#implied fear of self harm (no actual self harm)

[demodraws0606]

Jax's fear of being trapped and what that might imply about his past/future

Hello 2 days ago i've developped a chronic case of Brainrotting about Jax, tragic I know.

I'm kinda basing this slightly of what Gooseworx have said in QnAs though I will not rely on it because I think purely relying on a creator's words and not the media isn't really satisfying.

The main thing that stood out to me in this episode with Jax was that he seems to fear punishement.

He seems really freaked out when Gangle proposed the idea of Cain punishing him...

And then he immediatly goes to Zooble to be like "lol you don't believe Cain actually could punish us right ?" and while he's proven right at the end of the episode, the fact that he immediatly tries to seek reassurance that he wouldn't get punished says a lot. In fact in his expressions he looks both sides while saying it almost like he seems...unsure/anxious (idk the right word).

Also when he's brought into the employee training scene. He's weirdly...afraid and shaken by it ?? (not showing the screenshot cos everyone remembers that scene).

Which like, I understand that was terrifying but it was a strangely strong reaction to something that...light ? I mean he wasn't brainwashed or anything. I might be stretching it but all of it, including the scene's purpose makes me wonder if it brought Jax bad memories of...something.

After that scene happens, he completely acts normal and stops trying to be a dick completely.

Now this isn't a convo about weither that's Jax's true self and his jerk self is a persona. People are trying way too hard to either try to make him a one dimensional asshole or secretly a good guy which like he's neither he's a bastard with layers. But that's not what this is about so ANYWAYS.

All of this made me wonder what was Jax's main Thing, more so his theme or the thing that makes him tick.

We know with Gangle it's her issue with masking (her dreams, how she feels, etc...), Ragatha being a people pleaser, Zooble's body dysmorphia, King's memories and how they link with the loss of his wife and Pomni's desire for companionship.

For Jax we actually don't really know other than...he's a dick and he's using it to cope which like....duh ?

But with this episode and also a little thing that I got from researching QnAs (because i'm normal and chill like that) made me realise what could Jax's Thing.

A Fear of Consequences and being Trapped

Now the main thing that drove this thought was me finding out Gooseworx assigning a song to Jax which is this one.

Don't fence me in, huh....

That line meaning a desire to not be restricted and not losing their freedom.

This makes me think this is probably what Jax's character is at least partially about, or more so...his biggest fear. Being restricted, reprimended or trapped.

I think in part that fear could be related to his past, which I'm gonna throw my cards here, my own personal theory is that he was stuck in juvenile detention for misbehaving as a kid. That experience traumatising him enough that he was probably similar to the Jax we've seen at the end of episode 4, just Tired.

Now does it Necessarely have to be a juvenile detention center, honestly no ? But it's the thing that makes the most sense in my head.

Either way this also explains a lot of things about his behavior in the circus.

He's now secluded in a space with absolutely 0 Consequences, the one person who can dish it out is an AI who is probably programmed to never harm humans (directly at least). He's even proven right at the end of episode 4.

I think what led to Jax's shit behavior was this realisation that this is pretty much now his Safe Heaven. In real life he can't just be who he wants to be, there's potential consequences that he's afraid of.

Now I know I'm gonna hear like "oh so you just think Jax is an asshole by nature", I don't think he is (i don't think he's ever been a nice person his life but like there's a difference here), I genuinely think he's not more so being himself rather that it's just that he's overcompensating for the lack of freedom that he's felt his entire life.

In a way it's similar to how people act on the internet.

Imagine that you were a misbehaving kid and you were reprimended HARSHLY for it, to the point where you're not really fixed per say but you're stuck being terrified of even being slightly flawed.

But now here he is, in a place where death doesn't matter, the harm he does doesn't matter and the one person who can actually hurt him just gives him weird shenanigans that give him opportunities to lash out.

However, there's a tiny little problem...

This fantasy cannot last forever forever and I'm not talking about them getting out because as far as they know it's out of the cards for them.

It's very much clear that the circus with the arrival of Pomni is becoming more tight knit and less divided, creating a more solid friendship group with the help of Pomni being an actual normal nice human person (Zooble is nice too but they're more jaded and too depressed to deal with most of everything, and Ragatha is a whole baggage).

It's becoming increasingly clear in the episodes themselves as well that, Jax can't just be an asshole anymore. Every episode since episode 1 has led to him being reprimended or him not being given what he wants. The group is becoming closer and they're sick of his bullshit.

He also probably doesn't like being alone and hated. We see him seeming sad at the talk of Kofmo's funeral before having to go back to being angry and dismissive in his facial expression.

Maybe he really did want to go to Kofmo's funeral but like would anyone actually believe he would be genuine, after being an asshole for so long would it really be worth for Jax to just break it all right there.

But it's clear he's also not really enjoying being alone.

Jax in a way is basically burrying a hole for himself. Being an asshole was his perfect dream after probably living a life of boredom and repression but now that this consequenceless existence has finally revealed itself to just be a mirage, he's now unable to access the things he really needs.

Actual friendship.

It's clear that the Digital Circus has a point of companionship being extremely important, in fact when we get mentions of Kofmo's abstracting we get also mentions about how no one really founds his jokes funny. Kinger mentioning how making someone feel alone and unwanted is the worst thing you could do to someone. Gangle is saved by Pomni and Zooble's presence.

However there's no one at fault for Jax's isolation, he only has himself to blame.

Ive got more but i'm tired so hope you guys enjoyed it.

[collaredkittyboy]

Well it's come up multiple times today so I'll make a post about it.

I think the popularization of the word "twink" has ultimately been really bad for people in general.

I know it's hard to track the positive and negative effects of language but I don't think it's hard to see how creating a word for a group of people wherein the most consistent qualifying trait is "being skinny" is healthy for people's self image. Obviously people have lots of ideas about what it means to be a twink- gay, lacking body hair, feminine, beautiful, young, white- but the most consistent descriptor I've seen is "skinny." Hell, it's even a body type on Grindr; the size below "average."

So it kind of functions as a code word in the gay community: anyone can say that they're only interested in twinks and they don't have to look shallow by saying they only like skinny guys. It's such an accepted attitude that no one really bats an eye when they hear it.

I'm not even going to get into how it's become part of the larger issue of people turning "top" and "bottom" into gender roles 2.0, but that is closely related, because people with any internalized homophobia can look at a skinny, feminine man and turn off their fag alarms by viewing him as a woman or not a "real" man, and it makes twinks more acceptable to society at large.

No, ignoring all of that, one of the biggest issues is that gay men are taught by society that they are only attractive while they are skinny. Just having the label "twink" reminds a boy that people are looking at his body and judging it. There were countless times when I was growing up that people would tell me, "You're such a twink," or argue about whether or not I qualified as a twink because I had body hair. People around you, unpromted, judge your body and give you a label based on it, and that label has a large influence on whether or not you're seen as objectively attractive. I know many other gay people who say they wish they were a twink so they could be more attractive to guys.

So think, you have all these kids growing up being told whether or not they qualify as a twink, and then we have the gay community as a whole where it's completely acceptable to say you're only attracted to twinks. I think its because of all of this pressure to be a twink (in other words, to have a below average weight) that many of the gay people that I interact with struggle with a negative body image or eating disorders.

I mean, people talk about "twink death" like it's an actual event that makes a gay man much less attractive, and no one thinks that, maybe, it's harmful to tell a guy that the very day he stops being young and thin and pretty, he will stop being attractive and celebrated?

I'm not qualified to speak on fatphobia in physical queer spaces because I don't have the ability to frequent them where I live, but I can't imagine that these aren't issues at social gatherings as well. I also can't speak on my own experiences with weight discrimination because so far in my life I have had a naturally thin body, but I have experienced a lot of outside pressure to be thin that have caused me to pick up unhealthy eating habits to reduce my weight in fear that I could become fat later on. Thankfully that is something that I've mostly been able to work past. I'm not an expert, but idk, I just wanted to rant on my silly tumblr blog.

Obviously it's impossible for a word to be inherently bad. I'm not trying to imply that saying "twink" is a magic word with evil powers. Obviously the real issues at play here are fatphobia and harmful beauty standards and body shaming. But in my opinion, the popular use of the word twink has made it much easier and acceptable to express fatphobia, etc, in the gay community by turning "skinny person" into a "type of guy that you should try to be so you can be attractive."

[lessi-lover]

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

this is the longest i've ever written and i'm so proud thank you all for sending ideas to help me keep this draft alive x

warnings: mention of suicide, implied self harm, self hate, spanish federation.

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?" it was an ignorant affair to believe, something only somebody with a slight sliver of saved up hope might trust. not you. not the broken shell of a person that can only believe you are the only thing keeping yourself together.

the glue to a cracked vase. in which the vase was you and you were slowly breaking under pressure that had been following you for years. if you hadn't hit rock bottom a couple months ago, you were certainly scraping the edge with your bare teeth now.

you had been one of their strongest forwards available to select from. a top forward in your league, it would be silly for them not to call you up with the titles next to your name at such a young age. it was inevitable that you would be called up for the world cup squad selection and there was nothing you could have done about it even if you tried.

you were just so helpless weren't you?

there was nobody to tell that you didn't want to travel to australia to play for a team that had ripped you inside out before you were even first national tournament debut, nobody that would understand how badly you wanted to represent your country and how willing you were to put your body on the line for it even for a single minute in spanish colours.

is that why you stayed quiet?

you stared towards yourself in the mirror, wondering if maybe your eyes had ever truly been as light as they used to tell you. that the light in your eyes you had been promised was always there had just seemingly disappeared. the eyes that they still talk about that seem so foreign to you now as you look back at yourself through shattered glass. wondering if maybe it was all just a lie.

maybe it was all just a lie.

a black and white faceless lie that everything you would go through for a ruthless tournament was for the better of you. or worse. a binary promise that everything would be okay, that all the suffering would end in good for you. or not.

but you look back through the same eyes that you were meant to be able to trust, the eyes that let everything just happen without looking back, and you still don't understand how you could be so easily deceived, taken apart from top to bottom like a neglected toy.

a useless, discardable toy. was it all a lie?

maybe the people who were meant to protect you and care for you were actually abusing you to wits' ends. maybe it wasn't that you needed the further training they made you endure after your previous training, but that you were so young and fresh and all too easy to manipulate.

maybe it was those you trusted and who sent you away with the assurance that you would be the next spanish legacy that isolated you from the world and treated you as a vessel to secure gold for spain.

but you were to blind and powerless to seek help.

you had been the silent one. the one too shattered to even bear the trial that came with the aftermath of the events following your world cup win. you knew the federation would come after you. you were the one who wanted so badly to sign the document that your teammates had but you couldn't bring yourself to look at the people who had broken you from the inside out for even just a second to speak your mind.

you were just a shell of a once strong force now weren't you?

you knew they would try and rip away each and every title you had ever worked for and your playing rights along with it. you were a world cup, champions league, copa de la reina, nations league and liga f winner. but maybe you were just a vulnerable, small cog in a relentless system that wouldn't stop until you broke down and they would throw you away like the others.

the fear of losing everything you had worked for since you were a small child paralyzed you for months. the mere thought of speaking out, of seeking help, seemed as impossible as how you got into the situation in the first place.

the federation had an iron grip on your life, they could control you whether you were defenseless to it or not and any caught wind of saying something felt like signing your own demise.

it would end you surely? don't you think that maybe speaking out for help would become the end of your career? one that had barely started as you were only freshly twenty years old? staying quiet was the better option. you had thought you could escape unscathed, but your reality was far from it.

nobody had your best interest and those who did didn't make it clear enough until you finally broke down from the denied pressure. it felt like a void sometimes. as if you were screaming and nobody could hear you, or maybe nobody cared?

no they care. didn't they?

did they care when you were forced out of bed early in the morning to complete extra practice before the day even started? did they care when you were just a young teenager illegally moving up into the senior divisions of international football to cover for seniors who had denied their call up's and was made to exhaust your body more than you ever should? did they care when the private meetings you were obligated to attend turned into time to yell at you, to break you down as if you hadn't given your entire life to the federation.

but then again, if not football what else did you have to live for?

you asked yourself these questions over and over again. each time just hoping that the harsh reminder of your situation would lessen. it never did. it never would. it would be stuck with you no matter how hard you tried to block it out, no matter how hard you tried to ignore who and what made you shrink a million times over.

the fear, the abuse, the meal plans, the body exhaustion, the denied freedom, the stolen happiness, a cruel reminder of the bottomless hole you had found yourself falling deeper and deeper and there was nothing you could do to get out.

you were truly and utterly stuck.

~

the office is cold, its white walls a stark contrast to the warmth in the hallway you had been waiting in for the past half hour. the thick carpet muffles your footsteps as you walk toward the large desk in the center of the room, the air you're walking into a harsh wind of tension that couldn't be cut with a blade if you tried.

you swallow hard, your throat dry despite the countless bottles of water you’ve consumed throughout the day. but your hydration doesn't matter now, whatever it said to you in the next twenty minutes does.

the glare of the desk lamp catches your eye, reflecting the same harsh light that seems to spotlight you everywhere, waiting for you to make your next mistake. you glance at the stern faces of the officials seated behind the desk, their expressions unreadable as they read through what looks like your performance reports.

“please, take a seat,” the head of the federation says, his voice clipped as he places his hand predatorily on your lower back and guides you to sit down. you lower yourself into the chair, the thin material of your club shorts rubbing uncomfortably against the velvet furniture.

the head official adjusts his collar, peering over them at you with a sharp look almost as though you had done something to personally offend him. but those aren't anything close to his next words.

“you’ve been doing exceptionally well, tesoro.” he begins, but his tone is far from genuine and you feel that something else is coming. “your performance has been impressive, especially considering your age and the closeness of the tournament.”

you nod, though his praise feels hollow, almost as if you're falling into a set trap made just for you. your heart races and you grip your hands on the chair. you want to speak up, to voice your concerns about the overwhelming training schedules and the strain it’s putting on your body, but the words get lost in your throat.

“we’ve decided to integrate you into the senior squad for the upcoming world cup. it’s a great opportunity, but it also means you’ll need to do far more than what you're currently putting in.”

your chest tightens. you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, but when he finally tells you it feels overwhelming and you don't understand why a moment you have been prepping for years of your life makes you feel uneasy. you push it off as nerves.

the world cup is a chance to showcase your skills on a global stage, this is your moment, don't stare it in the face and back down.

another official at the side of the room glances at you with a fleeting look of concern before turning back to his notes. he seems to recognize the strain you’re currently feeling, but his words are lost just like yours as the head continues to talk to you.

“your development is crucial to our success,” the head official says, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “we expect you to handle this responsibility with the utmost professionalism. this is an opportunity for you to prove yourself and secure your place on the national team.”

"and who knows, i have spots emptied by débiles that need filling. this is your shot don't blow it. tesoro." there is something about the way he talks to you and speaks about you over your head that makes you shiver right down to your core.

you nod again, feeling the weight of their words drop into the palm of your hand and the room seems to close in on you as they continue discussing your role to each other and the intense training you will need to undergo in the upcoming months.

the meeting ends with a firm handshake and a curt nod from yourself and as you leave the office, the clear expectations settle heavily on your shoulders, the fear of failing and the pressure to succeed feeling almost insurmountable. yourself unaware of the danger you have just put yourself in.

~

you're not even sure when it all started. you can't pinpoint when the abuse started, if you could even call it that, or if it was there the whole time and you normalised it for yourself because that was the better option instead of speaking out in your mind.

it was enough of the lack of players available that caused them to attempt to burn you out as much as they could. it was enough for the federation to take one look at you and decide that the weight of the world relied on your shoulder whether you liked it or not.

that was your purpose. it was your job to lead the team to victory without a second mistake. without a setback, through injury, responsible for the good and the bad, amidst an internal battle with yourself that was dragging you down, and most importantly with a smile on your face even if you were shattered from the inside.

a smile on your face. nobody would notice would they?

~

“siéntate, tesoro,” he commands, his tone carrying an edge of impatience and you feel yourself move quickly into his office at his voice. you sink into the chair, its firm surface a harsh contrast to how had felt in the chair only mere months ago.

“you’re here because you’ve been selected for the world cup squad,” he begins, his voice cold and he digs his hand into the desk as he leans close to you. “but let’s be clear, tesoro. being selected was only the first challenge. we expect more from you.”

you nod, but the weight of his words feel heavy and you can't help but notice that the official who had given you the sorry look was missing from his spot behind the desk.

“we’ve noticed that you’re not quite fitting the ideal player we had in mind,” he continues, and you shake off any thoughts of the past official when your eyes meet his. “you’re not fast enough, not agile enough. you’re not meeting the physical standards we expect from you.”

his words sting, each critique like a hard blow to your self-esteem that wasn't really there in the first place. “your performance has been adequate,” he says, “but adequate isn’t enough. we need you to be exceptional and above all competition. and right now, you’re neither of those.”

he leans forward, his breath fanning over you as you look down at the floor in fear. “your weight is one concern of our team, but it’s not just about being heavier or lighter. it’s about how you present yourself. we need you to be leaner, faster and even more dynamic. you’re not the perfect image we want for the team right now.”

the room seems to close in around you as he continues. “we’ve seen some players who didn’t meet our expectations and they were dropped. you need to understand that if you don’t shape up, you will be next to not enter through doors again. comprendido?"

he gestures to a pile of strawn documents on his desk and you look up from the concrete fall at the harsh snap of his fingers in your face.

“we have reports here, tesoro, that detail everything we need from you. and it’s not just about physical performance. it’s about how you look, how you’re perceived by the public. you need to be more endearing, more marketable. if you can’t fulfill that role, then we'll find another.”

his gaze is relentless and he talks to you like you're a faceless object that he can discard at his will, throw away when he feels you're not complying with his demands. he can take you off this squad the moment you defend yourself.

“you’re not here just to play; you’re here to be the face of the team. the face of spain. and right now, you’re not cutting it for us. we need you to be a star, not just another player in this tournament. and if you’re not willing to meet those expectations, then you’re in the wrong place i'm afraid.”

“now, we’re going to do something,” he continued, his voice carrying a coldness that made your stomach curl inwards as you sat fearfully in your chair. “i need you to repeat after me. ‘i am not good enough. i need to be better."

you hesitate, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak as you blinked harshly to try and to stop the tears that threatened to fall. “i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say quietly, looking down shamefully at the floor like a small child being scolded by their parent.

“louder.” he demands, his voice cutting through the room like a whip and you try not to flinch at the volume of his words. “i need to hear you say it with conviction. you are lying through your teeth pequeña. don't lie to me, i hate liars."

“again,” he insists. “and this time, say it as if you truly believe it. i am not good enough. i need to be better." you force yourself to repeat the phrase, the words make you feel as if you're stripping away everything you ever built yourself to believe. every title, every trophy, every medal, every goal. erased.

“i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say louder, the humiliation of his cruel exercise making your stomach lurch and you struggled to keep yourself together.

“very good,” the official says, his tone carrying a note of being pleased and you hated that you loved the feeling of his approval. “you should understand that just because you’re going to australia doesn’t mean you get to enjoy it. you’re there for work, not to have fun.”

his manipulation is chilling to the bone, designed to strip away any sense of accomplishment you had ever felt. “you’re not meant to enjoy australia, it’s not a vacation. you’re there to prove yourself, not to sightsee. you need to focus solely on the tournament, on meeting the expectations we’ve set for you. or we won't hesitate to send you home.”

“this is a serious commitment. if you let yourself get distracted, you’re failing in your duty. you’re expected to perform at your peak, and that means putting aside any thoughts of leisure or enjoyment. this isn’t about you enjoying yourself; it’s about you meeting the standards we've set for you.”

“if you allow yourself to get comfortable or take things lightly,” he warns, “you’re showing weakness. and weakness is unacceptable. you need to stay sharp, stay focused, and remember why you’re here.”

his manipulation is subtle yet even then you could tell that he knew you wouldn't fight back, he had designed it to make you feel guilty for even considering enjoying the tournament.

“this is a test of your worth,” he says. “if you can’t handle the pressure and keep your focus, you’re not fit for the team. we need you performing to the highest standards that we expect from everybody else. including you. if you can’t handle the pressure, then you’re not worthy of the position. we expect you to rise to the challenge without complaint.”

~

you were far too gone to allow somebody else to take your spot. guilty and far too gone to let yourself slip through the cracks you had been told others had fallen through. somebody wouldn't be able to deal with the kind of pain you had been trained to believe as normal.

somebody else definitely wasn't as strong as the fake front you had built up to deal with it all, or at least that's what you told yourself, it made you feel better even if you didn't believe it.

you felt like nothing.

was it the pressure? was it the memories? was it the unhealable bruises that littered you from head to toe? or was it the feeling that you gave your whole existence to people who threw you away like you were just dirt on the bottom of a shoe?

you were numb.

you couldn't even remember the last time you had felt truly happy, truly yourself. the facade of a charming female footballer you put on for the world was crumbling and you were scared that people would finally see the pain that lied underneath.

the mirror showed a person trapped between who they once were and the brokenness of who they had become, drowning in a sea of your own helplessness.

you wondered if there was any way back to the person you used to be, or if that person was gone forever, if she had fallen through but ignored by who you had been built to be. this is what rock bottom feels like. rock bottom is not knowing who you are anymore, not recognising any of the memories of the person you were before.

it's the lostness of knowing that you can't find yourself again, seeing your old self in the distance but not knowing how to reach it with the strength you so clearly do not have.

it's the painful acknowledgement that the once vibrant and full of life person who was here before has been replaced by a shadow and you're struggling to fight the dark.

had the darkness swallowed you yet?

your phone rings loudly in your ear. it's more harsh this time than the previous sounds that had escaped the device. you know who's calling you because there wasn't exactly anybody in your life that would reach out to you so religiously and determindly.

you bit down on your lip. a similar memory of you lying on the floor answering the man who had made you the emotionless person that couldn't bear to even think about the game you used to live for.

you miss the person you were. that man gutted her from the inside.

the sound pierces into the thick silence of the room, demanding you to answer as it broke through the barrier of quiet you had built up. the screen of your phone lights up and you let your eyes flicker down towards it, your phone displaying the name of the person you dreaded to see you how you are now.

a feeling you couldn't quite place as dread or relief washed over you as your phone vibrated against the cold floor. dark purple bruises forming on your legs and arms from the time you had spent laying on the bathroom floor.

you slowly reach for your phone, drops of blood dripping off your skin and onto the glass as tears make their way down your face from the dark circles that countless nights of lost sleep had created for you.

your fingers tremble as you swipe to answer the call as if they are carrying the burden you've been feeling for months, and the screen lights up with the caller's name again. you can't turn back now, you've answered the one person you would hate to see you like this.

you contemplate hanging up the phone, staying silent on your end of the call as if magically the situation would disappear and you could leave like you so badly wanted to.

you sound nothing like the person you were a year ago.

"hola amorcito. are you there?" the voice on the other end of the line breaks through your thoughts, the term of endearment so familiar yet painful almost making you burst into another set of tears but you stay strong for her because that's what he would have wanted.

"ale?" you reply, your voice steady but still shaking as you lift your phone to your ear to hear better. "i'm here." there's a soft sigh on alexia's side of the phone and you can almost picture her sitting with her girlfriend on the couch, the older woman had tried to call you throughout the week but you hadn't answered and she'd been waiting for you to call her back.

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?"

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

March 14th

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1. Hi I've been trying to find this fic where wwx went back in time to cloud recess and he freaks out in the middle of the class and ran out and jump off a cliff and he survived and the cloud recess helped him heal and be happy again. Thank you I'm advance ☺️@limaly26

FOUND?🔒 Without end by barisan (M, 69k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Depressed WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm,   PTSD, Panic Attacks, Yunmeng Jiang bashing, Sentient Resentful energy, Medical inaccuracies)

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2. Haven’t read one in a while, and I’m itmf hardcore angst. Looking for a fic that I read back in 2021~2022. It was post-canon where many still hated the Yiling Patriarch. Some of those people were able to kidnap wwx. They tortured and abused him for days before he was found half dead. Wwx was so injured that I’m pretty sure he even lost his sight for a bit and wouldn’t let anyone touch him after being found. I read it on AO3 and remember it was hurt/comfort (but there was a looooot of hurt before there was comfort). The author’s name was catchy and easy to remember (obviously not easy enough lol) and either the author or the title was like one word starting with a “v” or a “t” maybe? Idk. It was pretty popular, so I’m sure this one has been asked about before. @main-00

FOUND! Silenced by Tasharene (M, 63k, WangXian, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Temporary Blindness, Aversion to touch, Fear of crowds, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, WWX Whump, Hurt WWX, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, world-class troll LXC, see the archive Warnings BEFORE you accuse me of not tagging things!!!)

~*~

3. Hello!! I was looking for a specific fic that I can’t seem to find now, it’s a finished work, it’s about succubus!wei wuxian, or at least I remember it being about him but after looking under the tag I wonder if I missed it, the author didn’t tag it, or he was made to be a creature incredibly similar to a succubus? The plot is that wwx is half succubus who has been ‘tamed’ by lwj, this is just mentioned in the fic it actually begins with lwj being a professor at a school and wwx offers for him to be used as a demonstration for class to see if people can resist his magic, that’s basically the entire fic. Thank you for your help!

FOUND! a sword for a tongue by martyrsdaughter (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, College/University, Succubi & Incubi, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, light exhibitionism, Sex Magic, Collars, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Light Degradation Kink, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, Breathplay, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX)

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4. Heyy so can someone plz help me find this fic? Its in ao3 the last time l read it it had only two chapters and its a lan wangji x jiang cheng and in it jiang cheng l believe he was poisoned really badly after fighting a monster in a forest but his spiders finds him and gets him to gusu and the last thing l remember was abt him carrying jin ling and finding lan wangji with a-yuan on the other side of the room😭searched up and down for it and l still couldn't find it I'm going nuts😔

Another fic is of JC deciding that his words are a curse and stops talking all together by taking an oath and he starts learning sign language and then he goes to gusu and LWJ sees him and stuff and its not complete either😔

Update: l found the first one, l still need the second one @reader-100

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5. Hi! I'm looking for a fic I read a while ago. I tried looking under the WWX & LQR or the Good Uncle LQR tags on AO3 but can't find it.

It was a Cloud Recesses arc AU, and something made LQR have a change of heart about WWX (maybe morals, maybe time travel, idk). He talks with WWX about why he is acting out and starts teaching so WWX is actually challenged in class, which makes him thrive. A lot or all of the story was from LQR's pov.

I remember a specific part where LQR sees the guest disciples practicing sword forms and realizes WWX is purposefully under performing. He is doing just a bit worse than JWY, to make JWY seem the most talented. LQR reprimands WWX because training improperly will lead to bad habits that endanger himself and others on nighthunts. WWX immediately improves his form. Later LQR discusses WWX's progress with the instructor and says he should spar with LWJ. The instructor thinks WWX has improved, but not that dramatically. But LQR knows they fought the first night of lectures. So LWJ and WWX have an epic spar where WWX stops holding back and goes all out in front of the class (possibly with LQR and LXC looking on from the sidelines).

I don't remember anything after that so it may be unfinished. Thanks so much!!

FOUND? Just Say Yes Series by edenwolfie (T/M, 338k, WangXian, Matchmaking, Pining, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, Fluff, First Kiss, Declarations Of Love, Humor, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Good Uncle LQR, Engagement, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It) but not sure if there is a spar between jc and wwx

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6. Hi. I hope you a well. I am looking for 2 pics. (a) I don't remember well if it's a time travel or what. But wei ying started demanding money for use demonic cultivation. When Jiang Cheng ask him why he doesn't fight he said that jiang cheng told him to stop being a hero. (b) Wei ying saved a man, that man was unhappy about they way wei ying was treated and he directed a play about wei ying and lan wanji and their love story.

6B)

FOUND? The Ballad of Hanguang-Jun and The Yiling Patriarch by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 40k, WangXian, ChengQing, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Burial Mounds Arc, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, musical theater?, Misunderstandings, POV Outsider, Crack treated seriously)

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7. Been looking for this ao3 fanfic titled "YOUR NAME ON MY CHEST" by anonymous something like that. A wangxian modern au with a military theme. WY got the codename "Mulan" while LZ "Bucky". If I'm not mistaken everyone deemed WY the villain here after the "incident" where LZ almost ended up crippled. Please help, the author likely removed this fic on ao3. @lu-wanji

FOUND? Your Name On My Chest by Director_XuanWu (T, 74k, WangXian, Modern, Heavy Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending, These two feel so much, Pining, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Getting Back Together, But it would be almost at the end, Falling In Love, Self-Sacrifice, First Love, Long-Distance Relationship, All other pairings except for Wangxian are backgrounds only) I found it on the wayback machine

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8. Hello! Hope you’re doing well.

I’m searching for a fanfiction where Wei Wuxian is saved by Lan Qiren (though I’m not sure if it’s him or Lan Wangji/Xichen). They are at Karp Tower for a conference when Madam Yu tries to drown Wei Ying after cruelly whipping him. He is found in the lake, barely alive, and Lan Qiren rescues him, bringing him to the Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying is deeply traumatized by the incident, and the cultivation world harshly judges Madam Yu for her cruelty. Thank you in advance for the help! @myukisora

FOUND? 🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 60k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

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9. Hi I'm looking for a fic where wwx and lwj had a yuan but because of (I think abandonment issues) a yuan was scared of planes, i think it was an accidental baby acquisition fic but I'm not sure?

FOUND? The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition,Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer)

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10. I’m looking for a fic where Madame yu goes to the cloud recess post whim wing punching the peacock and proceeds to punish him with zidian lan zhan catches her in the act and stops her and says she can’t punish him bc they are engaged

FOUND? 🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

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11. Hello mods!! Hope you're well ^^ I'm searching for two specific fic.

A) The first one was a time travel fic. The juniors were somehow time travelling into sunshot era (i don't remember much it's been a long time since i read that) and meeting yllz!wwx and lwj. I remember lz and wy getting suspicious of them and discussing things?? The juniors were staying with them for days trapped in time and trying to talk to them to get information?? I dont really remember much. At some point post-canon wwx was finding them and time travelling too. Thats all i remember.

B) For the second one i was 100% sure i had this fic bookmarked but i couldn't find it no matter what T.T It was a dragonji and foxxian fic and it kinda started with wy and lz meeting on a night hunt. They kept coming across each other in random night hunts. I remember lz getting hurt and having to stay in his dragon(noodleji lol) form and wy finding him, caring for him without knowing it's him. At some point wy was joining cloud recesses studies and lz was finding out wy was literally WY (in the earlier chapters lqr was mentioning wy to lz and warning him about wy) It was something like that. I REALLY HOPE IT CAN BE FOUND😭😭

Anyways as always thank you in advance!!😚😚😚 @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

I'm 11 and i actually found B bc yeah i was right it was in my bookmarks lol XD

I still need the first one though!!

11A)

NOT FOUND! 🔒 Forget Myself in Memories by geethr75 (T, 10k, JC & WWX, JC & JL, JL & LJY & LSZ & OYZZ, WangXian, LXC & NMJ, JYL/JZX, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travel Fix-It, Juniors travel to the past, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, double trouble, Past WWX meets future WWX in MXY’s body, Past JC meets future JC, JL and his jiujiu, Sect Leader JL, Sect Leader OYZZ, Sect Heir LJY, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, JGY dies as Meng Yao, SS and JZn dies, JGS dies, WQ and WN lives, JYL and JZX Lives, no golden core transfer, No golden core melting, The Juniors save the day, WWX saves the day too, Alternate Timelines)

11B)

FOUND! what you have tamed by lianhua_lianzi, Senforza (E, 94k, WangXian, XuanLi, XiYao, Eventual 3Zun, Animal Traits, misunderstandings (not the romcom kind that can be resolved in a 5min convo), Courting Rituals, Pining, Lan family dynamics, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Wangxian break up but get back together, Eventual Happy Ending, vague biological essentialism (animal species have different mating preferences), Canon Typical Alcohol Usage, Implied Mpreg, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Unresolved Sexual Tension, unintentional and eventually resolved “gaslighting”, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX)

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12. Please help me find this fic! WWX commissioned a tea that tasted like Emperor's Smile so LWJ could indulge without alcohol. I think. I could have been a surprise from LWJ for WWX because he wasn't allowed to have alcohol? I have no idea the story around this scene but there: a fic that invented Emperor's Smile Tea. @mreisse

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13. Hi, I'm looking for an Ao3 fic where Lan Zhan becomes a little boy because of an experiment by Wei Ying. He goes through growth spurts at night. First he's a boy of about 8 years old who doesn't leave Lan Quiren's side. At night he grows into a boy of 13, then about 17, then to the age when he received the lashes and Wei Ying stays by his side comforting him. The next growth spurt is after Wei Ying died and he wants to get him out of the Lan sect for fear that he will lose him again. When Lan Zhan returns to his normal age they do the gogogo because he's jealous that Wei Ying says that his 8 year old uo is adorable.

English is not my first translation I translated this with Google Translate @aome37-blog

FOUND? In Time by Siera_Knightwalker (Not Rated, 13k, WangXian, Underage Sex, Age Regression/De-Aging, Established WangXian, Cute 6 year old LWJ, Cute 11 year old LWJ, Cuter and in love 16 year old LWJ, Obsessed and in love 21 year old LWJ, And continuing in that stream, Underage warning only for 16 year old LWJ, Anything below that is ONLY cute baby LWJ, Family Fluff, Good Uncle LQR, Good Parent LQR, Supportive Sibling LXC, WWX is a Little Shit, WWX is a gremlin, LWJ Loves WWX, WWX Loves LWJ, Everyone Loves WWX, Post-Canon, Gusu Lan Sect, LWJ's 33 Lashes Punishment, Feminization, Public Display of Affection, Sexual Content, Age Difference, Overstimulation, Nipple Play)

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14. Hi I'm looking for a fic where the juniors find an old sketchbook of WWX that's like a guide to LWJ's different minor facial expressions and what they mean. I remember it being pretty CQL-based and even having art in it. There's a particular scene where the juniors realize LWJ's "I like mianmian" face is the same as his "you're an idiot" face" @vivalav

FOUND! ❤️ Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, Background WangXian, Fluff, [Podfic] Important Distinctions by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona) )

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15. Hey so I have a few fics I read on ao3 but unfortunately my forgetful past self didn't have the mind to bookmark them can you help me find those?

A) 1. I think the title is empire but I don't remember it correctly but the story goes such that lan huan in seclusion goes insane for lan clan being given such bad name and all so like he goes lets time travel and does. He takes nmj with him and when he goes back he tells his bro and uncle but uncle is angry and punish him. Lwj sends for wwx in jiang to marry and he accepts . madam yu is helpful kinda. He gets Lauded in lan clan and all. Ssc goes on and lwj is taking lead. Wax being badass general. Jiang and jin gets destroyed by wen and end result lxc and nie bros want to make the whole jangu the empire and they crown wwx the king. Can u help me fund it?

B) The second one I think is a one shot maybe ? I don't remember the title sorry. It's wangxian. Hurt + comfort. The au where wc doesnt throw wwx into burial mounts but like treats him very very bad. When jc and lwj find him he is being used as footstool for wc. Still they rescue him. In nie fortress he is angry and snappy to everyone and lwj at last is like talk to me but wwx doesnt agree and wwx provokes lwj by saying bad things about himself and lwj is like no, so he strips everything off first his head peice and then his robes at last his ribbon he uses to tie his hands and kneel before wwx and something something. Pretty sure the tag I found it in was wwx needs a hug @feelingsareforweak

15A)

FOUND! Into the Oubliette by Ruixx (M, 124k, WIP, wangxian, JYL/JZX, growing up, fix-it of sorts, time travel, arranged marriage, sibling bonding, adopted sibling relationship, light bdsm, sunshot campaign, war, politics, hostage JYL, visions, LXC redemption, good uncle LQR, empire building)

15B)

FOUND? the dark, the light, the flame by Lirazel (T, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Whump)

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16. I'm looking for a fic I read on AO3 set during the Sunshot Campaign. WWX and LWJ go to a mountain?, where WWX uses Chenqing and LWJ uses his sword or guqin. They do something important to help win the war, then collapse from exhaustion. Jin Zixuan finds them, drags them back to camp, and they’re nursed back to health by Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, and Wen Qing. All three fall in love with each other. WWX and LWJ are soulmates?, but are unstable and dangerous, and unintentionally create a forest.

FOUND? Talking is Better than Silence by KuroiWrites (blackcatkuroi) (T, 264k, WangXian, Communication, Fluff and Angst, What-If, Canon Divergence, Resentful Energy is a Thing, Musical Cultivation gets Center Stage, Honesty, Myth Making in Action, Soulmates, Cultivation Healing is Expanded, Lore Creation, Any Rated E for Extra Sexy scenes posted as separate CODA chapters)

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17. I'm trying to find a fic where wwx had an invention and it could detect blood relations he discovered he was related to wen ruhon (idk how to spell it💀💀) and so that wen dude treated him like his grandson?

FOUND? All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 93k, WRH & WWX, WangXian, WWX is a Wēn, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Society Level Victim Blaming, Victim Blaming) But the blood relation invention only comes into play at the end, after Wen Ruohan already knows he's Wei Wuxian's grandfather

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18. I’m looking for a fic: it’s a modern au, LWJ and WWX are best friends who end up moving in together. They decide to start sleeping together “for convenience” and even end up getting married for tax benefits or something, but even at the end of the fic they never realize they’re in a relationship with each other. It drives JC crazy. @luliaka

FOUND! Six in one hand by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 2k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Modern, Crack Treated Seriously, Compulsory Heterosexuality, POV JC)

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19. Another fuc I want to find is a one shot I think. Wangxian. When wx captures lwj he does something so lwj for gets his life and acts like a whore to serve wwx but wwx don't agree so like pursutes lwj to run away but lwj disagrees and like I will come with u but sleep with me. So wwx agrees and they do The do . lwj and wwx go to nie clan. Lwj still doesnt remember but wwx works hard. In the end lwj gets his memories back and like so broken up. Wwx is like you can have my head for dishonor he caused but lwj is like no blah blah blah and happy ending. Will you please help me find them? @feelingsareforweak

FOUND? Mask by BurningTea (M, 30k, WangXian, Rape/Non-Con, Non con tag refers to activity between WWX and LWJ which WWX believes to be consensual, Bottom LWJ, War Prize LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Canon Divergence, dubcon) I think it matches only partially, though, but it has LWJ being captured, forgetting pretty much everything, then being "given" to WWX, angst and misunderstandings ensue before a happy ending with LWJ's memories intact once more

FOUND? ornament by iliacquer (E, 5k, WangXian, Breathplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, Implied Mpreg, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Public Humiliation, Exhibitionism, absolutely unhinged ooc smut, Top WWx, Bottom LWJ, Collars, Inappropriate use of resentful energy) Another one for #19 that doesn't fully fit but is also about lwj being gifted to the yllz by wrh. It's probably not the one since it doesn't involve memory loss but. In case there's any imtf for gift!lwj, this is a good one

FOUND? tumblr fic by jingyismom (rated E, warning for perceived dubcon)

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20. Hi hi! There's this fic I've been searching through my bookmarks for but I simply couldn't find it :((

The plot goes that everyone has achieved immortality, WWX, LWJ, NHS, NMJ, LXC, JYL, JC, and JZX. However, Jin Ling was born mortal despite immortal parents so WWX casted an array that transferred his immortality to Jin Ling and died in the process. NHS became a victim to the array due to JGY's machinations. WWX is then reincarnated and becomes A-Yuan's dad and grows up in an orphanage with NHS as his brother. Later on, there's a whole thing where LSZ, LJY and Ouyang Zizhen is on a field trip where a cave collapses on them ans they achieve immortality. The abovementioned immortals (other than WWX and NHS) kidnap the juniors to guide them through immortality but in doing so, forcefully separates WWX and LSZ. Jin Ling feels bad for them and helps them escape from the immortals. He meets WWX and realises that he's alive and reincarnated, that leads to everyone finding out that WWX has been reincarnated. Later on, they all get kidnapped by JGY and XY threatens to torture LSZ so WWX volunteers himself. There's a whole thing where NHS dies in his second life but that gives him back his memories of immortality, so he calls NMJ and they all plan to save them. At the end, JGY kills WWX with a gun but they are unaware that WWX is still alive and just got back his memories.

That's all I remember, sorry for the long message and thank you very much for your help!!!

FOUND! The World We Made by updatebug (T, 80k, WangXian, The Old Guard fusion, Immortals, Immortal LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Reincarnation, Modern AU, The Old Guard AU, Temporary Character Death)

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[deadsetobsessions]

What’s in a cape, but the hopes and dreams of the one who bears it?

What’s in a cape, but shelter and warmth for those that receive its protection?

What’s in a hero suit, but a person that’s determined to die in it?

——

Long before Danny Phantom died in his hazmat suit, Bruce Wayne donned his cowl to dive between Gotham and the bullets with faces engraved on them. His cape began to signify fear, for those that harmed Gotham knowingly. But for the rest, it became a sign of protection, of promised vengeance against the crime committed.

And for a select few, the cape was a shelter during cold and rainy patrols. For Tim Drake, the third Robin, it was a warmth he’d never experience past those moments.

When Danny Fenton became Danny Phantom, he’d had wanted to have a cape like the crusader.

Danny wasn’t sure if he wanted to shelter or be sheltered.

But eventually, as things escalated and Danny found himself with less time for normal, personal things, that wish shuddered to an ember. After all, Danny had learned that he doesn’t get the luxury of protection. Not anymore. Which meant he had to be the one doing the protecting. A thousand miles away, as Danny came to terms with it on a clear Amity night, Robin was huddled beneath Batman’s cape to shelter from the pelting rain that came often with Gotham’s gloom.

When Danny got pulled along, invisible and attached to Robin’s side as the vigilante got thrown into a prison, he witnessed Robin talk to his evil older Batman self.

He’s visible again before he knew it, startling the two versions of Robins. Ice slammed into the Robin that became Batman as memories rung through Danny’s head. Where Robin was, stood himself. Where the Evil Robin Batman laid on the floor, covered in glowing ice, was Dan.

Danny died, and became a hero. He just had the unfortunate luck to live to see himself become the villain.

He would never allow Robin to go through it alone, not when Danny had his family and friends to fall back on. Robin, in this cage, ripped away from his team and in the midst of an argument with Batman, was painfully so.

“I’m Phantom.” Danny introduced himself. “Looked like you were in a bit of a spot. I’m sorry for butting in, if you wanted to take care of him yourself.”

“Robin.” Robin was wary. That’s okay. “How are you here?”

“That one’s on you, actually.” Danny glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before edgy future you wakes up. The ice won’t melt, and it’ll be hard to break, but I honestly don’t want to stick around for him to wake up.”

“Can you move him?” Robin eyed their cell contemplatively.

“Sure.”

——

“That seemed personal, earlier.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Had the displeasure of meeting an alternate evil version of myself that lost everyone I loved. Kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“…right.”

“No worries, you’re good. My friends and family promised to stay away from explosive sauce.”

“That’s good. So… where do you live?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Danny somersaulted in space next to Robin’s jerryrigged space ship. “Anyways, we’re friends now, so I’ll make sure you don’t live to see yourself become a villain.”

“See, that sounded like a threat.”

“It’s not! I don’t kill! And besides, if you were dead, you’d probably be a ghost, and you’d kick my ass for killing you!”

“Are you implying you’re dead?”

“Not an implication. I’m dead. Kind of. Half. I’m still breathing even if I kind of don’t need to. So, where are your friends?”

Danny will be damned before he let his new friends die in their suits, even if they make the job incredibly hard for him. After all, there’s only room for one dead hero on the team, and that’s him.

[okkotsuus]

"WE HUG NOW" ー taro sakamoto 🪽

features: taro sakamoto (sakamoto days)

contents: assassin!reader, one-sided pining, angst, heartbreak, implied trauma, injuries, depictions of wounds, mentions of blood, very mild gore warning, kind of implied self-harm/self-destructive behavior, tailing, insecurity, songfic, 1.9k words.

notes: this actually came to me in a dream and then i had a batshit crazy one after, oh and i'm still reading the manga so no spoilers pls... blaming @17020 because mimi got me into sakadays and now i'm a little hooked.

taro sakamoto was the world's legendary assassin, he was the best at everything there was: like some sort of god amongst men. everyone loved him, and if they didn't love him: they feared him.

no one was ever fully able to reach him, or even keep up with him. no one except nagumo, rion, and you.

if sakamoto was placed on a mission, even if it was solo, somehow you were always 'in the area.' whether it be okinawa or shibuya: you just happened to be there.

at first, taro thought nothing of it. you were his friend, and you always managed to make any hit run smoother with that sharp wit you were requested for. it was mutualism, scratch sakamoto's back and he'll scract yours.

eventually, it began to grow into something more.

neither of you noticed it; and if you did, you kept quiet about it.

little things began to happen, things like sakamoto keeping a change of clothes for you in his go-bag. or having your preferred mm of ammunition to go with your favorite gun.

the two of you existed in this weird sort-of in between space.

you weren't lovers; but you were certainly more than friends.

only you knew the code to get into his gun safe, and only he knew how to get past the security system outside your apartment.

assassins don't let people in.

it's an unspoken rule of the job.

one you broke.

it all happened one night, when you and taro were both scraped up from a rough mission to assassinate the head of the yamaguchi family.

wordlessly, you were both splayed over a motel bed, not even under the sheets as both of your eyes remained locked onto the swirling ceiling fan.

"why did you let that one grunt get a shot on you, y/n? you're better than that." his voice rumbled, tone non-commitant despite the obvious lacing of worry in his words.

sakamoto has always cared about those dear to him, maybe more than he should.

he always had let rion talk about anything that interested her, played along with nagumo's tricks. he was a good man, assassin or not.

so, when you don't answer, his head lolls to the side to see if you had even heard him in the first place. and brown eyes widen, just barely perceptibly at the hollow stare e/c irises give him.

"i always let myself get hurt on a hit. it's how i atone for the lives i take."

the words echo between the two of you, they make silver brows furrow and thin lips draw flat.

he doesn't speak, so you look away, head turning to make interest of the chipping paint on the smoke-stained walls.

a grazing of fingertips over the torn fabric of your jeans sends your body moving before you can even think. cheap lobby pen pressed against sakamoto's carotid as your weight pins his hips down to the shitty matress below.

taro doesn't even move, not trying to shove you away. he just lays there, limp boned and pliant.

lithe fingers find themselves in the skin on the side of your thigh with an audible squelch. it hurts, feeling him root around in your flesh: but any assassin could take a little pain. his intrusion into your wound is gone as he pulls a 9mm luger from you and tosses it haphazardly onto the carpet.

you don't know what to think, what to do. so you remain atop his form, ballpoint still just barely poking at the skin beneath his jaw. you can see the way his pulse makes the pen dig deeper before it falls once more.

and he's just letting you do all this.

not a single muscle in his body has made any move to resist you.

when he so easily could.

it has your brows raising back to normal, e/c eyes rounding in curiosity.

sakamoto wipes his bloodied fingers on his shirt before tearing the hem of it to wrap it around your thigh, tying it off in a messy knot.

your makeshift weapon fall from your fingers, "why are you doing this, taro?" he hums, fingers drumming against the shitty box spring you have him against.

"you shouldn't hurt yourself, it's not good." he drawls, eyes finally finding your own as he stared up at you in a way that sends your stomach twisting. "can't let the world think my partner's getting weak."

god, you know he doesn't mean it that way.

he means it because you two work together, because he lets you tag along on his missions.

but some selfish, foolish part of you eats it up: the definition you want it to have, that the two of you are really something more.

dumbly, you nod, sitting back and rolling off of him.

"okay, i won't." he's satisfied, turning onto his side with a grunt, broad back facing you.

within a few minutes, he's softly snoring, as if he hadn't just sent your carefully constructed world toppling asunder.

you don't sleep that night.

or many others, for that matter.

all you want is to think he meant that the way you thought he did, even though you know it is the furthest thing from the truth.

assassins don't fall in love.

it seems like you're a pretty shitty one, then.

nothing ever changes, a part of you so deeply repressed is too scared to be the one jumping into the unknown.

that awkward space you had always been in with sakamoto remains. too far to be just friends, but just too far from being lovers.

he makes it hard. unbearably so.

taro is a kind man: he remembers anything you tell him, he keeps his apartment stocked with your snacks, he doesn't let you leave on a mission without saying goodbye (once you forgot and he showed up on the roof of your car).

then, one day, he goes on a mission while you were stuck in a stealth operative on the northern coast. normally, he finishes a hit quick and comes by your apartment after with some shitty takeout and MREs: which he seems to prefer, for whatever unknowable reason.

but, this time, you have to find him.

he's not at his place, not at the JAA, not with nagumo.

you worry about him, for possibly the first time in the years you had known each other. sakamoto is japan's best, everyone had some sort of interest in having him gone. no one had succeeded; hell, no one had gotten close.

what if today they did?

the thought has an indescribable ache burning under your ribs.

it punch in his code and lock the door behind yourself, sat on his couch, and felt tears burn at your eyes for the first time in god knows how long.

he comes home at around 1:32am, doesn't even acknowledge your presence as he shrugs off his coat; even though you know he can see you. his hands are empty, except for a convenience store bag.

sakamoto doesn't eat anything other than MREs, unless it's the fancy dinner provided at order meetings. he certainly doesn't eat junk food and snacks.

"you hungry, taro?" the words come out more fragile than you intend, but he doesn't speak on it. the man shakes his head, holding up his bag as he comes to sit on the couch next to you, tearing into a wafer bar and crunching at it.

it's upsetting, how he won't even look at you, how he doesn't even dignify answering you with words.

"i thought you hated pre-packaged foods..," you mumble, brows furrowing. he pauses for the briefest moment, mid-bite. "the girl at the register said they were good," he speaks.

oh.

that's a weird feeling. one you don't think you've ever quite felt from something sakamoto has said to you.

it goes away when he hands you a pack of your favorite chips from the bag. 'probably why he went in, in the first place,' you think, as if to soothe yourself.

even as you tear into them, there's a lingering sting in your nose, almost like burning.

it never quite fully goes away.

taro sakamoto rarely goes out for the sake of it, much less alone.

so why is he leaving in the middle of the day?

you catch him as you're coming back from a mission, his favorite MRE from the association and some chinese takeaway for yourself. he doesn't look at you, standing on a nearby rooftop and watching in a baffled curiosity.

in a selfish moment, you follow, out of sight.

and you see him meet a girl.

a girl who looked so normal, so soft. not a single bone in her body was dangerous, her gaze never hardened past annoyance. she was so utterly everything that you weren't.

because she wasn't an assassin.

at first, you're angry: furious, even.

you think he's so stupid, choosing a weak woman knowing exactly what happens to people in his line of work. how could he, when you had been standing there waiting for so long?

but when you see the gentleness in the way he touches her arm, like he knows he can break her and it's the last thing he would ever want: it's hard to stay angry.

because she's beautiful and kind and so gloriously normal.

you lose your food on some random roof as you leave. the wind friction from how fast you're moving has tears forming in your eyes, or maybe they were from something else.

sakamoto doesn't seek you out. he doesn't hunt you down when you go on a mission without saying goodbye first. he doesn't show up on your doorstep with food after his hits. he doesn't bandage your wounds when the guilt gets to you and you let your target land a blow.

it doesn't surprise you when he retires.

since he met her, it had only been a matter of time.

you don't plead with him like nagumo does, you don't accept all the offers people make you for his head, you don't ever try to find him: even though he makes it so painfully easy to.

how could you?

he was happy, surely. and you weren't selfish enough to risk ruining it.

sakamoto always got everything he wanted, whether it be fame, money, power, or even his eventual family life. while you got stuck with the weight of what could've been, of everything that you let slip between your fingers because you were just too damn scared.

to him, your friendship was just a small thing that happened in his past as a hitman. to you, when it ended: so did the world with it.

⚜️ ㅤ okkotsuus ㅤ 25

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I kinda wanna ask since reading you dancestor post on what we're the positives of each of the alpha trolls.

They can't have been completely terrible people, especially in the beginning.

Can do!

Damara: Used to be genuinely kind (and we still see her act sweet to the humans, with whom she has no beef). If her party had given literally a single solitary shit about her and tried to be nicer/more inclusive/didn't just stand by and let the bullying happen and stay friends with Meenah, she would've stayed that way.

Witches have great direct control and manipulative abilities over their aspect - it's implied the ultimate culmination of feferi's arc would've been equalizing the lifespans/psionics of all trolls, and jade is terrifyingly powerful even if she wasn't green sun-powered. It's implied that damara directly caused the ectobiology glitch in her session, directly changing Time (while dave and aradia appear to be beholden to its loops), so if she'd self actualized in a good way, there literally would not have been any "point of no return" for her party, and it's why her corruption IS her party's point of no return

Rufioh: He's a genuinely nice guy, he just lets his fear of responsibility fuck him (and everyone around him) way the hell over, and his terror of being the "bad guy" in a situation leads to him being a much much worse guy overall (he can't bring himself to break up with horuss because he reaallly doesn't want to hurt horuss's feelings, so we can assume him not telling damara about the affair is for similar reasons. but inaction is in itself a harmful choice, and to justify the harm he causes by his inaction, he has to dig himself deeper into a hole of shirking responsibility, until he literally starts going "idk why damara's upset" and "you know how she is, jealous and crazy").

Breath is an aspect of leadership, freedom, and independence, and rogues specialize not only in distributing their own aspect, but also in stealing their aspect from other entities in a way that buffs them in the opposite direction (for example, roxy can steal the void from something in order to make it exist). Thus, Rufioh at his best would not only be a leader in a breath-y way, but would be able to steal the breath from people in a way that boosts their unity and group cohesion - like he did as the Summoner. Unfortunately, that would be scary, and would require actually taking a stand on something.

Mituna: He was fucking correct about his team being assholes headed for disaster, and his team definitely should've listened to him! Ultimately, no matter how offensively he worded things, i believe that the fact that he WAS constantly trying to warn his team was done out of genuine concern and a place of care. Unfortunately, his team went "fuck you mituna" and now he has brain damage.

Not only were Mituna's Doom-inspired prophecies something his team definitely should've listened to, but Doom is an aspect associated with commiseration and empathy, in contrast to Life's oftentimes callous focus on solutions, moving forward, and trampling everything in its path. Had he tried to approach his team less from the lens of "you assholes are doing everything wrong, i'm going to call you slurs until you stop" and more from the angle of "hey, tell me about the bad shit that happened to you, let's feelings jam on that and come to a mutual realization that casteism dicks us all over," he probably would've seen more success.

Kankri: I do genuinely believe that there was a part of Kankri, deep down, that did actually care about equality and his friends. We see it peek out when he lists what he likes about Latula, this sincere appreciation for who she is as a person that mirrors Karkat at his best. Unfortunately, in his desire for control and blinded by his massive ego, he instead became a mouthpiece for the worst parts of his society, a binding force of status quo.

We know what Kankri at his best is: the Signless. If he were at all able to get over his Seer-associated massive ego, desire for attention, and self-inflicted blindness (his celibacy), he would be the ultimate guide to a genuinely equal society of kindness and compassion, not to mention healthy interpersonal relationships, as per Blood's provenance over bonds. Blood players possess a natural sense of responsibility, duty, and empathy, which, unfortunately for everyone, for Kankri flipped over into controlling behavior. It's sad, because he could've been good. They all could've been good.

Meulin: Meulin's not a bad person, genuinely; she's more on the side of being screwed over than doing the screwing over, though she does a fair bit of the latter as a result of the former. It's obvious that she came with a lot of Nepeta's better traits, initially - kindness, sweetness, sincerity - but that these have been stomped over, and her own inability to comprehend a healthy relationship has led to her inflicting shitty relationships on everyone else.

Heart governs feelings and the self, and mages can directly invoke a chosen future, although they can only invoke a future they believe in. Meulin as the Disciple is an example of what she could've been for her team - it was her records of the Signless that kept his legacy alive long enough to set Karkat up with a symbol and a lusus. Had she been treated with more kindness, and had people noticed her unhappiness, perhaps she would've been a matchmaker for good, instead of evil, leading her team to show each other more empathy, kindness, and forgiveness.

Porrim: I would call Porrim the most benign of the dancestors, primarily because she doesn't even really seem to know wtf is going on. Her views on feminism are correct, she's generally well-respected, and holds influence within the party. the problem is, she was so blinkered and tunnel-visioned that she mostly ended up being a super-bystander, like i don't even know if Porrim knows about the Damara situation? You'd think she'd say something if she did.

Space has associations with cycles, renewal, and interconnectivity, and Maids are great at managing and doling out their aspect - to the point where a common thread with the other two maids, Jane and Aradia, is this idea of them being "shadow leaders" (as opposed to knights, who take on more frontline/spotlighted roles). Had she been able to get her head in the actual game, instead of running wild on her tangent, she could've effected massive, actual change in her party, keeping them together and united, the center of their interconnected group. Alas.

Latula: Latula's become so entrenched in her shitty facade/quest for "identity" that she can't even acknowledge her own good points anymore. As Porrim points out, she's actually very intelligent and clever, and as Kankri points out, she's genuinely a hemoequalist and doesn't hold prejudices against peoples' blood colors. She's also an excellent judge of character, given her comments on Aranea; it's really too bad about the fact that she's dedicated so much of herself to her "gamer grl" "identity" that these traits have become deeply buried.

Knights struggle with deep insecurity, but are incomparable party leaders when they're able to get over it; Mind players are experts at understanding the chains of karma, cause and effect, cognition and behavior, and influencing outcomes by manipulating the people around them. A knight of mind at full capacity would be an incredible force of party leadership, able to easily mediate between conflicting parties and nudge teammates into working together and doing what the knight wants. Latula never exercises this power, however.

Aranea: A lot like Kankri, I do believe that there's a genuine kindness and compassion buried in Aranea... deep down. She does genuinely want to be helpful, and her exposition is usually factually correct, even if she can't keep her biases and poor judge of character out of them. I refer back to Aranea's explanations all the time, that's how much they actually do help in understanding the world. Unfortunately, those exact biases are the problem, and what a massive problem they turn out to be!

Sylphs are healers, nurturers, and protectors, but they have a massive empathy problem. Aranea's descriptions and showcases of her own abilities mean she 100% could've healed Mituna, Latula, Meulin, and/or Kurloz at any point, at least before they all died, and she chose not to, because she was too busy fawning over Meenah and not giving a shit about the "non-main characters" on her team. Given Light's associations with knowledge and comprehension, I wouldn't even be surprised if she could've endowed Damara with an auto-translator of some sort - if she, y'know, cared.

Horuss: There's... a lot about Horuss that's pretty odious, but at least you can say that he had a lot of genuine talents, and, as a Page, a lot of potential. Huge amount of potential. A lot like Equius, Horuss also does genuinely have a polite and helpful streak in him, though it's, unfortunately, massively tempered by his shitty beliefs - which, again like Equius, are mostly the result of mistaking fetishes for societal truth. If the people around him cared enough to take him to task for his shitty actions and shitty beliefs, he would probably fold like paper. Unfortunately, nobody bothered to do it.

That incomparable potential of a Page, and the simplicity associated with Void, could've made Horuss a deeply stabilizing force in the party, had they nurtured him to grow Void's uncomplicated nature, rather than allowed him to backslide into light-esque overcomplication. A page running at full tilt can overpower even lords - with the power to banish things directly into the void, horuss at full strength might have been capable of just soloing the bosses - especially since the dancestors had no LE to deal with. Alas.

Kurloz: Though they wind up perverted in pretty unforgivable ways, and even before that, were implied to be not particularly healthy relationships, the vibe is that Kurloz did have genuine care and affection for the people he was close to, Meulin and Mituna. This also implies that he was not actually casteist before his turn, especially seeing as he appears to be close enough with Damara that he was able to influence her religious views. He was likely, as with all Princes, a deeply troubled and complicated individual, but he was by no means unsalvageable.

And let's be so fucking for real, Princes kick ass and take names, that is what they are there to do. Rage is the power of literary criticism/impotence, the vital wellspring of revolutionary emotions and the ability to emphasize or deemphasize elements of the "narrative" to influence a desired outcome; honestly, it's probably one of the strongest possible Prince combinations, being capable of destroying not only unproductive ideas and party conflict, but of the concept of narrative impotence itself. literally what could've stopped him?

Cronus: Yeah I'll go to bat for Cronus. If you can look past his shittier actions, he's genuinely one of the most stable and level-headed members of the team. While he is utterly complicit in casteism, unlike the rest of his team, who turn a blind eye, he's willing to just say it as it is, and he's literally the only person on the entire team who's able to make Meenah have misgivings about the Condy's awesomeness/reflect on her own shitty actions. There's a refreshing sincerity to him that's sorely lacking from the rest of his poser-ass team, and it's a positive quality that I wish his team had nurtured, rather than Kankri grinding it into dust in the name of getting into Cronus's diamond.

Bards cause the first flap of a butterfly's wing that cascade into massive karmic victories or defeats, and Hope is a power that makes fake things real, turns impossible things possible, and outright defies the power scale. Had he manifested in a positive direction rather than a negative one, their team would've done some crazy shit. Alas, as-is, he's implied to be the origin of Kurloz's pivotal nightmare, and things only went downhill from there.

Meenah: Granted, I have few kind things to say about Meenah, but I guess objectively, she is "cool". People on her team do genuinely like and respect her, and she is an asskicker objectively, and I do think there are some positive motivations present in her story if you squint - like, I don't disbelieve Aranea when she says Meenah was trying to goad her shitty team into taking action, as this is consistent with what Meenah also says and thinks, but I'd call this motivation "overwhelmingly irrelevant" in light of the genuine cruelty she displayed.

Thieves are provacateurs, shakers of the status quo, and Life is a force of healing and forward motion. If anyone on Meenah's team (besides a Cronus being actively dampened by Kankri) had truly called her out and held her responsible for her bullshit and awfulness, and had she done any introspection and taken any accountability for her terrible actions at all, she may have seen some genuine success in her attempts to get her party to do something - especially given that Life is a healing force, like their Sylph, and if Meenah weren't so fucking selfish, she might've actually been able to do some good.

The thing is, the dancestors have some really solid fucking classpect pairings - while I don't believe there's any such thing as a "bad" classpect pairing, bard of hope, prince of rage, knight of mind, maid of space, rogue of breath, witch of time - these are honestly pretty cracked, and the others on the team are still pretty powerful. Moreover, their life on beforus left very few of them with the brain-breaking trauma that plagues the alternia team, so in a lot of ways, they were set up for success - and they squandered it.

By the time we meet them, they are all at their worst, and there's a tragedy in the fact that you can see the shadows of a really solid fucking team, had any of them chosen kindness and compassion before they reached their point of no return. but they didn't, in any timeline, and now here we are, with an evil time travelling wizard demon of fascism breathing down our necks.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Thirty-Three - Opia

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism, Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt

A/N: Mean't to get this out on Shigaraki's birthday proper, but oh well! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I have a feeling you will xD

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Well that was a shit show.

Two shit shows actually, she thought as she locked up the empty pool deck, and she couldn’t figure out which was more pathetic. Her disastrous attempt at reconciliation with Shigaraki, or that sorry excuse for a swim practice she’d used to try and get over it.

It’s not like it was even a high stakes practice. Yes, they were fully back from winter break now and gearing up for prefectural and championship qualifying meets, but the time now was being focused on cleaning up fundamentals and technique, rather than locking any specific rosters. Times were not make or break at this point.

And yet, somehow, she managed to seriously break.

Subpar times, late entries, jesus, she even missed touching the wall on one of her turnarounds — complete amateur hour. And she knew everybody noticed, how could they not?

At least they were polite about it though. Nobody giggled or whispered to themselves or made snide comments to her. They were still her friends after all (for now). But also, at this point in the year, they just assumed it was the typical senior fears and pressures getting to her. College recruiters, finals, entrance exams, what she was going to do with her life — things a lot of them were just as freaked by. So they didn’t feel the need to ask if something else was going on, sparing her that obnoxious little dialogue tree of:

“Hey are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty out of it. Do you need to talk about something?”

“No really, I just have a lot on my mind and blah blah blah…

No, everyone had made their assumptions already, picked up on her wound-tight and, frankly, sour disposition, and figured she probably didn’t want to talk about it.

And they’d be right.

Because what could they possibly say to encourage her in this situation? Hell, what could she even say about this situation? They didn’t know what was going on with her and Shigaraki, and she certainly couldn’t explain it. 

“My kind-of-but-not-really-reformed-emotional-and-sexual-extorter, who I have the most inexplicable feelings for, is lashing out at me. I think our not-relationship is on the brink of ruin, and I don’t know how to fix it. What do you think, Nejire?”

Yeah, no. That was so beyond any teenage friend’s paygrade. 

Actually, it may be above anyone’s paygrade that didn’t hold a Psy.D…

She should’ve listened to Kurogiri and just given Shigaraki some space. Maybe if she did that now, let him cool down and come to her, this situation might be salvageable.

And yet, she couldn’t stop the anxiety from flooding her brain as she made her way to the school gate. She’d volunteered to stay late and oversee cleanup and locking the pool today. She’d figured that she could use the time to try and distract herself. 

For all the good that did. She was just as preoccupied as during practice. She ended up re-organizing the pull floats in the storage room three different times because her mind just couldn’t figure out how to make them all fit — despite having done this for three years now. She just couldn’t focus on anything other than the panic and what-if’s bombarding her.

What if Shigaraki interpreted her giving him space as her giving up on him? Of not caring? He was a persistent son of a bitch when the tables were turned, so maybe he needed her to be the same. God, but what if that made things worse?! It already had this last time. What if she completely ruined things by pushing? What if she ruined things more by backing off?

Maybe she was just doomed to ruin things no matter what.

She came to a stop just outside the school, all of her swirling thoughts and pressures dizzying and weighing her down. She groaned at the physical hopelessness of it all, “This is impossible…”

“What is?”

She jumped at the unexpected, but familiar monotone — not expecting anyone to still be on campus. Or at least, not anyone that would be paying attention to her acts of despair. But when she turned to the voice, she was even more surprised to see a very distinct head of hair waiting just a few feet away.

Continue on AO3

[defire]

As an abuse survivor, you are just fetishizing child abuse. Plain and simple. Call it a coping mechanism or a power take-back all you want, but it's just an excuse to write porn about child abuse. I pity people like you, truly, I do. I can only pray that you eventually see a therapist about your internalized pedo behavior.

Cw: RANCID ask ⬆️

I'm so glad you brought this up because I don't like to speak for people like you--I'd rather combat these opinions directly.

Since you're praying, I'll feel free to make biblical allusions. (Tw)

First, the word "fetish". My opinion: I don't find fetishes or porn too helpful for processing trauma--it's more like exposure therapy. At some point you do need to actually grieve and process what happened. I don't judge those who do that (you're not hurting anybody♥️), but that's not what Survivor Fiction is for.

When you're judging whether something is bad or good, you can use the "tree by its fruits" concept. Basically, if a tree produces good fruit, it's a good tree. If it produces bad fruit, it's a diseased/bad tree.

So let's look at what Survivor Fiction does for survivors specifically.

It brings healing. I (a new author!) have already received five testimonies that have said how much my writing helped them move through some of their trauma and see things in a different, calmer way.

Survivor Fiction brings peace. A surprising amount of the community--90.5% in a poll involving 1,543 voters--use whump stories to go to sleep at night. (Many trauma survivors have difficulty sleeping from flashbacks. Fiction along the same lines can offer an appropriate sense of distance from the fear.)

It helps disabled people. It appears that a strong majority of our community is autistic. Part of the diagnosis is emotional dysregulation. We need to be walked through how to do things in great detail. Survivor Fiction often walks the reader through the process of trauma, reaction, ptsd, and recovery.

It spreads awareness. Survivor fiction is often more accurate to real-life abusive situations instead of glossing it over--in other words, LYING--about what goes on. This can bring a 3rd party perspective to a current victim too, giving them the understanding that they are being abused and need to escape if possible.

For a more thorough explanation of why fiction about survivors is good and necessary, see this post.

Okay, so would "bad fruit" look like? Do you see any of the following from our community? ↙️

Doing these things in real life

Being generally hurtful of others

Hurting children in real life

Harming emotions by pushing unwanted content to people who would be triggered by it? (Quite the opposite, we tend to post exhaustive content warnings before the content.)

Something else that's actually wrong and not just a thought crime?

And here's the fruit of your words, which I'm sure we all heard the jist of many times before:

You encourage covering up evil. Trying to hide fiction that more accurately describes pain, abuse, and PTSD means hiding the truth. Stifling the exposure of just how evil it is to abuse someone like this. The righteous walk in the light, but the wicked hide their deeds in the darkness.

Your words are shaming. Shame causes pain to fester and act out in harmful ways, such as repeating abuse cycles, self-harm, and dangerous overreactions. Christian ideology here--shame is what caused Adam and Eve to hide from God.

You are lying. You implied that we harm people in real life without any reason to think so. And also implied that we want to be in the aggressor's position. Generally speaking we identify most with the victim.

Referencing Christianity here, if you're christian--Your words condemn the Bible. The bible is full of stories much darker than most of what is written here. You'll read about rape, and the cannibalism of one's own children in Lamentations, among other things.

You're hurting yourself. You will be judged with the measure you judge others with. This is because if you judge others harshly for their thoughts, you'll instinctively judge yourself just as harshly. You end up hurting yourself and others over something that wasn't even doing any harm in the first place.

Causing confusion. What you said was illogical. If it's fiction where the damage occurs, we should be blaming the fictional aggressor--not the writer reporting it. If it's reality where the damage occurs, we should be blaming real criminals--not the journalist. The truth is that writing about survivors isn't generally harmful.

In short, you're creating a lot of problems and not helping. Did this ask come from a loving place?

This answer I'm giving, does.

[yanderes-galore]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do Pink Diamond Yandere concept?

Yandere! Pink Diamond Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Self depreciation, Clingy behavior, Overprotective behavior, Controlling behavior, Isolation, Fear of loss, You're sorta a pet at times, Kidnapping implied, Delusional behavior, Accidental murder/Violence, Dubious companionship/relationship.

I've written Rose Quartz before, although I haven't actually explored Pink.

Pink seems like she'd be a bit complicated with her obsession.

At this time in her life she's often ignored by her kin.

She's a Diamond yet is never treated like it.

She's always seen as childish, immature, and annoying.

She's had Gems created for her before, her original Pearl, the Pearl we know, and Spinel....

Although we all know Pink isn't the best with companionships due to how she views herself.

She doesn't think she's important to anyone around her due to how the Diamonds make her think.

So there's a good chance Pink isn't going to be the best for you.

Although, for the sake of having content to HC, let's tweak things a bit.

Maybe she gets attached to a Gem under her care, similar to Pearl?

She's tired of her Pearls treating her with formality... or Spinel reminding her of how she acts.

Maybe she gets attached to you, maybe a Quartz or some other Gem.

She's no doubt desperate to have someone she can consider a friend.

She doesn't want you to be formal with her, or just be there for entertainment.

So, she'd either want a Gem who's willing to see her past being a Diamond in secret... or...

A human.

We all know how Pink felt about the Earth while she was pretending to be Rose.

To the point of wanting to protect them and the Earth she loved.

So maybe she does find a human she adores... a bit too much compared to the others.

Either scenario, both you as a Gem or human, Pink would get a bit too attached.

Perhaps even to the point of treating you a bit too much like a pet while searching for companionship.

She's a Diamond so she may appear as condescending.

Although, I do imagine she's better than her fellow Diamonds?

In my previous Diamond concepts, I remember making them see their obsession as a pet overall.

Especially if you're human.

Pink? She seems more understanding.

She tries to understand your basic needs as a human, or if you're a Gem then she's trying to encourage you to be a bit rebellious with her.

Pink's overall personality towards you is friendly, bubbly, and playful.

Although, occasionally you're allowed to see her mental breakdowns.

She's tired of no one understanding her.

She just wants someone to pay attention.

Which just so happens to be you as of now.

Pink would want her obsession to try and understand her.

She's only ever wanted attention from someone.

So, even if it means she has to have a Gem or human around her all the time, she's desperate.

Pink actually seems like she'd be an intimidating yandere at times.

She's a reminder that Diamonds are powerful.

She tends to get frustrated due to being ignored.

There's a good chance Pink could accidentally harm you if you two weren't getting along.

Which just scares you into submission, makes her feel bad... and shows her that you'll probably never understand her or see her as an equal.

Pink definitely struggles with her feelings.

While her fellow Diamonds would be fine seeing their Gem or human obsession as a pet or favorite servant...

Pink is the one who just wants you as a best friend... or maybe even to show her proper love.

Yet as her Diamond form, you're never going to not fear her in some way.

Think about it, her fellow Diamonds probably saw Pink getting all excited over you.

Maybe you're a Gem simply trying to do your job... or a human from Earth.

Regardless, imagine being plucked from where you belonged and handed to Pink like you're meant to be a new toy.

Her Diamonds think that maybe her Pearls and Spinel weren't enough...

After all, why else would Pink try to interact and coo over you?

They never understood her anyways...

Which makes Pink desperate to have you understand her.

A good thing is, despite her power, Pink is smaller than the other Diamonds.

That does mean her size is less intimidating... although she still has to kneel down to properly speak with you.

Another frustrating thing for her....

Unlike her fellow Diamonds, she can't hold you in her hands.

Although... She could carry you around in her arms playfully.

Pink probably knows her behavior and status prevents her from obtaining the normal companionship she desires.

That and possibly the fact she's a near immortal Gem if you're human.

Despite this... She's determined to have you love her somehow.

Or... Delusional enough.

Pink is hopeful that you'll accept her.

She loves to hold you and talk to you...

She just... enjoys your company.

However, you'll be nothing but a pet or toy with her as a Diamond.

Even if she doesn't intend your bond to be that way.

She tries so hard to make you less skittish around her....

She gives you your space, she's gentle when touching you...

But it hurts when you still try to escape or force obedience out of fear....

Most would think things are just not meant to be.

She simply can't make a connection with you due to who she is.

It doesn't help that you've been taken against your will, forced to be by her side.

Yet... She doesn't want to give up.

She feels you're the one...

She needs to try harder.

Pink would definitely drag her obsession to Earth.

She'd even be desperate enough to interact with them as Rose Quartz, wanting you to adore her.

Is the smaller form better? She doesn't want to be larger than life to you!

Pink is desperate for mutual companionship.

She's willing to shapeshift to obtain that.

Pink will do anything but let you go.

If you can't love her or speak with her freely because she's a Diamond.

She'll find other ways to show you you're meant to be.

She clings to you, refusing to let you go.

It's delusional behavior, she's hoping for something that may never come.

However... Pink doesn't care.

She finds you beautiful like everything else.

She just wishes... You'd let her appreciate that beauty.

She knows you find her clingy behavior intimidating... but she just wants to love you!

Pink's already tired of being ignored, feared, and alone....

If you fought her or tried to escape, she may just snap.

Her snapping... putting her into a breakdown... may just harm you....

Yet, Pink isn't going to let you go just like that.

If she hurt you... or even accidentally killed you...

She'll put you back together.

Her powers allow her to be a healer, even resurrect the dead.

Pink would simply pluck her obsession from death's claws.

She loves seeing change... but she refuses to allow death to occur to you.

Pink, overall, has only wanted a companion to love her.

She'll find a way to get that through you...

Even if she has to change everything about herself to do that...

She'll do anything to have your attention and love... nothing is too much for her.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Also, I would like to add that Malleus’s blatant disregard for the autonomy of others and fits of rage is DELIBERATE on his end. Being one of the top five mages in the entire world, I am sure that he KNOWS there is a large disparity between his power/social and the rest of the peers/subordinates etc. His sheer and utter confidence in his abilities to get what he wants and general disregard for others isn’t only an indicator of his awareness about this disparity, but is also a reflection of the abuses of his power AND social status as a whole.

In light of his age, imagine the amount of times he has repeated these mistakes despite others advice and criticisms against his choices. Only Ace has been able to overcome others general reverence and fear towards Malleus when it came to calling him out. He is not an innocent person who is ignorant about the ways of humanity verses faes, and is certainly not the innocent character the fandom (especially those who are infatuated by him) think he is.

[Referencing this post!]

***Standard disclaimer: In sharing my thoughts, I do not mean to disparage Malleus fans. Furthermore, me disliking him should not detract from your own enjoyment of the character. If you do not feel comfortable reading about this topic (ie critique of Malleus’s character), then I encourage you to scroll on and to not engage with this post.***

My thoughts below the cut!

I do feel that, to some degree, the disregard for others and inappropriate fits of rage come from blatant ignorance (since Malleus did have a very isolated and sheltered upbringing). However, it's also hard for me to believe that in his 178 years of living that he was NOT told countless times by those around him (mostly Lilia and his grandmother, Maleficia) to wield his power and social status more tactfully than how he has. Did he take none of those lessons to heart??? What about the 2-3 years he spent living among the non-fae at NRC? Nothing from then too?? Regarding self-awareness of his strength and social status, Malleus has made it clear on more than one occasion that he stands above others. Right from his first appearance in the main story (in book 2), it's implied he's well aware of his position--so much so that he deliberately hides his identity from Yuu. He also cannot propose to Eliza in Ghost Marriage because he is the crown prince of a nation. Time and time again, Malleus's status is mentioned and it plays into his importance as the sole heir to Briar Valley. He must also know he is powerful, given that he is one of the top 5 strongest mages in the world and can perform incredible feats (like reassembling a stage and walking through Vil's poisonous miasma in book 5) like they're nothing. His grandmother and Lilia tell him the Draconias are powerful and shouldn’t use their magic to harm, but to help those they rule over. Yet he seems to have surprisingly few qualms when turning these powers against people who are only at a fraction of his power (Rook, his dorm mates, everyone in the Scalding Sands trip group, Ortho, etc.) or have no magic at all (remember when he attacked those civilians in Terror is Trending and the other Diasomnia students had to restrain him?). Malleus may be emotional in these moments, but the fact remains that he's making the deliberate, intentional choice to wield his magic in this way. He has the ability to hold himself back (as we see him refrain from fighting Rook in Malleus's PE Uniform vignette, only because he knows Rook is baiting him), but the vast majority of the time he fails to do this. For someone who is acutely aware of his power, you'd think he would... I don't know, keep a better leash on it? And what about his identity? So Malleus is concerned about Sebek insulting Leona (the prince of another country) but he ISN'T concerned about how his own fits of anger poorly reflect on himself, who is the CROWN PRINCE of a country??? Please make that make sense... Why is Malleus so selective 💀

I'm actually quite shocked at how little Malleus's pride and arrogance is pointed out; it's usually Leona who gets those labels even though Malleus is also just as arrogant, prideful, and confident in his own powers. Most of the time, I feel like I see Malleus being called "innocent". Maybe his negative traits on display get overlooked because TWST tries so hard to present Malleus to us as someone we are supposed to like (especially with how often they use his overpoweredness or loneliness is used as a punchline for jokes). Our interactions with Malleus are also so few and so short, particularly early in the main story, that fans project their own ideas about what he's like onto him and that forms a certain “image” of him that may not be the same as how he actually is. Him being lonely makes it easy for fans to perceive him as desperate for company and even easier for fans insert themselves as his “special” friend or S/O to fill the void.

It's... quite ironic, really? Malleus says in Riddle's Suitor Suit vignettes that he is familiar with the concept of "noblesse oblige", which is the implied duty of the privileged and nobility to act gracefully towards those less privileged. Yet... he is sometimes overstepping "fae playfulness" or "teenage childishness/immaturity" and continuously creating situations which put people around him in danger (all of Endless Halloween Night, not holding back his attacks against the Magicam Monsters, all the times he let his temper get out of control, book 7 OB, etc.) When defending the extremes he took in book 7 by citing his status and his UM, Malleus has this to say, which is very telling of his lucidity: "Monitoring? Meddling? Heh, how silly. It's a king's duty to govern, is it not? I'm watching over you. To ensure no nightmares befall you in the fairy tales you now reside in... To ensure you have happy dreams that last forever!" It's implied that Malleus's grandma has told him since childhood that their line has powerful magic to protect their people's smiles--and here he is, overextending those words to people that aren't even his subjects, and twisting the meaning to justify his own brutal rule.

What I noticed is... Malleus is often so oriented on seeing the situation from his POV that he fails to consider those from any entity aside from himself. In Endless Halloween Night, he feels sorry for the ghosts who showed up late and were left out of the festivities because he can relate to them, so therefore he wants to make sure they are included. In book 7, Malleus fears his loved ones leaving and projects this fear onto everyone else so he feels right in being the one coming in to be their "hero" and grant them happy endings they never asked for. In his own Dorm Uniform vignettes, Malleus frames the circumstances as, "I wouldn't be mad if you did the same thing to me" instead of listening to his peers' complaints. He centers problems around himself (which admittedly is very frustrating to me), and this is how Malleus tries to understand and navigate the world. This gives me the impression that he has a very particular way of thinking and it's perhaps difficult for him to understand others, even with extensive pointers.

I truly believe Malleus is ignorant about humans and fae. That much matches up with what we know of his history. What I do NOT get is why he continues to remain ignorant when 1) he has spent a few years exposed to non-fae and their ways; even if this pales in comparison to the 175ish other years of his life, he should have some new basis for appropriate social interactions with other races, and 2) major adult figures in his life are telling him he should consider others' perspectives and try to learn more about that which he is unfamiliar with. Malleus has so many opportunities to expand his horizons and get to know new people, but he seems to sit around and keep waiting for others take the initiative for him. But he could initiate too, so why doesn't he???? (He has shown he is capable of it, as he approaches Deuce to fix his virtual pet and chatting with Idia about the same pet in the main story; if not by himself, then Lilia can easily assist or invite him into activities such as the Silk City trip.) Even if Malleus fails to socialize in a way that's considered appropriate, at least that's something he can learn from and correct for next time... But why doesn’t he????????? If he did, it would sure help out with his inability to empathize with his peers and could even curb his temper (which would be seen as socially inappropriate). So why exactly does he seem to know so little and make so little effort to try and rectify this???? Why does he keep postulating that his word is above everyone else’s and then get upset when people don’t like him for this very alienating attitude? Aaaaah, it's a sad cycle to witness him devolve into again and again... 😭

P. S. Bless Ace for being the one character who still held it against Malleus for the fucked up “prank” he pulled in Endless Halloween Night (and then convincing everyone the misunderstanding was their faults for “attacking the ghosts first”).

[sokkastyles]

Thanks for responding to my previous post

Now I want to ask you what do you think about the comic about Azula in the temple of the spirits?

And what do you think it means that Azula seemed to be more afraid of the monster-vision Zuko than the original spirit? Could it be a way of implying that what she would fear most is admitting that the person she hurt the most was her brother?

This scene is actually one of the most interesting parts of the comic, both for what is overtly stated and what is not overtly stated.

Monster Zuko says that Azula doesn't want to admit that she's hurt the people she cares most about because she's afraid of being alone. And while that is true, I think what isn't stated is actually even more interesting, and has to do with the fact that the spirit takes the form of Zuko, specifically

Because Azula is afraid of her love for Zuko.

Sometimes the comics give me these little golden tidbits, and some of those are the glimpses we get into Zuko and Azula's relationship. Like Azula saying that Zuko was too fearful to accompany her in searching for secret passages in the palace. Something that does match with what we see of them in the show as younger children. Or Zuko saying he always had to play the villain when they played. Although Zuko was older, Azula was clearly more dominant, which is not surprising at all considering how Ozai treated them. That also meant that Azula got a front row seat to what happens if you aren't the stronger sibling.

Azula is afraid of being Zuko. So she protects herself by making herself Not-Zuko, which also means she is complicit in Zuko's abuse, because hurting Zuko is a way to prove how much stronger she is than him. Being Zuko means you get hurt. So she has to be Not Zuko.

But Zuko is supposed to be her big brother. He's supposed to protect her from the monsters. He couldn't, of course, because he couldn't protect himself.

And that isn't Zuko's fault. I have no patience for the "Zuko was a bad big brother" argument, because Zuko could not be a big brother to Azula. I think part of her resented him for that, although when they're older, I also think she resents that he tries. In The Search when Zuko tries to take care of her, she pretty handily puts him on his back, reasserting both that she is the more dominant sibling AND that she doesn't (won't let herself) want his care.

Zuko represents Azula's vulnerability in so many ways. So when the spirit appears to her as her brother playing on her own deeply buried guilt, what does Azula do?

She kills it.

This, to me, is pretty heavily symbolic of how Azula had to sacrifice that relationship with her brother to survive, to prove she was better as a means of protecting herself, which also meant hurting Zuko. And some part of her mourns that loss.

Represented by her mother.

Her mother who screams in terror as Azula symbolically kills her brother. Her mother who loved Zuko despite the fact that he was weak. Her mother who asks "what did you do?" An accusation. An affirmation that Azula has become the monster she thinks her mother thought she was.

There's so much you can take from this scene. Is Azula afraid that she will kill Zuko? Is this a manifestation of Ursa's fear that Azula might harm her brother, something Azula might have picked up on as a child? Is it Azula's fear that Ozai might kill Zuko? Is it Azula trying to kill her own fear and, realizing in the process, that she has also hardened herself to love, an act that is really self-destructive, because killing Zuko is like killing that part of herself that is needy and vulnerable and wants love?

This is actually really interesting because what it says is that what Azula fears most is actually killing those fears and truly being the monster, not feeling anything. Not even being able to enjoy her victory because it also means her own self destruction.

[plusvanity]

idk if u've spoken abt this, but one of the things that annoy me the most is that he says "euronymous was playing this character, acting tough, but in reality he was a wimp" then he says "i killed him because i was afraid for my life" like which one is it? was he a wimp, or was he actually dangerous?

Everyone in the early Black Metal scene was playing a character, Øystein included. This is the very reason why I'm not surprised at all that Varg wanted to be a part of their group because narcissists love role-playing. They role-play all the time because they don't have a sense of self, so they create this false ego (character) in their heads that they display to the world. This is just what Vikernes did and still does today. The part in which he calls out Øystein for playing 'Euronymous' is straight-up hypocrisy, but this is self implied knowledge.

Now, I don't believe Øystein was a dangerous individual. He was competitive, had a bit of an ego, and he was assertive, but he wasn't violent. He may have talked bad about Varg behind his back, but it was mutual. They both exaggerated to seem cooler and tougher for their peers.

Some might argue that 'well, he went to burn a church', yes, he did, but it was peer pressure. He went with other two. He didn't go on his own and meticulously did all the work, came back the next day and bragged about it. This is the difference between peer pressure and real antisocial (dangerous) behavior.

There are many reasons why Varg still insists to this day that Øystein was dangerous even if he most probably wasn't.

First of all, it is quite difficult to attack a self-defense argument in court because it permits a 'reasonable' force to be used when two fight for their lives.

Many criminals use the self-defense strategy even if it's painfully obvious that they attacked first because it buys them time. Time in which they can come up with more reasons why they shouldn't be persecuted as harshly as they should, time in which they aren't in prison yet.

Even in Varg's case, the court struggled to find a reason why he did what he did, and their conclusion was 'a struggle for power'. His self-defense strategy was nullified in the process because they court found him guilty for planned murder (he drove 5-6 hours to Oslo, had a knife, etc, etc). His lawyer also must've failed to justify the three elements of self-defense: Imminent Threat (Varg was in no imminent threat, he provoked the situation by coming to Oslo), Reasonable Fear of Harm (when someone pulls out a knife, it's over), Proportionate Response (Øystein had no equalizer, so to speak).

One thing that people seem to forget, or aren't aware enough is that Varg never ever denied that he killed Øystein.

Now that he's out, he still maintains the narrative that he acted on self-defense because it would be absolutely dumb to just admit that you intentionally murdered someone when you are still watched and still taken into consideration by police with what you publicly say. Everything that you say can be used against you, don't believe that Varg is free to own his murder, I mean he is theoretically, but it's idiotic to do so when you know you can open up a can of worms again.

Besides legal sanctions and consequences, Varg calls Øystein dangerous to play the victim. This is for his own selfish, egocentric narrative in which he expects, not even mercy, but admiration because he 'stood up for himself' and all that jazz.

He will always contratict himself based on how he feels that day. One day, he will say Øystein was truly dangerous. The next day, he will say Øystein was a wimp. He detests Øystein, that's clear. And he will use anything he can to deteriorate his adversary's image both online and in his head.

You can't believe Varg with anything he says, believe Øystein based on what he did and how he was like when he was alive. The guy wasn't a threat, he was a victim.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Hurts So Good || Amanda Young x gn! apprentice! reader

Summary: you ask Amanda for an unusual request that she surprisingly agrees to

Warnings/contains: the reader suffers from poor mental health (specifically depression and anxiety) as well as low self esteem, the reader is mentioned to have a slight fear of sharp objects (particularly blades and knives), self harm (especially in the form of cutting) is both mentioned and acted out here, brief mention of blood, self harm aftercare, the reader and Amanda are implied to develop an unhealthy codependent relationship after the events that take place in this fic, dead dove do not eat

Beginning notes: please heed the warnings on this fic and don't read this if you're not comfortable with the subject matter described above! I wrote this as a way to help me cope with some things I'm going through (which means yes I projected myself into the reader a lot here, sue me) but I understand stuff like this isn't for everyone, hence the dead dove do not eat tag

You always had a strange relationship with self harm, cutting in particular. It wasn't something you really struggled with, but you still couldn't get the thought of doing it out of your mind.

Despite the few times you tried it out in the past, you never felt addicted to the feeling of needing a blade in your hand the moment things went wrong, but maybe that was part of the problem. In all honesty, you were deeply ashamed of yourself because you couldn't handle it. Not the razor in your hand, not the way it felt when cutting into your skin, not the clean-up afterwards.

Self harm was never a physical problem because you were too afraid to take that extra step it would require in order to actually hurt yourself on a regular basis, but that didn't mean the thoughts weren't plaguing you constantly.

You felt like a coward, strangely enough. All because you couldn't bring yourself to even look in the mere direction of a sharp object without flinching, even as you desperately craved the feeling of using self harm as a method to escape.

Amanda didn't have that kind of problem. She welcomed the hurt, the wounds, the pain. She could slice open her wrists with a rusty butcher knife and then patch herself up afterwards without even flinching.

You envied her and the boldness she seemed to have when it came to those sort of things. It wasn't fair that she got to hurt herself like that without so much as batting an eye when you couldn't. You couldn't even use too sharp of a small kitchen knife to cut things with in fear of nicking yourself by accident.

The jealousy you had towards your fellow apprentice and close friend kept bubbling just beneath the surface until one day when it finally boiled over. Amanda was testing out a new trap that she had an idea for while you watched so you could see how it was put together. Although you were supposed to be paying close attention, your eyes kept getting drawn towards the medical bandages she had wrapped around one of her wrists.

"If you're done ogling the place where I cut myself most recently, then maybe you can come over here and help me," her voice suddenly cut through the otherwise silent room, sounding just as sarcastic and snarky as usual.

"Sorry," came your sheepish reply as you moved over to help her set up the trap. Things were quiet for another moment or so before you spoke up again. "Can I... ask you a question?"

The soft grunt of acknowledgement she let out in response was enough for you to know it was okay to continue.

Taking a deep breath, you contemplated how best to ask before finally just blurting it out. "Will you cut me?"

At that, she stopped all her movements and became as still as a statue. You could've sworn she even stopped breathing there for a minute.

"Is that meant to be some kind of a sick joke or something?" She finally questioned, her tone icy as she turned to face you in a stiff and almost robotic manner. Anyone else and she probably would've already threatened them with a long and painful death by now, but the two of you were close enough for her to know you wouldn't joke about something like that.

Still, she found it a little hard to believe that you really wanted what you were asking for.

"N-No, I- I just-" you stammered out, starting to feel your face heat up with embarrassment. "I- I wanted to know what it felt like, y'know? But I- I can't actually bring myself to do it, because I'm too scared."

The gaze of steel on her face softened at your pitiful admission, and she let out a sigh while setting down the tools she was using to put the trap together with. "Look, I get it. You want something to use as an escape, right? You want to be able to forget about it all for a little while."

She wiped the grease from her hands off on a rag nearby before placing them on your shoulders, her touch firm but gentle. "I know how you feel, I do. And if you need some help to feel more at peace with yourself, then... I'll do it, okay? I'll help you."

Her words filled you with both shock and gratitude. Of course you'd wanted her to say yes, but you didn't actually expect her to. "Really?"

One of her hands lifted from your shoulder to your chin, carefully tilting your head back so your eyes would meet hers. "Yes, really. I'll help you with it once we're done here, alright? I promise."

With that, she stepped away and moved to pick up her tools again, redirecting her attention back to the half-finished trap in front of her. "For now, though, we should get this finished up before Hoffman gets on my ass about taking too long," she grumbled under her breath, causing you to let out a quiet giggle.

A little bit later after you'd both finished with the trap and left to head back to your apartment, she kept her promise by pulling out the kit she always carried around with her, the one that you knew held her razors in it.

You watched wide-eyed as she set the stuff up on your small kitchen table. There were several different blades she sometimes used to cut herself with, as well as bandages and antiseptic wipes to clean the wounds after to help prevent infection.

"I understand that you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed," she said while washing her hands in your kitchen sink, cleansing them of any leftover grime that came from working on the trap earlier. "Why don't you start with something small, hm? Something that you think you might feel the most comfortable with."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded before tentatively reaching a hand out and picking up a small razorblade that sat at the edge of the selection. In all honesty, you'd been eyeing it since the moment she set the stuff up, but you didn't immediately pick that one because you didn't want her to think any less of you for choosing the smallest option available.

"There you go," her warm voice encouraged you, sending a comforting shiver down your spine. Amanda was never this gentle with anyone except for maybe John Kramer, the infamous Jigsaw himself, and that was mostly because of the cancer he had ravaging his body. "Do you want to do it in here, or somewhere else?"

"I was thinking my bedroom," you muttered softly while looking down, turning over the small blade in your hand while you spoke. "I feel... safe in my bed, where it's nice and warm."

It was true, as pathetic as it might've sounded. There were very few places you enjoyed being when your depression got really bad, and curled up in your bed underneath the mountain of pillows and blankets you had was one of them.

She seemed to understand your perspective on things and didn't question your response in the slightest, simply responding with a nod of her head as she reached over to grab the bandages and antiseptic wipes from the table. "Lead the way."

Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest it sounded like a death march. Even though you wanted this to happen, you were still scared to experience it.

Amanda could obviously tell how apprehensive you were because she carefully approached you from behind once you entered the bedroom and guided you over to the bed, helping you sit down.

"It's okay. I know this is scary, but we don't have to do a lot today, alright? We can start out with just a little bit, with just a few small cuts." She took a seat across from you on the bed, her soothing words washing over you in a warm embrace. "Hold out your arm, and give me the razor."

You listened to her soft command without protest, obediently holding out your arm to her and allowing her to push your sleeve up enough to display your inner forearm. After that, she took the razorblade from your shaking hand, keeping one hand gently holding onto your wrist and keeping it still while the other held the blade between her fingers.

"Ready?"

A soft little whimper escaped you at the question. You instinctively squeezed your eyes shut and shrunk back from her touch as you felt the sharp blade begin to cut into your skin, tears of both fear and relief welling up in your eyes while it happened.

"It's okay. You're safe here, alright? I'm not going to hurt you any more than what you're comfortable with."

Her voice was like a piece of driftwood that came floating along while you were stranded out at sea, and you clung to it tightly, focusing on that and the way her thumb rubbed soothing circles along the inside of your wrist while she continued to make clean, precise cuts on your otherwise unmarked skin. This went on for a couple of minutes before she spoke again.

"I'm finished. You can open your eyes now."

You hesitantly obeyed, another pitiful noise exiting your throat when you saw the cuts on your arm. There weren't that many, and they were clearly done by someone who was an expert due to the spacing between them and how shallow they were. The blood, however, made you feel a little bit faint.

"I need to clean them now, and this is probably going to hurt more than the actual cuts themselves, so you should brace yourself for that," Amanda stated rather bluntly as she reached for the antiseptic wipes. Before she could say or do anything else, you suddenly shot forward and into her lap, hiding your face in her chest as your hands gripped tightly onto her shirt.

"I don't wanna. It's gonna hurt," you choked out pathetically in response to her words, your tears from earlier coming back full force at the idea of being in more pain.

"Hey, hey," she murmured while wrapping her arms around your body, cradling you in her lap in an embrace that was almost motherly. "Shh, shh, I know you don't. I know that you're scared, but if I don't get these cleaned up then it's just going to potentially cause more problems in the future, so you've gotta let me do it, alright?"

You sniffled like a child that was afraid of the monster living under its bed, obviously not too fond of the idea but knowing ultimately that she was right. "M'kay," you reluctantly agreed, your voice sounding shaky and timid when it came out.

Despite this, you allowed her to take the time to clean your cuts, remaining curled up in her lap throughout the whole procedure (even though you hated the stinging feeling that came from the antiseptic wipes). Once everything was bandaged up nicely, she dipped her head down and brought your forearm up to her lips, placing a soft kiss to the area. "There we go. All better."

A shiver went down your spine at the affectionate gesture, your body melting into hers and becoming limp as you allowed her to tug you close so the two of you could lay underneath the blankets you had on your bed. "I want you to get something small to eat later, just so you don't start to feel a little woozy from the light blood loss."

You hummed in agreement while nuzzling your face into the side of her shoulder. Strangely enough, you'd never felt more at peace than you did right now. You weren't sure if it was the cuts on your arm or Amanda's gentle treatment, but you were happy and content regardless.

No one had ever understood you or connected with you this deeply before she came along. You knew no one else would've been so open to the idea or acted so unjudgemental at your strange request- except for her, and you loved her for it.

You'd let her cut you like this every day if it meant she'd hold you for just a little longer, and if it made you feel this at peace with yourself. You also couldn't deny how addicting the pain was now that you'd actually gotten to try it in a way that felt so... nice, for lack of a better word.

The cuts on your arm might've ended up hurting you, but they hurt so good, and in a way you knew would be difficult to stop craving after this. Not that you cared, because you had Amanda to look out for you, and that alone was enough to make you not regret a single thing.

End notes: this feels a bit different from my usual content but I actually really like this fic and how it turned out so fuck it we ball

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Hot Take: Oshamir is One-Sided

[Spoilers for The Acolyte]

Star Wars fans know that Osha and Qimir’s relationship is doomed to end tragically. The Sith is a culture that eats itself: the apprentice either kills the master and takes their place, or is killed by the master in the attempt. So even if Qimir kills Darth Plagueis (and we know this won’t happen), he’s just going to have to deal with Osha attempting to kill him one day.

(Side note: I have a sneaking suspicion that Qimir is not actually Sith, since he never calls himself one, he just says "a Jedi like you would call me, Sith." But that's a topic for another day...)

Given what I know about The Acolyte fandom, a doomed romance is hardly something we'll shy away from; we’ll revel in the tragedy of it all, and the sadder it is and the harder we hurt, the more we'll love it!

No, I want to discuss something else; something I don't think many Acolyte fans really want to acknowledge... that the “romance” as shown at the end of series is one-sided: Qimir's side. The last shot of the series implies that Qimir and Osha are ready to face the galaxy together, hand-in-hand, but...

Qimir cares for Osha; Osha does not care for Qimir.

Hey! HEY!

Put your pitchforks down and just hear me out, please!

What Qimir Desires and Fears

Qimir -- his arms muddy, his dark hair slick against his sweaty brow, holding Mae hostage with his lightsaber threatening to ignite through her skull at any moment -- explains his motivation to Sol:

"[I want] freedom: the freedom to wield my power the way I like, without having to answer to Jedi like you. I want a pupil. An acolyte."

Qimir wants acceptance and connection, to be seen and appreciated by someone else. But he mentions several times that he wants a pupil, which by definition would put him in a position of power and authority over someone else, even if it's to help build them up.

This presents an underlying contradiction in what Qimir says he wants, versus what he really wants:

Does he want an equal who sees and cares for him?

Or does he want a pupil that he can teach from a position of power?

The show leaves the answer ambiguous, but nestled in this contradiction lies Qimir's biggest fear.

Qimir fears opening up and being seen. He wears a mask to conceal his identity, but he also hides his character behind his personas: the buffoon, the nervous helper, the murderer, the teacher, the seducer...

From Qimir's point-of-view, he's been betrayed before, and that betrayal left scars...

"I was [a Jedi]. A long time ago... [...] It was a really long time ago."

...so he needs to protect himself from getting so close to someone that they harm him again.

Betrayal and Murder on Khofar

So, on Khofar, when Mae reveals that she was only ever using "The Stranger" for her own revenge, Qimir chooses to kill her.

He could have chosen to run back to his ship and let Mae rot in Jedi jail (or wherever they take murderous Force-users...), rather than risk discovery. Attacking Mae and the Jedi was not a smart move if he feared being seen. But that doesn't matter: he's Sith, and he finds strength in his emotions, including his own fear.

So, he resolved to commit murder against Kelnacca, then slay the whole Jedi posse hunting Mae, and then deal with Mae.

But here's the thing: Qimir likes to frame his actions as self-defence...

"I killed Jedi. I killed those who threaten my existence."

..but this isn't actually true, is it? He didn't need to kill Kelnacca in his home -- Kelnacca, who knew nothing about Qimir, or Indara's death, or Torbin's death, or any recent event really, and who was absolutely no threat to him -- nor didn't need to face off against the entire Jedi posse.

He chose to commit murder and engage in combat because he couldn't stand the fact that Mae used and betrayed him.

Osha Sees Through Qimir

The conversation between Qimir and Osha seems to be him slowly convincing her that the Jedi are terrible, and that she should find her own path to power.

And, of course, that he can be her guide.

After all, he answers nearly every one of her questions with a question of his own, in a kind of socratic method designed to make her question her own judgment.

All the while, Qimir uses a gentle voice and gentle touch to signal that he yearns for her, that he craves her acceptance, that he can help her if she just accept it, that she can trust him.

To make her feel safe, he even lets her hold his lightsaber...! (😏 ...ladies...!)

This seems to work since Osha is engaging him in conversation. But Osha has seen Qimir in action, and knows that there is no possible way for her to defeat him directly.

Osha has the lightsaber, but Qimir holds all the power here.

Despite that, Osha calls him out many times on his choices.

"You killed Jecki."

"You killed Yord."

"I'm not my sister. I'm not so easily corrupted."

Osha never takes her eyes off her objective: to escape Qimir, get back to Sol, and confront her sister for her crimes.

Osha's Fatal Flaw

Mae and Osha are binary opposites in their personalities and motivations. Where Mae is community-minded, Osha is independent. Where Mae values tradition, Osha values freedom. And where Mae tries to repair frayed relationships, Osha does not forgive those who cross her.

It is this last trait that proves to be the fatal flaw that leads her down the Dark Side.

Osha. Does. Not. Forgive.

When Osha first saw Mae as an adult, she shot her!

She didn't try to reason with her. She didn't try to help her escape. She didn't say "how did you survive?" or "I missed you."

She just fired.

But you know what? Maybe emotions were running high, right? The moment was very heated, so spontaneous violence like that could just be a one-off thing, surely?

Except that the second time they meet, Osha tries to arrest Mae without listening to her story.

And the third time they meet, Osha is downright raging and trying to kill Mae...

... which is a little confusing to Mae because she's trying to help Osha!

And it is Osha's inability to forgive which leads her to committing her first murder, when she finally learns that Sol had lied to her for years.

Osha falls to the Dark Side all by herself, of her own volition.

Doomed Romance

After she kills Sol, Qimir continues to use gentle touch with Osha, pursuing his seduction of her.

But when Mae asked Osha "what do you want, Osha?", she didn't reply with "I want to be with Qimir."

She said:

"Let [Mae] go, and I will train with you."

It was a bargain, for which she offered Qimir what he wanted most: a pupil who accepts him.

Osha is signalling that she cares for him. But she doesn't.

Osha cares for her sister. And Osha does not forgive.

She remembers that Jecki and Yord were her friends, and they had nothing to do with Sol's crimes. They were innocent, and he killed them when he went out of his way to engage the Jedi in combat.

Osha is playing Qimir, just as Mae did. She will learn from him to use the Force, and then take those teachings to fulfil her own goal of rescuing Mae and restoring her memories.

Qimir will learn the truth of their relationship one day, and on that day, like all Sith masters and apprentices, he will kill her, or she will kill him.

(because that is not the face of a happy couple)