And more than that, he’s Steve. He’s probably the best person I’ve ever met, and I’m…me. He made me feel like I could be a good person, and it was a nice illusion, I guess.”

“You truly believe that,” Wanda says, not wanting to interrupt but unable to help herself. “That you are not a good person?” Natasha scoffs.

“You’ve been in my head,” she says harshly. “What do you think?”

“The things you have done in your past are not a reflection of who you are now.”

“But I still did them,” Natasha insists. “People are still dead because of me.” Wanda considers that for a moment.

“You think yourself a killer because you once were,” she says.

“That’s not the kind of thing you grow out of,” Natasha says sardonically. Wanda ignores the venom in her tone, knowing that it isn’t meant for her. Natasha is angry; Wanda knows that, felt it when she was in her head. Angry at her past and herself and the world and all that anger has a way of coming out at people it isn’t intended for. Wanda understands. She knows a thing or two about anger herself.

“I was once a member of Hydra,” she reminds Natasha. “But I am not now, and I will not be for the rest of my life. You have killed, but you are not a killer, and you don’t have to be one ever again.” Wanda gestures vaguely. “It’s the same, you see?” Natasha looks away, letting her hair shadow her face.

“That’s not the same thing,” she says quietly.

“Isn’t it?” Natasha doesn’t answer, and Wanda doesn’t pressure her to. They sit in an odd sort of intense yet comfortable silence until Natasha stands, smoothly and silently.

“I’ll let you get back to your book,” she says. She moves to walk away, but pauses, glancing back at Wanda hesitantly. Wanda smiles encouragingly. “Thank you,” Natasha says softly after a moment. She’s barefoot, which always reminds Wanda of how short she truly is, and she looks the smallest and most vulnerable Wanda has ever seen her. A foreign, painful, hot feeling explodes in Wanda’s chest, and for a moment, she’s disoriented by it, until she recognizes it for what it is.

Wanda desperately, desperately wants to kiss Natasha.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and Natasha smiles almost shyly at her before she walks away. Wanda leans back into the couch, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes.

She signed up for the Avengers, not this.

my ao3

[pherryt]

Kiss prompts #21 jealous kiss dean/Cas

Ahah! finally finished this one - i went canon and then had a hard time working the kiss in there (oops!)

Season 7 through season 7 Finale

1239 words

Meg was there.

Again.

The only person…being…thing…Cashad ever kissed.

Dean shouldn’t be jealous about that. He knew he shouldn’t. Hell,it was in her best interest to play nice and Cas wasn’t safe with them. It was Dean’sown fault that the two of them had become friendlier than any Angel and Demonhad any right of being.

When he’d thought Cas was gone, his anger had taken a backseatto his grief.

When he saw what Cas became, guilt ate at him even as he feltrelief that Sam was back to normal.

He was twisted up inside about the fact that if Cas hadn’t taken Sam’s madness, Dean wouldstill be pissed at him for what he did. But he had, and Dean couldn’t standbeing so close and yet so far from the one he…

He squashed that thought. Hunters did not have the luxury tolove. Look what it had cost him over the years. Hell, if he hadn’t loved Sammyso much, he’d never have done what he did. Would never have made that demondeal. Never have been responsible for jumpstarting the apocalypse. Without him, and the foolish choices hemade out of love, none of this wouldhave been possible.

Of course, that meant Dean would never have met Castiel.

As painful as it was to look at Cas now, it was unbearable toDean to think of a world without the scruffy Angel in it. And yet he and Samhad still walked away, leaving the one thing they had left in the hands of a Demon.

What the hell kind of friends were they, that that was even an option?

But they had no one - and no way - to care for a catatonicangel. And neither brother had wanted to take him into danger while they wereon the run from the Leviathans – from creatures who could eat angels. Cas no longer had any way to defend himself.

If Death himself thought these things could destroy the world,there was no way Dean would let the Leviathans destroy his. He’d already seenthat road and it wasn’t pretty.

And then had come Meg’s call.

Cas was cured.

So of course theydropped everything and rushed to his side. Well, Dean rushed and dragged awilling Sam along for the ride. Same difference, really. Right?

He was different, though. Unburdened in a way that Dean hadnever seen him. It was…both endearing and heartbreaking. Dean didn’t know whatto do with himself. And to see how much friendlier Cas and Meg had become –Dean had been unable to breath at the smiles Cas had given her. Smiles thatshould have been his, if he’d ever been brave enough to tell Cas how he felt.

“Will you look at her? My caretaker. All of that thorny pain, sobeautiful.” Cas’s smile was answered by an eyeroll and a sarcastic response butit didn’t stop his happy beaming.

Dean almost threw up on the spot.

Things didn’t improve from there. Cas wandered, now, but alwayscame when Meg called. Would call Meg himself. And the jealousy grew in Dean. Hewas losing Cas – had already lost him,his mind whispered. Lost him to Raphael, to God like power, to the Leviathans,to amnesia and madness. This wasn’t the Cas he’d known.

Only it was, in a way.

Dean realized, the longer he spent time with his theangel, that this part had always been inside Cas. A childlike wonder andcuriosity, forced down beneath duty and pain and guilt.

Dean had had a hand in that.

And now, here they stood. Dean had handed Meg the key to theImpala. It hurt to put something he trusted into her hands. But he’d alreadyleft something more precious than his Baby to her, and Cas was, more or less,whole.

In a few moments, Meg would provide their distraction and Sam,Dean and Cas would infiltrate Roman Enterprises. If Dean was being honest withhimself, he didn’t actually expect toget out of this alive.

Any minute now, she’d turn on her heels and leave. As it was,she jingled them in her hands annoyingly and smirked at Dean before stepping closerto Cas.

“Hey now, Clarence, how about a kiss for the road – for old time’ssake?”

Dean was stepping between them and growling before he’d evenrealized he’d done it. “Back off, Meg.”

She drew herself up to her full height – all five feet and fourinches – somehow making it look like more. “Make me, stud.” She leaned intoDean. “Either you kiss your boyfriend, or I do…or we could let Clarence choose.Who do you think he’ll pick, hmmm?”

Dean recoiled a step, then another, stopping only when his bodycollided with someone else’s. He closed his eyes. Cas. Why hadn’t the angelmoved out of the way when he saw Dean coming?

Meg’s smirk grew wider and she crowded closer and closer. Heleaned back just as she sidestepped him. His neck craned around to follow her movements,his stomach sinking and twisting. She moved with slow, confident steps. Shetossed on more smirk over her shoulder than reached for Cas with both hands andstanding on her tiptoes.  

That damn angel just tilted his head in confusion, no idea whatMeg was about to do.

Or was that an act? He’d not been nearly so reticent whentesting out what he’d ‘learned from the pizza man’. Unable to step away, unableto tear his eyes off the angel and the demon so close they brushed up againstDean, Dean’s teeth gritted together painfully.

With another growl, he tore Meg away from Cas, took the angelsfaces in both of his calloused hands and kissed him before Meg could  - again.

If it was the last thing Dean or Cas would do, then he wasn’tkeeping this bottled up any longer.

What difference did it make, how much more danger could they bein, when they weren’t likely to walk back out of there tonight alive.

Why bother hiding it anymore?

The kiss started harsher than Dean had meant but when Cas didn’tpull away, when his hand cradled Dean’s jaw, the kiss softened, slowed. Deanpoured all his love for the angel into that kiss. It was glorious to finallyallow himself to kiss Cas, to feel those chapped lips and scruffy face.

It was even more glorious when Cas enthusiastically kissed back.

Finally, the kiss petered off as, with reluctance, the twopulled themselves away from the intoxicating touch of the other. Cas’s smileblinded Dean more than Angel Grace ever had, his eyes shining with it in a waythat Dean had never seen before.

A hand slid down his arm and pulled at his, slotting theirfingers together.

“Cursed or not,” Cas hummed.

Dean coughed and rubbed at the back of his neck with his freehand. “Yeah, Cas. I’d rather have you. Wish you could always be at my side. Notjust because I need you, but because…because I love you man.”

“I’m not a man, Dean,” Cas squinted at Dean as if it were himthat had lost his marbles.

“You know what I mean,” Dean blustered.

“I do,” Cas said fondly.

Their eyes locked until Meg cleared her throat and rattled Dean’skeys obnoxiously.

Right. It was time to go.

[1800areyouslapping]

I went with just Big!Sis and Little!Sis I lowkey, high key want them to be in love :’) Big!Sister’s Perspective (mostly).

It had appeared when she was nine. This red string tied around her finger. One morning she awoke and it was just... there. She couldn’t feel it, not outwardly. But within herself, this taut thread connecting from her heart to her pinky finger. It tugged and pulled the more she ignored its persistent thrum.  

She headed its call. Slipped out of bed still wearing her jammies. Padded her way down the hall following this mysterious piece of string. Not acknowledging any of the handmaidens or staff that gave her greetings. The handmaidens and staff not acknowledging the thread. She had to find its end. It was a need, a compulsive pull, that she couldn’t help but give in to. 

The string had led her to her mother. Sitting at her vanity in the early morning. Brushing her hair, still in her nightgown and robe. The natural sunlight glistening against her skin. A goddess in the flesh. Her mother greeted her with a warm familiar smile in her eyes, and a slight upturn of her lips. “Ah, good morning, my darling, Musume.” 

Her mother extended her arms, offering her daughter a seat in her lap. But all she could see was red. The thin piece of string connecting from her pinky, and disappearing into his mother's tummy. Could her mother not see it? She lifted her arm up, beckoned her mother to look. To see. The graceful features of her mothers face scrunched up in concern and confusion. Eyebrows pulling into a point at the ridge of her nose.  

Mother reached out gingerly and took her wrist in her hand. She turned it over, carefully examined every inch of skin. Massaged her palm and her fingers with her own. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“Don’t you see it, Mama?”

Her mother frantically shook her head. Turned her daughters hand over once again. Quickly this time, became increasingly worried with every passed up moment that she did understand what was worrying her little girl so. “No... I-I don’t see anything. Darling, are you in pain?”  

She shook her head in response. How could Mother not see it? It was so bright, clear as day. Even brighter now, with an air of glow about it as it was illuminated by the Sun’s light. She explained it to her Mother. A simple explanation, really. From the moment the words “red string” had come out of her mouth, her Mother became exponentially uncomfortable. 

“That’s-- are you-- are you sure? Right here,” she asked as she pointed to her own midsection. “This is where it ends?” 

Later that day her Mother would find out that she was pregnant. With a child, she had no intentions of having. She and her brothers had each all been planned. Each child spanning roughly three years apart. And you would just so happen to have been conceived within the same time frame. Even if it had been unintentional. A seemingly mere coincidence.

Mother had begged her in a hushed tone. “Please, do not speak of the red string ever again. Tell me, is it still there?” 

She looked down at her hand to find that, no it wasn’t. In fact, it had faded out the moment she had heard the nice lady doctor tell her that she was going to be a big sister for the third time. It wouldn’t be ‘til later, after all of the excitement had calmed down, that she would notice the irritation on the inside of her pinky finger. The tiniest bit of red kanji; as if it was etched into her skin from the inside out. It was a name; your name. 

Her young gut instinct and guilt told her to keep it to herself. She didn’t want to bring any more attention to something that had caused her mother so much distress. Distress that at the time she didn’t understand. What was so bad about the red thread? Out of all of the stories that her father had told her, the one that she was living, had not been one of them. Not yet.

Her life revolved so deeply around you after that, and always would. She had been so consumed with her mother's health. Helped her at every chance that she could. Insisted on being there when you were born, and she was. From the day you were born, she’d be there at every pinnacle point in your life. Your mentor, protector, and most importantly your big sister. 

She loathes to remember them. Those worried... near sickened looks that her mother used to give her when she had been especially possessive over you. Affectionate with you. Let you sleep with her in her bed whenever you’d cry and cry. Protective when you were still in your mother’s womb, and even more so with every new year of your life. 

When her mother passed, she took the knowledge of that morning and the red thread with her. It’d be when she was cradling you. Still just a babbling baby at the age of three. Sobbing about missing your Mama, that Sojiro would attempt to soothe the two of you with the tail of the “Red String Of Fate.” She would listen in stunned silence, coupled with a bit of gut-twisting horror. You didn’t truly understand the tale your Papa was telling, but was cradled by the soothing sound of his voice regardless. 

The dramatic telling of two fated lovers, connected by a red string. One that could tangle, but never break. Calmed you down enough to lull you off to sleep in her arms. Sojiro put you to bed, while she sprinted to her room to do some of her own research. Laid back on her bed and stared at her ceiling for hours trying to wrap her head around being fated to be with her own sister. Came to realize just why her mother had been so... disgusted. 

It was like going through the five stages of grief twice over. Denied that the red string had ever shown up in the first place. It was a dream, a delusion. If no one else had seen it, then surely it must not have been real. As she got older the anger would settle in. Sometimes; often times at you. Irrationally lashed out at you for the smallest of things. Things you certainly did not deserve her scorn over. She had wanted so badly to hate you. It would have been so much simpler, much more natural to loathe a sibling than to lust after one.  

Of course, that never stuck. And she’d spend years fixing all of the damage she had caused during that time. Even if it would seem that you had forgiven her near immediately. Always chasing after you big sister’s approval. Then she’d find herself begging her own mother at night. “Please find a way to break the string. Asks the ancestors for me, would you? I’ll do whatever they want. I-- I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” She never did see the red string again. But she could feel it, wrapped tightly around her pinky and heart. 

The depression came with a heavy workload. An abundance of training and meetings. The realization that she literally could not give herself at all to anyone else. Not that she had ever been terribly interested in love. In a man or a woman to call her own. But she had tried and found that she couldn’t. She couldn’t give any real, genuine romantic emotion to any of them. No matter how charming, no matter how compatible they had seemed. The worst of the depression would come with she realizes that she might not ever get a chance to be with the one person she could give that to. 

It’s well over a decade later now. It’s been a struggle; damn near incapacitating at times. Eventually, she came to a conclusion. A long, long time ago; that if the two of you are truly fated, then you’d come to her on your own. If you ever do; she’s now confident enough in her stature, power, the amount of respect that she commands in these halls, to be able to keep you safe being with her.

The one thing that crawls under her skin is that you too have the red kaji spelling out her own name. It catches her eye constantly. You’ve never said a thing about it. Possibly don’t think much of it. After all, it’s barely visible unless you’re searching for it. The thing is, you’re far too genius to not of looked it over or noticed your name on her own pinky...

No matter how many times she had been tempted to make a move, she would deny herself any sort of resolution. It has to be you. Tempted; especially as of late. Every year you blossom more and more. Becoming a prominent part of the family. Most importantly because you are so damn smart. The smartest of the bunch. Even more clever than even her, and she is proud of that fact. Hyper-observant and even headed. With a heart of gold, and a winning smile. 

You turned twenty today. It was no surprise that the festivities were large and lavish. Sojiro never fails to spend and spend when it comes to the baby of the family. She sits and observes for the most part. Watching as you cackle and mingle with friends, and with Hanzo and Genji. While she sits back, perched like a hawk in a killer, backless dress. 

Swallowing down sharp stings of jealousy, and the hot anger that accompanies it, anytime some boyfriend or girlfriend of yours is a little too handsy with you. Besides the jealousy, you’re far too important to have every single person touch you just because they feel like it. You’re far too valuable for everyone to be putting their fingerprints all over you. Most of all, she keeps an even sharper eye out for any affections that you clearly are not happy to receive. 

As expected only a brave, or rather foolish few approach her and try to make conversation. The fools are easily scared off, while the brave ones sure do try and try. Sojiro will eventually take his place by her side, and keep her company ‘til the festivities are over. With talks of business, light arguments over politics, and a bit of gushing over you.

Later when the party has long been over, she’s sitting at her vanity when you walk into her room. Stand patiently in her doorway, awaiting permission to enter. She turns her torso to extend her hand out to you. “Why hello, Clever Girl. Did you have a good birthday?”  

You giddily skip into the room, wearing a beautiful widespread grin. You love it when Big Sister calls you clever. Hearing that word come out of her mouth never fails to make your heart swell, and tummy to fill up with warm fuzzies. It means everything in the world to you to have the strongest woman you know think your smart. Like having a seal of approval from the one person in the world who means the most to you.  

You happily take Big Sister’s hand and a seat next to her at the vanity. “I had a great birthday,” you state. Leaning into her touch as she brushes a bit of hair behind your ear. 

“I am very happy to hear it.” 

As your sister turns to get a makeup wipe, your eyes home in on all of the sharp contours of her back. Stunning slopes, and smooth skin. Nobody can wear a dress quite like she can. Your eyes flutter closed as you get a whiff of her perfume. She smells amazing. Otherworldy, like she's a mythical creature. You’ve smelled this perfume right out of the bottle many times. Even smelled it on yourself. But it never quite smells as addicting as it does when it’s on her.

Big Sister grabs ahold of your chin and holds it steady. Causing a shudder to run wild through your chest, settling into your core. You nearly whine from the commanding but gentle touch. In fact, you do a little. Let out the smallest of restrained whines. “Hush. Your face is filthy.” 

Her hold may be strong but the swipes of the wipe are gentle. Slow and meticulous. More precise than they really need to be. So careful that this process gets dragged out far longer than it really needed to take. You both mind and don’t mind. Her touches are a privilege, feel like an addiction. Big Sister doesn’t just touch anyone or let just anyone touch her. You’re lucky. 

When she’s done cleaning your face, she leans back and admires her work. Turning your jaw from side to side, and humming. Big Sister sighs through her nose and says, “Perfect.” Her eyes falling closed into cat-like slits. Remarkable brown eyes still able to bore into your own. Commanding that you listen and believe her simple one-word complement. 

You’re not sure what it is that comes over you. It might be the way that you swear her eyes have fallen and locked on to your lips. Maybe it’s the thumb that’s grazing back and forth over your cheekbone. The way it seems like her own chest is heaving just as much as yours is. But you give into it. The taboo desire that you’ve had for your Aneki for so, so long. 

This has happened to you many times before. A heat that suddenly wells up in your chest when in close proximity with your sister. This time, you let it overflow out of your mouth in the form of a pressing kiss against your sister’s mouth. As your lips finish pressing against her’s and a more... lustful moan echoes in your chest, you’re deeply regretting what you’ve done. Pulling away abruptly, quickly standing up, and placing your hand over your mouth in horror over what you did.

Tears are already forming and spilling from your water line. Spilling down your cheeks as you start to apologize profusely. You’ve been painfully ashamed of your feelings, and now that you’ve let them out in the open like this there’s no turning back. Your heart is beating rapidly. So much adrenaline running through your veins, that you would like very much to flee. It would kill you to lose your sister’s favor over one incredibly weak moment. 

“Shhh, shhh,” she says as she slowly gets up off of the bench. Cups your face in both of her hands and asks, “you want to kiss me?”

That question makes you feel crazy. As if it has been painfully obvious this whole time, over all these years. That the question is just so ridiculous in your world. Of course, you do. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years...” Your lips trembles as more tears flow down your cheeks. Your voice cracking as you whisper, “i-- is some--something wrong with me?” 

Big Sister gently presses her forehead to your own. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” Kisses your top and then bottom lip, each one long, each one tasting like her honey lip balm. They cause your legs to nearly buckled out from underneath you. Your arms violently shaking as you grasp onto her hips for purchase. “Not a single thing is wrong with my Clever Girl.”

Her arm slips around your waist, while the other cradles the back of your head. This time when she kisses you she kisses you properly. Holding you flush against her body. Makes your perky little red lips even redder, chasing your tongue with her own. Both of your breaths becoming even heavier, louder. Your body relaxing into your sister. Becoming a pool of heaven and goosebumps.

She only pulls away from you when shes’s sure that you’ve stopped crying. Reaches for the makeup wipe and cleans your face once more. Takes you by your hand and seats you down back onto the vanity bench. 

“I have something I need to tell you.”  

[darksiders-scenarios]

@infernallightofdarkness Here’s part 2 with War :) Once again I think I got carried away with the word count. I think I put more effort with Death *sighs* 

(Link) with Death 

Ask:  “ Can we have scenarios for Death and War, where they see something that makes them think their s/o's are cheating on them but in the end it turns out it was a misunderstanding. Or, if you'd rather have the horsemen being the "cheaters" that would be totally ok. I just want some relationship angst that ends in reassurance and cuddle-fluff.”

It wasn’t much of a surprise to you as much as it was to him. After the resurrection of mankind, the horseman has attained something akin to a celebrity status, an idol even – scratch that, he was revered so much that he was almost treated as a God.

At first you were proud. So proud that he was finally experiencing something other than eons of hatred, scorn and belittlement. So proud that he was finally getting the respect that was long overdue to him. You’d incessantly gush to your friends and families about your adventures with the horseman and the kindness and care he’s shown to you. You were proud of him. And you felt your love for him grow that much more.

But now you wondered, could it have been insecurity that has escalated instead? The love and respect you held for the horseman were unquestionable. But no longer were you certain that it was really pride that you were experiencing when you had stood to the side and watched all the humans showering your horseman beloved with attention and wonderment.

Beautiful, the word tasted like cement on your tongue. Younger, the word grated like sandpaper against your throat.

It was no surprise that the aftermath of the apocalypse had fueled your loneliness dramatically. The crushing grief and emptiness twisted and churned like acid in your psyche, tormenting you to no end. Your connection with the Nephilim had acted like an antidote, filling your void with his endless patience and forcing you out of your misery.

He was yours.

But now you wonder. Would you always remain his?

Chest constricting and heart palpitating, you covered your mouth to stifle a gasp. He hadn’t seen you. You were ducked under the bushes in your local park as you took in the sight ahead of you. This was unmistakably your work colleague, and most unmistakably your horseman companion, War.

Together, they stood under the evening stars, in a mockery of a romantic scene. Their body languages were sure and confident. Your colleague was saying something but from where you were crouched and through the howling breeze, you couldn’t hear the words, nor could you read their lips. War was unmoving, silent and unresponsive. That ever present scowl was still plastered on his face.

Your colleague suddenly stepped forward and you had to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep quiet. War remained motionless. Even when they reached out a hand to touch his cheek. Your fingers dug through your palms and you felt your stomach drop. Why was he not doing anything?

You could no longer stand the sight. Scrambling back to your feet, you sprinted away from the scene. What took months for you to initiate a microscopic semblance of physical contact with the horseman only took moments with this person. This stranger. This human who’s always been steps ahead of you. Excelled far more than you. And being more beautiful than you.

Had you stayed a moment longer, you’d have caught him grip their offending wrist and lowering it. Had you turned around, you’d have caught him send down a glare that must’ve sent chills down their very spine.

But you were already gone.

“Where is it?” you muttered as you fumbled for the house key in the compartments of your backpack. You checked through your pockets. Nothing. Your heart raced as you frantically searched for the umpteenth time. And still nothing.

The evening was cold and the winter wind whipped through your hair, making goosebumps rise from your skin. You shivered as you stepped back and stared at your front door, panic mounting at the thought that you might be trapped here. Heart sinking, you plopped down on the porch and huffed in defeat. Had it been other situations, you would’ve called for your horseman guardian, but after what you’ve witnessed today…

Groaning in defeat, you buried your face in your hands, fingers tangling in your hair dejectedly. As if on cue, you heard the familiar sounds of heavy boots clanking on the tarmac of your front yard. You whipped your head up and almost felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of none other than War heading in your direction. Neutral scowl still in place and cape billowing lightly in the breeze, he stopped short before you.

“W-War?” you stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

In response, he extended a large gauntlet hand to you. In his palm held your key. “How?” you breathed as you reached for it, relief temporarily overlapping your glum mood.

“It was lying within the flora not far from here,” he grunted.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, staring at the copper key between your fingers, not wanting to meet his eyes. You didn’t bother asking how he found you. It wasn’t important.

A sudden gust of wind made your teeth chatter and almost swayed you off balance. War wrapped an armoured arm around you and held you against his mighty bulk. Instant warmth enveloped you. “Inside,” he ordered. You nodded, shakily unlocking your door and heading in. You were about to shut the door when you heard him stepping inside behind you. “Thanks but you can go back now,” you said, a little too late you realised the abruptness of the comment.

His scowl deepened. “I need to speak you,” he stated bluntly. “Afterwards, I will leave.”

Something heavy dropped to the very pits of your stomach. Guilt? Regret? “I wanna get changed first,” you called instead as you proceeded up the stairs to your room.

“I will wait outside,” he said curtly.

Was that an edge in his voice that you were hearing? Or was it your paranoia playing tricks on you? Could it be related to earlier? Did he see you? Oh God, you hoped not. But you wouldn't be surprised. Nothing can get past the mighty Nephilim warrior.

As soon as you finished and opened your bedroom door, War towered over you, his shadow engulfing you completely. "Y/N," he begun. "What happened?"  

Ah here it was. "I-I-" you twisted the hem of your shirt with trembling fingers.

"Were you being chased?" he questioned, voice suddenly low.

"Huh?" you looked up. "N-No."

"Then why did you run?"

 You internally frowned. Why were you concerned by what he thought? It wasn't you who- Foreign anger suddenly twisted in your veins at the fresh memory. You shouldn't be the one concerned.

Averting your gaze, you retreated into your room. War didn't respond and was about to follow you when you said, "Is that all you wanted to 'speak' to me about?" you asked monotonously.

He crossed his arms and scrutinised you. As always. You almost fumed at that.

You just shook your head and proceeded to sit on your bed, feeling drained. You knew that you weren't being fair, knew that you should allow him to explain his side. Knew that it was too soon to accuse him of- Your hands balled into fists. But you couldn't, wouldn't. Almost as though you were scared; scared of learning something you didn't want to hear.

Scared of the ‘truth’.

"What is this?" he asked, still standing at your entrance. At least he got the message, you thought. "Y/N," he carried on when you didn't respond. "Had I not been there, you do realise that you might’ve been in grave danger."

"How come you're even here?" you rebuked, ignoring his statement. “It can’t be to see me,” you thought bitterly.

His shoulders stiffened. “I was concerned about you.”

You huffed, not missing the way his white fangs peeked at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah right.”  

His lips peeled back fully, revealing sharp fangs that glinted under the artificial yellow glow of the lightbulb. But you couldn’t care less. At least, that’s what you told yourself. “Speak plainly, young one,” he growled softly. “Why the sudden change in demeanour?”

You raised your head and levelled a glare with his own. “I saw you with C/N!”

He blinked at you. “Who?”

“Don’t act clueless,” you hissed. “You were in the park. They… they,” the blanket creased tightly under your fingers. “touched you!”

He didn’t respond immediately as he continued to stare at you. But the intensity of his glare has decreased. “May I enter?”

You looked up for the first time and you momentarily felt guilty at the sight of him standing there whilst you sat on the comfort of your bed, yet at the same time it felt like a just punishment for the horseman. But you nodded nonetheless, eyes following his movement as he trudged through the room before stopping at least a foot before you. Trying to be respectful, you almost snorted at the irony.

“I will ask again,” his voice sounded tired that you felt your guilt surge. “Why the change in demeanour?”

“I told you,” you frowned. “C/N-”

“-touched me.” he finished. When you nodded, his eyelids drooped slightly. Your guilt mounted significantly. “That is why you ran,” he concluded slowly.

So he was aware.

He heaved a sigh. “And you assume that I am being unfaithful to you.”

Though you agreed, you didn’t nod. Somehow, the articulated statement was more unnerving to you than his silence. You also couldn’t help but treat this as a deja-vu moment. “When did you leave the area?” he asked.

“As soon as they reached out to you,” you replied easily.

“Had you remained, you would’ve seen me reject their advance,” he pointed out.

That snapped your attention and you felt your skin prickle with apprehension. War has never lied to you and your own very guts screamed that you ceased this petulant, childish behaviour but you ignored it. Your jealousy and insecurity rendered you fearful and your thoughts irrational. So much that you convinced yourself that he had finally grown bored of you. That mankind’s return would accelerate his decision in dropping you, in favour of the more attractive and intelligent humans.

It seemed that you have just successfully manifested your own self-fulfilling prophecy.  

Unable to reply, either out of confusion or shame, you weren’t sure, you felt that deja-vu sensation heightening the more you stared at the horseman.

“War I...”

The fire in his eyes returned with an intensity that made you draw back against the wall. Now you’ve done it. “Do you regard me as lowly as to commit such a blatant act of discourtesy?”

You couldn’t respond to that. Nor could you deny it. He was right.

“You accuse me of being disloyal to you?” he growled.  

You swallowed a painful lump in your throat. Accused. Deja Vu. Everything clicked in then. It was bad enough that everyone accused him of triggering the Apocalypse. A burden that he had to shoulder for a century. But you were someone he trusted wholeheartedly. And you had the gall to accuse him without evidence.

“Why?” he carried on. “For the love of Creation, I implore you to enlighten me. What must I do?”

“Nothing!” you all but shouted, chest tightening with guilt, watching his own widened eyes regarding you, searching you, pleading with you. “Nothing,” you repeated softer. Shaking your head, you drew your legs against your chest. “It’s not you, War. It’s me.”

You exhaled jadedly and you heard the creak of his armour as he approached you. He was close enough that you could smell the leather and earth that wafted off him before a metal finger touched the underside of your chin. The moment you blinked, a stray tear flicked off your lash.

“Enlighten me,” he repeated quietly, teal eyes softening as he took in your distressed expression.

And you did. You enlightened him on your sorrows and fears. Your fear of losing him, fear of being insignificant, fear of being alone. You vented your insecurity, your anxiety and depression at him, how they escalated after the apocalypse, how they shifted after humanity’s return. Wailing and body quaking, you released and released and released. Once you were done, you wailed out your regrets and how you felt undeserving of his love and kindness. The passage of time could only be measured by the last fading amber light through your window, slowly welcoming the rising crescent and shining stars of the winter night.  

Once you were done, he sat down on your carpet till he was face level with you. “Thank you,” he murmured, blatant gratitude lacing his voice. You can only respond with a half-hearted smile, too tired to formulate a response. And you felt... cleansed.

He placed his hand on top of your bed and turned his head in your direction, awaiting permission. You nodded, shifting your position to allow him space to sit on your mattress. In response to your confused look, he wrapped a brawny arm around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You smiled contently when you felt him gently rest his mighty chin upon your scalp and holding you snugly and securely against him.

[biggy-habes]

We all go a little mad sometimes...

*Before we begin, I will start off by saying that the next few posts on here are going to deal with some pretty sensitive stuff. Depression. Grief. Anger. Hopelessness. But also, it will cover coping and overcoming. Because there is so much to cover, I am going to break this up into several minisodes.  If you are someone who might be in the “Way to Overshare, Asshole” troop, I would recommend that you skip the first couple. But if there is anyone who may be going through a giant shit pie right now, perhaps this will bring a little hope and encouragement to reach out and to take care of yourself. So settle in for the first act...

First off, thank you to everyone who reached out to make sure that i was alright. As it turns out, I, in fact, was NOT alright. Pretty fucking far from alright actually (despite all of the denials). As I walked in to work on Sunday, I could feel that I was off. Almost as though I was having a spike in blood sugar. I figured that I would eat the yogurt that I packed for lunch and everything would be honky-dorey, but each scoop had to be forced down past the large knot in my throat. As I sat at my desk, I tried answering every question from my co-workers with a smile on my face, but I could not force one through. While walking around at work, I tried lifting my head and make eye contact with people, but it was like my neck just would not straighten. I could not look anyone in their eyes when I spoke. When trying to make a call, I would have to take deep breaths and collect myself for a minute or more. Eventually the anxiety and the hyperventilating started. I was in the beginning stages of a full blown mental breakdown. But before we get into all of THAT, let me give you a little backstory...

There were several reasons behind me moving back to the Flower City. That is a long story for another time. I will sum all of them up and say that I came for a fresh start, and right off the bat I could see that this was not going to be the case. I am a strong, independent motherfucker, so I just knew that I could handle whatever life threw at me. I had expected a few bumps in the road once I had arrived in NY. It did not matter, because I had a plan. I had a vision of my future. But just like one of my old sponsors once said, “Want to make God laugh? Make a plan.” Thinking back on that now, it makes me chuckle. I bet Tyrone would be smiling that huge smile of his listening to me telling this story right now.  

After being spoiled by the relatively mild winters of the south, I knew that my first winter back was going to be rough. I apparently had forgotten how much of a bitch these winters up here were! For my Out-of-Region guests...it is cold. And dark! At one point I did not see the sun for an entire month. Seeing nothing but snow and gray skies for 5 months is tough on the morale. The constant gloom makes being chipper 24/7 a challenge. I did my very best not to let it get me down, but I could not help but notice how my mood started slipping. The irritability started ramping up. The outbursts of anger came much quicker than usual.  I hoped that once the weather got better, my moods would get better again. It was just the dreariness of the winter. So I kept trucking along. When the family issues started getting real bad, I stuffed it down. I can push forward. Spring is coming. Everything will get better then. When I had to walk away from the love of my life...the kind of love that only comes along once, I kept trucking forward. I stuffed it down. Spring is coming. Everything will get better then. When my dad died, I took care of what I needed to do, and returned to NY ready to get back to work. Stuffed the pain, the confusion, the anger, the frustration...deep down inside. Once spring comes, things will get better. All of the jealousy building up by weddings, by engagements, by anniversaries, all of the births of those around me...I took them and buried them deep down inside. All of the rejections (because lemme tell ya, dating at 40 is a HOOT!) All of the mistakes that I made and all of the guilt of my actions....I did not pay attention to them. Spring is coming. Everything will get better. When my best friend was in the hospital, all of that fear got stuffed deep down. I gotta stay strong. I got this.  But then came the death of my grandmother. I had no room to stuff something as big as that. I will save the stories of my grandmother for another post, but I will say that for the last few years I was wondering how I was going to react to my Nana's passing. Turns out, the answer to that is Not So Well.

I am not sure exactly when the unraveling started, but I know that I have felt incomplete for quite a while. As life hit me with jab after jab, I slowly started feeling myself slipping away. I was able to make it through an 8 hour shift at work and could act like myself. When I finally broke the news to my supervisors that my grandmother's death was affecting me more than I may have thought, they could not believe that there was even anything going on, because I was able to perform my job at the usual level and act like my normal, outgoing, enjoyable self. They only could see what I wanted them to see. Everyone did. They saw me laughing. They saw me joking around. They saw me get serious when I needed to. But having to do that everyday was getting exhausting. I knew that eventually it would have to end. Because what they did NOT see was the sudden breakdown into tears on my drive home. They could not see the nights that I would collapse onto my kitchen floor, lying there, full of fear and terror and loneliness. They would never guess the effort that it would sometimes take just to crawl out of bed and get ready for work. Sometimes the BEST that I could do was to hold it together long enough to make it through my shift. The unraveling was already in place.

On Sunday, I had woken up feeling off. There were events that transpired the day before that made me feel  extremely disappointed in myself. The entire drive to work I felt like was in a daze. I don't remember anything on the radio. I cant recall anything about my commute. As I walked up to the building, my eyes kept welling up with tears. I don't know what I was sad about. I don't remember what was upsetting me. I was just wiped clean. Numb. I sat down at my station and begin setting up just like I do every other day. But looking around, things did not seem the same. I tried making conversation with a coworker who I have not seen in over a month, and I tried smiling through her stories, but I don't remember what they had pertained to. When people would come by asking how I was today, I would try and force a smile and say “Fine”, but there was NO WAY that it could be believable anymore. The plan of attack needed to change. The mission was no longer “Fake it till you make it”. It went to Code Red. It was now Operation Just Make It Through The Fucking Day. But with every minute that passed, the tension inside kept building up. The restlessness started setting in. A supervisor asked if I was alright. “I can perform my job. That's all that matters” was my response. Yeah, that didn't last long.

I ended up running a fairly simple rescue. But it seemed like everything I attempted to do required SO MUCH effort! 3 hours into my shift, I messaged my supervisor back. “I need to leave. I thought I could make it through my shift. I'm sorry.” On my ride home I contacted an old friend and former therapist who listened to me as I broke down everything that has been going on. And as I walked from my car to my front door, I remember telling myself “You just have to make it to the couch”. And that was as far as I got. The next few hours were spent having panic attacks and crying spells. I contacted one of my Leads at work and told him that I was not doing well. I needed to take a few days off from work. Mental health days. I needed to heal. I had cracked.

We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven’t you?

So with that, we will end this chapter. But tune in next time for more of what caused this collapse, and the rebuilding behind it.