#is obedience virtuous?

[firefly-fez]

every time i get on my ‘morgana was right actually and did nothing wrong ever’ high horse i get a little less sarcastic every time.

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

The obedient always think of themselves as virtuous rather than cowardly.

Robert Anton Wilson

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (4)- Fighting The Enemy

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.3k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence and murder, dark thoughts

—

Crimson stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly dripping down your forearms as you leaned over the body, fragments of skull blending with flesh and brain being held in your trembling hands.

Eyes pleaded you for their life as you stood over their body, words spilling desperately out of their lips as they stared up at you, begging for you to take mercy. Their pleas were cut short, blood splattering on the floor behind them, the life gradually draining out of their eyes.

A gut wrenching cry was torn out of their throat when your hand forced its way past skin and bones, fingers roughly gripping onto their intestines, squeezing with vigour for another primal sound to be ripped out of them before pulling hard, their body falling limp to the ground. A small squelch follows when you drop the organ next to their corpse, not even giving the scene a second glance.

Your hand hits the side of your head as you twitch it to the side, shaking the thoughts out of your mind, trying to focus on your mission.

Your mind was slowly fracturing into pieces, various memories flooding your thoughts as you walked through the eerie hallway, boots echoing in the abandoned space. You weren't sure what had happened, the only thing that you knew for certain was that you were to obey. You didn't have a choice. It was engraved in you. Listen to them. Kill for them. That was all you had to do.

No we don't.

We are better than them.

We aren't a toy for them to play with.

Your jaw clenched at the irritating voice sounding around in your head again, merging with the violent flashbacks, further adding to your unpleasant mood. You were a weapon. Weapons didn't need to think. They just kill. Yet, the incessant part of you was adamant we were stronger, more powerful than them, we could do anything if you just gave over control.

Yes, see, you're getting it now. Give me control.

"So what? You can murder everyone," you mutter out loud, the mask muffling your words as you argue with your alter ego, knowing that, despite the things you have done based on the flashbacks, the things they have done... They were darker, more sinister, they enjoyed it. You didn't. You never would. You did what you had to do to survive.

It's what they deserve.

You want to scream at the voice, begging it to shut up. Yes they deserve to die for what they had done to you but you weren't going to be the ones to kill them.

Every time you come back, you somehow try to be more virtuous.

It groans, a scoff leaving you. You were trying to make up for the things you had done, be a little more merciful, there was nothing wrong with that.

You can't. We can't be good anymore. There's no point in trying to redeem us. We're already a monster, there's no changing that.

At its words, you remain silent, doing your best to ignore them as you wander through the hallways, your eyes focussing on small indents on the wall.

A violent scream was torn out of you, your hands doing everything in their power to stop the guards dragging you back to your cell, your veins burning with agony as the serum entered your bloodstream. Your fingers dug into the concrete, leaving indents as you pried away at the stone, desperately trying to stop them from taking you back.

You shook your head once more, the painful memory soon fading away, leaving you confused. You suddenly seemed to recognise the building you were in, your fingers slotting against the marks, the handprints slightly smaller, your mind too broken to place the significance of the memory.

Pushing down the screams echoing in your mind and shaking off the further memories that invaded your thoughts, you worked your way around the building, searching for the room you were instructed to find. All you knew was that there was a flash drive in there that Hydra needed to keep out of the Avengers' hands, the team apparently gaining intel on this base.

You weren't expecting them to locate it yet nor for them to be in the base, but your general warned you to stay on guard, the order more difficult than expected due to the instability of your mind.

You were nearly at the room but a gnawing feeling made you pause in your tracks, head tilting curiously at the room you were stopped outside of, your hand moving without thought to open the door, revealing the dark and empty concrete cell. You swallowed nervously at the sight of dry blood staining the walls, the floor and even parts of the ceiling, another flashback painfully invading your minds, causing you to lose focus.

***

"I don't have a good feeling about this Steve," Natasha mutters while the two of them enter the base, Wanda entering through a different exit, the team confident in her magic ability and training to handle herself.

"Neither," he sighs out in agreement, their bodies almost silently walking through the abandoned building, Natasha taking the corridors to the left while Steve went right, splitting off to cover more ground.

Nerves etched away at Natasha, the spy confused at the sudden emotion she was feeling. She never got nervous, so why was she on edge? Her gun was firmly gripped in her hand, creeping through the hallways with it raised, ready to fire if needed.

Emerald green searched through various corridors, her eyes glossing over with crestfallen look at the marks all over the wall, indicating a clear struggle all the way down the hall until it reached the isolated steel door at the end. Natasha was already walking towards the room when a quiet, pained noise caught her attention, her finger ready on the trigger as she rounded the corner, pausing at the sight before her.

Your ominous figure stood facing an empty room, hands twitching by your side, unaware of the spy near you, or the Captain who rounded the corner on the other side of the hallway, pausing when Natasha signalled for him to do so.

"Don't make me kill them," you almost whimper out, lost in a spiral of memories, your mind replaying the broken memory. "They're just children."

"I won't repeat it again Soldat," his voice low and commanding at your ear, malice lacing his next words, "Don't leave the room until every single one of them is dead."

Steve raises his shield ready to throw at your words, confusion written across his and the redhead's face.

I told you. We're a monster.

Snapping at the voice inside your head, your fist collides with the wall, trying to express your anger, confusion and hurt, when the sound of metal gliding through the air reaches your ear, body turning to the side, hand catching the vibranium disk.

Steve's face pales a little at how unaffected you were by his throw, most people being knocked back a little, his expression swiftly switching to shock when it's thrown back forcefully at him. He has to take a couple steps back when he catches it to stay balanced, your body making it's way over to him, eyes slowly becoming lifeless as you flicker between having and losing control.

He uses his shield to protect him when your fist collides with the metal, a loud noise reverberating around the room, a gunshot being added to the mix when a bullet slices through your leg, jaw clenching at the pain. You grit your teeth, swinging your other arm to hit the side of the blonde man, a groan escaping him at your strength while he goes to parry your other punch, you injured leg swiping at his knee, knocking him back to the ground.

While the man climbs to his feet, a pair of thighs wrap around your head, trying to force your body to the ground, unable to beat your strength. Wrapping your arms around the back of her body, her elbow being brought down on whatever part of you she could reach, you push her body into the nearest wall, her back painfully banging against it.

The sound of boots approaching quickly causes you to pull away from the wall, slamming the body down against the floor, a small cry escaping her before you lower your body, merely evading the punch from the man and tackling his body to the ground, shield clattering next to him.

Your legs straddle his stomach, grip tight to prevent his movements while your hands goes to his throat, merciless with your grip as his face starts to turn red. Your thumbs dig in harshly against his airways, his hands prying at your own, fingers digging in painfully with the amount of strength he was using making your grip falter, hands reaching to the red and blue metal disk.

Fear glosses over in his eyes as you raise the shield into the air, attempting to bring it down on his throat when his hands clutch at the bottom of it, desperately trying to stop you. Your eyes are dark, no ounce of humanity left in them as you press down harder, the edge of the shield pressing lightly against his throat as he fights for his life,

To catch him off guard, you lift the shield, his fingers slipping off it and enabling you to abruptly bring it back down.

His hands only just block his neck in time, a muffle groan leaving you at the pain radiating throughout your body, electricity coursing through your body from the small device attached onto your neck. The device causes a sense of Deja vu to flicker across your mind, ignoring it as you stagger to your feet, turning to the redhead who raises her gun at you.

Blood oozes out of your leg from where she last shot you, Steve regaining his breath as he slowly pushes his body off the ground, your gaze locked on the woman in front of you, familiarity causing your head to tilt while you stare at her, waiting for her next move.

You can see her hesitation, her finger hovering over the trigger as the barrel is aimed at your face. You take a step forward, daring her to take the shot when she swiftly lowers it, another bullet lodging itself into your body, pain radiating from your side.

You fall to your knees at the pain, her gaze flickering to the man behind you, his hands grabbing the shield once again. You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his movements to imagine his stance, visualising his body behind you and waiting for the gap to present itself. When he goes to swing the metal at you, you press your hand down into the ground, using it to spring your body off the concrete as you spin around, kicking your leg out to strike into his side.

A loud snap can be heard as the force of your kick splinters his ribs, his body falling to the concrete while he takes in sharp breaths, anguish evident on his face as he holds his side.

You're certain that if he was human the impact would have killed him, instead it merely immobilises him, your attention returning the woman you think you know.

When she keeps her gaze on you, the firearm still aimed at you, you can feel annoyance and anger enter your mind as she hovers her finger over the trigger, not wanting any more bullets to be lodged inside you. Your fingers deftly wrap around the handle of the blade in your pocket, swiftly pulling it and spinning it between your fingers as you wait for her to make the first move.

Confusion sneaks onto your face when she merely smirks at you, her gaze flickering behind you for a brief second. Without even thinking, you turn and launch the knife at the other figure, the metal blade being encased in red tendrils of magic before it clatters to the ground, the brunette's eyes glowing red.

There's a glint of recognition in her eyes when she sees you, her magic abruptly travelling towards you and wrapping around you, the tendrils seeping into the side of your head and into your mind.

You're powerless against her magic, an animalistic noise being torn out of you as more gruesome flashbacks swarm your mind, hands desperately clutching at your head to make it stop.

Natasha watches with a pained look, your cries of anguish stirring something inside her while Wanda lets out a small cry at the things she was seeing in your mind.

You fall to your knees roughly, fingers digging into the side of your head as you try to make it stop, you need to make it stop.

Ending the pain for the both of you, Wanda navigates her way through your fractured mind and eventually manages to get your body to fall unconscious, your body limp of the ground as the witch wipes the tears off of her cheeks, staring at the redhead opposite her who has curiosity written across her face.

"I don't know how long I can hold her," she says to the assassin, her magic still flowing around your head as she tries to keep you still.

"Can you hold her until we get back to the tower?" Natasha asks, making her way over to Steve who is still in agony on the ground. She slowly helps him to his feet, careful not to hurt him anymore while turning her gaze back to the witch.

"I think so," she says a little nervously, focusing on her magic.

"Good, let's get her on the jet, Fury's going to want to know what's happened." Everyone agrees with Natasha's plan, the magic encasing your entire body as you're lifted into the air, the redhead aiding the injured super soldier towards the jet.

What could possibly go wrong?

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[niillusions]

Fellas, I know we love Frollo's hands and rings. But hear me out on something.

I could be looking way too far into the movie. But as an artist, that pays attention to every detail I see, and a crazy-ass theorist, I'm gonna share my thoughts about his rings.

Overall, I think Frollo just has the rings to give him a little ✨️pop of color✨️, which works. However, I started to look up what (I think) the gemstones means in The Bible :D

•Ruby - the incomparable value of wisdom, virtuous women, and the truth of God's words.

•Sapphire - truth, correctness, and honesty, it can also mean to emphasize and peace your mind and remove undesirable thinking, sadness, and emotional pressure

•Emerald - Rebirth into new life, power, eternal life, and God's covenant

Sources (I honestly looked it up on Google, lol):

AND ANOTHER THING- THE GRAPES...

In the Bible, the grapes means obedience, sacrifice, and rebirth. Which is crazy that FROLLO IS GIVING QUASIMODO GRAPES SO HE CAN BE OBEDIENT AND SACRIFICE HIS FREEDOM.

Sources again:

Or, I'm over-looking everything... ANYWAY, ENJOY THESE LITTLE THEORIES :DDDD

[asarigg]

Character Design: Part 3

TATTOO

Moving to his tattoo, most of the information related to Buddhism is a copy paste of this tumblr post, alongside other elements, which if I hadn’t read I wouldn’t have noticed these things because I’m not familiar with it at all, but I added a few things:

The tattoo covering most of his body is a tribal style tattoo, with thick lines that flow with the anatomy of the body. Truth is that for a long time I thought that this tattoo was somewhat of a filler, I was trying to see what else here was relevant, and it wasn’t until I saw this picture of the tattoo spread out that it clicked.

At first, and honestly now too, I thought that maybe it was kind of a stretch (it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t doubt everything I do or think all the time huh), but I can’t unsee it now. This part of the tattoo is made to look like a bird, or parts of one. The symmetrical spread out looks like a bird with its wings open, the beak on top and its tail following the length of his arm. Other parts of the tattoo follow the flow of the feathers, the side profile of birds, even the one on his legs looks like two wings wrapping it, more obvious when looking at it from behind. With a quick search you find very simple examples that already resemble these shapes.

Recently imadhatt3r read the essay and suggested that the shapes on his chest reminded her to the Japanese phoenix Hou-ou, Hōō, or similar variations (ほうおう). It has its origin in China, called Feng Huang (鳳凰), where it was adopted as one of the symbols of the imperial household, particularly the empress, with the mythical bird representing fire, the sun, justice, obedience, fidelity and the southern star constellations. According to the legend, the Hou-ou appears on very specific occasions, the beginning of a new era, like the birth of a virtuous ruler.

In other traditions it appears only in peaceful and prosperous times, and it's said they nest in paulownia trees, hiding when there’s trouble. It's a symbol of peace when appearing, and disharmony when disappearing. In China the phoenix (female) is intimately associated with the Dragon (male), they’re either mortal enemies, or blissful lovers (while the phoenix represents fire, the dragon represents water, and would also be representative of the emperor instead). Males would be denominated Feng, and females Huang. This phoenix is the ruler of all birds, and it’s a mix of different species, including non-bird animals. They all would color the phoenix with the five colors of the Chinese elements: white, black, red, yellow and blue. I’ve read they have five distinct feathers on its tail, on other sites I've read twelve, like the twelve months.

Apparently, while it used to be represented next to paulownia trees and bamboo, it was gradually replaced with peonies, cherry blossoms, chrysanthemums and seasonal Japanese wild flowers.

The sparrow/bird motif couldn’t be more obvious and recurrent in his character, it’s in his kimono, in his name, his AllMate, in his back tattoo. It’s no surprise that they played with this idea here as well. Birds in general are seen as symbols of freedom, being able to fly wherever they want. Koujaku was basically born a slave, and from day one he has sought and fought for his and his mother’s freedom, desperate, and being punished for it. The day this tattoo was completed, he would never be free again. How ironic, isn’t it?

Even these designs hold a resemblance too to these birds. And the design of Koujaku on the right compared to Beni.

The symbol inside the circle on his shoulder and knee is the seed syllable of the sanskrit alphabet “a” (अ). In Buddhism “a” is the seed syllable for the mantras associated with Vairochana Buddha, one of the Five Great Buddhas. He is represented in the center of the mandala and with color white, he is considered the personification of the Dharmakaya (cosmic body of Buddha, the everything, the complete wisdom, enlightenment and universal compassion), he is the supreme and primordial Buddha. Dharma cannot be translated into a single word, but it is understood that it refers to behaviors and actions that are in harmony with the laws of life, the cosmos, virtues or religious moral duties, and are the teachings of Buddha.

The Wisdom associated with “a” is that which can create or deny, and if it’s added as a prefix it makes the word have the opposite meaning. For example, when adding “a” to “moral”, it creates “amoral” which is the opposite. Vidya means wisdom, avidya is ignorance.

The Buddha Vairochana appears in the Brahmajala Sutra, or the Brahma Net Sutra:

Now, I, Vairochana Buddha am sitting atop a lotus pedestal;

On a thousand flowers surrounding me are a thousand Shakyamuni Buddhas.

Each flower supports a hundred million worlds; in each world a Shakyamuni Buddha appears.

All are seated beneath a Bodhi-tree, all simultaneously attain Buddhahood.

All these innumerable Buddhas have Vairochana as their original body.

He is also mentioned in the Avatamsaka Sutra or Flower Garland Sutra, where the flower garland represents his many virtues or inspiring glory. The theme of the sutra is the interdependence of all things, “all in one, one in all… There are no divisions in the totality of reality… the universal Buddhahood of all reality”. According to this sutra, the entirety of the cosmos can be observed at any level within that cosmos.

In each dust-mote of these worlds

Are countless worlds and Buddhas…

From the tip of each hair of Buddha’s body

Are revealed the indescribable Pure Lands…

The indescribable infinite Lands

All ensemble in a hair’s tip [of Buddha].

Koujaku’s tattoo has two major connections to Vairochana: the garland of flowers, representative of his virtues, and the use of the Vairochana seed syllable “a”. We also have a symbolic introduction to hair, associated with Vairochana and Koujaku, to which we will return later.

These tattoos were not consensual, they were forced by Ryuuhou’s hand, so why did he choose these elements with such strong Buddhist symbolism?

SHISEI

Ryuuhou’s character is based on a story called “Shisei” or “Tattoo”, by Junichiro Tanizaki in 1910, charged with sadism, cruelty and dark, perversed erotism.

The story is about a tattoo artist named Seikichi, master of tebori, the traditional technique, who, like Ryuuhou, is psychologically disturbed and has a “secret pleasure, secret desire” to see men in agony when he buries his needles into them, and the more they suffer the more pleasurable it was for him. The story tells how he used to be an ukiyo painter, his social status fell and then he became a renowned tattoo artist, tattooing people’s bodies as if they were canvases.

He would even mock the men who screamed the loudest, calling them children, and when someone appeared who endured the pain of his needles, he would assure them that it would be impossible to continue enduring it, which to me it only implies that he would stick the needles in them as deep as possible to make them suffer.

But he was so obsessed with finding the perfect canvas, a woman on whom to tattoo his masterpiece, her own soul. He wanted to tattoo a woman who was not only beautiful on the outside but who also met his expectations with her personality. One day while walking, he thought he had found the perfect woman just by looking at her bare foot, saying to himself: “That foot will be feeding on the fresh blood of the men it will end up trampling on”.

But it would not be until the following year that Seikichi would meet that girl. After showing her some paintings that he believed reflected her, she gets scared and wants to leave, but Seikichi drugs her and puts her to sleep. He would not stop until he finished the tattoo, and he tells the girl that “There will be no woman more seductive than you. There will be no man who is not your victim”. And when she woke up, at the same time that she moved, so did the spider tattooed on her back.

The girl’s personality changed completely, and it is her, his masterpiece, who ends up killing the tattoo artist after fulfilling his last request of seeing her tattoo completed one last time, dying with a smile.

The references are more than obvious. Koujaku’s tattoo as his greatest work, tattooing his soul, his sadistic nature and the purposeful infliction of as much pain as possible during the tattoo sessions (not only it’s a slow and painful technique, but Ryuuhou also stuck the needles deeper than needed. Koujaku himself said that he spent months and months being tattooed, so it’s easy to assume that he purposely made it last longer), the moment of his death, Koujaku’s fainting and change of “personality”, the moment he meets him as a teenager. Not only that, but those references are repeated with Aoba too when he meets him and feels “love at first sight”, when Aoba returns to “his door”, drugs and kidnaps him with the intention of tattooing him.

And of course, there’s also this woman they met when they arrived at Platinum Jail, with a spider tattoo on her face and neck.

Ryuuhou is covered from head to toe, but we can still see a tattoo on his neck of a seahorse. It’s in plain sight and of course it draws attention. Seahorses are known for their unusual way of breeding: the males are the ones that get pregnant and give birth. If I’m not wrong seahorses in Japan are called something like the illegitimate child of the dragon or baby dragon. It could be a symbol of power, unshakable strength, abundance and good luck because of its connection to dragons, a fantastic animal that also appears on Ryuuhou’s kimono and name. But what interests us most is the connection of the seahorse with creation, as a symbol of fatherhood, its capacity of getting pregnant.

RYUUHOU, FORCE OF CREATION

Ryuuhou being tattooed with the image of a male creative force is not an accident. We hear him always talk about creation, about his “greatest work”. “I always knew I would die at the hands of my greatest creation”

Look at the last sentence and think about the recurring duality of creation and destruction. If Ryuuhou is shaped as a creative force, then there has to be a destructive force: Koujaku

The duality of Ryuuhou and Koujaku is told through the visual narration of red vs blue, recurring in many stories and with roots in the red and blue Oni trope, in which the two oni have opposite personalities and have a very different way of seeing the world, often provoking confrontation with one another. The red oni, Koujaku, is associated with passion, wildness and rebellion. A generally outgoing, enthusiastic, determined and lively character.

On the other hand, the blue oni is associated with serenity, control and vigilant authority, resonant with Ryuuhou. The way he presents himself, the way he speaks. Blue ones are more intellectual, proud, traditional, introverted and cultured, sometimes more spiritual. They are usually respected by others, but they often confuse or even intimidate others because they are difficult to read and have a mysterious aura. When there are elemental powers involved in this popular trope, the red oni will of course be associated with fire, and the blue one with water or ice.

Fire cleanses the soul and symbolizes rebirth. It has strong Buddhist connotations, and represents passion, intensity, desire. Water also has purifying properties, used to clean the hands and mouth at the entrance of shrines. It is a strong element that can erode rocks, and represents adaptability, change, perseverance. This is a detail that might not be very important, but I found it curious and why not add it. Note that the lowest point of Aoba and Koujaku’s relationship is marked by the arrival of scheduled rain, and then Ryuuhou coaxes Aoba under it. Seahorses and dragons live in water, and the latter also can control it. The rain comes symbolically, there’s no other reason for it to appear. They don’t use it to create a scene or situation in specific, if they got rid of it not much would change, as it relies on other topics. It’s a sign of the influence and power of Ryuuhou, they’re drenched with it.

[purplesoulcollection]

Unnatural Love

Part 3 Synopsis : Name has being transmigrated into the world of I'm Not That Kind Of Talent without ever reading the novel. She's not being reincarnated as a human but as a devil as well. Hi There! I want to let you know that this fanfiction story isn't solely my creation. I borrowed the concept from @quqiwo2. I haven't actually read the novel either, just some spoiler to the end.

I hope you'll excuse my spelling and grammar mistake, because English not my first language.

"Adele, starting today you are assigned to be a servant of Mr Demon. Get to work today!" said the Head Servant of this demon palace.

He was an older man who seemed to have a lot of experience in workforce personalization.

"You mean I work for Mr Demon? Isn't there Mr. Ed, the deputy troop commander, ready to help him?" My curiosity getting better than me.

Wasn't he already has a deputy who ready to help him, why should me too?

"Adele, you have been given a name by Mr Demon, repay him for your beautiful name." This butler seems to be saying that I don't deserve this beautiful name given to me.

Because lowly background...

And that makes me really annoyed with him.

But in the end I could only agree with the butler's words, having no choice but to swallow my resentment.

Then I was curious, why did I become his servant Mr Demon. It's true that I was given a name after the first time they met and Mr Demon greeted me when we met a few more times.

But I don't think there's anything strange about it.

Did my job change like this because of a request from Mr Demon or was this actually a ploy by the demon king.

If it was the latter, I would most likely be used as a pawn as a spy.

Because after all Mr Demon still a human. Unless he completely sides with the devil.

I'm not stupid enough to don't know that he still holds on to his human side too.

The proof is that he just kept to himself in his room, not too involved with the zero troops he led due to illness.

Whatever the demon king's cunning plans, I will not remain silent if I am used as his temporary pawn. I still have my brain to think logically to subjugate him.

But for the time being I will remain obediently a virtuous servant.

"Mr Demon, I'm Adele. I brought your breakfast." I knocked his room door, letting him know that I'm here.

"Come in!" Although be muted, his voices are still heard from outside.

Then I went in and put the food Mr Demon on the table available in his room. Not letting my eyes wander to him when he wears his shirt on top of his turtleneck.

And Mr Demon who was already wearing formal clothes, finally sat down in his chair to eat his food.

I watched him eat until he finished before I finally started to tell him,

"Mr Demon, starting today I am assigned to be your servant."

Mr Demon was surprised. He seemed to choke on his own saliva before he finally drank the water.

"You?! I thought you were just delivering food as usual."

Indeed, before today I was assigned several times to deliver food Mr Demon too. We were quite friendly in chatting about things unrelated to our status and differences.

Honestly, talking to Mr Demon made me feel again what it feels to be a human again in the midst of interactions with demons that are very annoying and discouraging for me.

Here's my relationship with the demons is not healthy for my own body and soul. I always have to be hit by anger, belittled, blows, sarcasm, death threats. I'm tired to always nonchalant about that fact.

I always have to be patient so that there is no reason for me to just die.

So talking to him really made me think that he is more friendly than the rumors that say he will kill you if you bother him even the slightest bit.

The real demon isn't any better than the rumored Demon.

To answer the question Mr Demon earlier...

"I thought so too, but I only received orders from my superiors. So I don't know the reason. "

Then he fell silent with his face wrinkled and his red eyes turned into those of a scary predator. That looks is really scary though.

But from my experience, Mr Demon will only stare intently. didn't actually try to attack me.

When I first saw those eyes I was scared to death, but now I'm used to it.

'As long as I've done nothing wrong, why should I be afraid?'

So I remained calm even though I was being stared at like that.

But the effects of being stared at for a long time like that are also dangerous, so let's shift the focus...

"After eating, do you want to visit Troop 0? Troop 0 has been waiting for your presence among them for a long time."

"Team 0..." As usual, Mr Demon always reluctant to discuss his own troops. If someone really used their brain, they will know it.

"Mr Ed has also been waiting for your arrival for a long time."

"Mr. Ed?! Why do you call him so polite. Is he not being nice to you?"

Is Mr Demon is the actual crazy? Even if he's not like the strong one in Devil's troop, he's still be one of the strongest devil in this devil palace.

"You keep joking, Mr Demon. Mr. Ed also really hates lowly devils like me. Besides, Mr. Ed is good with you because he is loyal and admires you. There's no way I could get the same treatment as Mr Demon."

"Are you... are you still experiencing hate treatment like this all the time?" His face looks not very good one. He looks very annoyed but still care for me... and that's makes me give a sorrowful smile.

"There won't be any significant changes, Mr Demon. But if I could hide behind a name Mr Demon maybe I could even scare them." I joked around to Mr Demon.

I need to change the sad topic, maybe he'll say no and i move on.

"Do it!" a spontaneous voice Mr Demon making me open my eyes to stare Mr Demon that had been speaking nonsense.

"I was just joking, Mr Demon. Please don't take my joke seriously." I tried to persuade him Mr Demon he just shook his head.

"You have to fight, Adele. Even if you consider yourself a worthless devil, you still have to fight for yourself." His face shows the fighting spirit that i should have, but i lacked that spirit.

'Maybe i don't really cut out with this world.'

"But, aren't you injured because of the effects of fighting a hero. If I involve you who are still sick in my problem..."

"I'll take care of it in time."

My mouth opened with reflexes, I found my savior in the midst of the complexity of this devil's world...

So I leaned a little closer and smiled broadly at Mr Demon and said "You said that yourself, I would like to thank you first, Mr Demon. For the inconvenience i'll brought"

I was busy thinking about the best way to use a name of Mr. Demon to get revenge on my bully until I didn't see his red face while looking at me.

To Be Continued

[ackerfics]

my love is mine all mine ch 3 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: the answer will be an echo: why did you do this?

warnings: the zen'in clan.

Your sister inherited the Joushou clan’s cursed technique.

It’s an announcement that has any member of your family reeling. What a waste, they say. This could have been phenomenal if not for the sex of the child. What good would a woman have if they assume the position of heir to a powerful clan that owns shrines of purification for generations? And with the head’s reluctance in re-marrying another pitiful woman, there is no chance that a son will be celebrated, which brings you at this moment—holding your little sister who was given the role of the heir a few months ago. It’s something that you have to accept for you have no ability to create a field of reversed cursed technique that can nullify any nearby techniques.

Four years have gone and your sister celebrated four birthdays with only you and a couple of loyal maids by her side. Your father, being the head of the clan, has growing paperwork and responsibilities on top of his desk with the passing years. Now older, your father has been scrambling with marriage proposals from other clans, all vying to have you in their hold — their riches on his table.

A wife. Pliant, obedient, meek, poised, virtuous; are some of the traits expected of you. They are drilled in your head every time you have lessons with your current tutor, a lady from one of the Joushou branch households, one Lady Yukina. Despite the harshness of the lessons she brings, she might be the only old lady who has never looked at you with disdain. Her gaze fills with understanding and sometimes sympathy when she reminds you that you have to be a woman fit for the jujutsu society.

You have long since understood that even with a title to your name, you are not safe from the whims of men. You remain as a piece in their games, meant to be broken when Time and Fate are not merciful to your soul. You know it—after all, your mother has lived long enough to tell the tale.

The Hanamo clan has always stood as the harbinger of a new generation of sorcerers, as the historians so love to write about in their scriptures. 

The ancestry flowing in your veins is proof that you will always be tied to the workings of the jujutsu world, that you will be a slave to the norms delegated by the higher-ups who uphold the traditions of time immemorial. It continues to resemble the essence of your existence. Without it, you are nothing but a husk—tossed aside for lacking purpose. To put it bluntly, you don’t want to be a wife if it means having a life lived by your mother. You are older now and aside from gaining marriage proposals, you have gained this awareness that not even your father can prevent. You wish to enjoy what they call middle school. At your age, you can’t help but think that maybe you could have been a senior. You want to join clubs, stay at school after classes, or go to cram school because you want to enter a prestigious high school. You long to experience staying up late and getting confession letters in lockers—feel the giddiness stolen glances in a room brings.

However, since Fate is not kind to girls like you, you are stuck here letting the wind carry your thoughts.

“Onee-chan!” 

“Hmm?”

You are drawn to reality at the sound of your precious little sister’s voice.

“What is it, Tiny?”

She giggles, teeth showing and eyes crinkling in happiness at the syllables of her nickname from you. The little girl of four bounds over to the picnic blanket that you are sitting on, the constricting material of the kimono around her figure preventing her from running too wildly. You carefully watch her, your arms stretching out and torso leaning forward when she nearly topples to the ground. The sigh of relief your chest has been holding is let out when she is secure in your arms, which is then followed by a small huff since she has been getting bigger. The little girl in your embrace places her chin on your chest, her pudgy cheeks pressing against you. “Onee-chan’s sadness, go away. I don’t want Onee-chan to be sad.”

You hum, your smile mirroring hers. “Why would I be sad when I have the cutest, most special girl in my arms?”

She squeals when your fingers start tickling her sides.

“Onee-chan, no!” Her voice is being carried by the wind, gleefully intermingling with the melody of the breeze. “Stop it!”

Laughter continues to bubble in your throat. A huge surge of warmth prompts you to lean down to press your forehead against your sister’s. “Why would I be sad when I get to see the most precious thing smile and laugh?” You nuzzle your nose on her hair. She always smells of something citrus and sweet, a combination fitting for the reason behind your smiles. “Tiny, your existence is enough to drive the sadness away. Nothing can make me shed tears if you’re here by my side.”

“Did Mama feel like that about me?” The slightest falter in your demeanour is unnoticed by your sister. “Ah! I didn’t mean to make Onee-chan sad again.”

“What?” You breathe out. You try painting a smile on your lips. “I’m not sad.”

“You are!” She retorts with an adorable scrunch on her nose. “The flowers never lie, Onee-chan! They always lose their colour when you’re sad.” You don’t even have to ask how your sister knows about your connection with the flowers in the garden because she continues explaining in a tone that is awfully similar to Father when he was still instilling the ways of the clans in you when you were a child. “Aida-san told me that Mama’s family speaks to flowers. I know Onee-chan can speak to them, too, and just like me, they feel sad when Onee-chan is sad.”

“I do have a smart girl for a baby sister,” you muse, running your hand through her hair. “Yes, Mama could speak with any kind of plant you can think of and I know that your existence is something she asked for; she prayed every night for you to be here. You are her precious little dewdrop—I know it because the flowers told me so. Mama talked to them while she was carrying you in her tummy, you see.”

“Was she happy when she had me?”

The smile on your face never dims. “ Super happy,” you make sure to emphasise the first word.

“Were you happy?”

“The happiest big sister in the world.”

“I’m happy you’re my big sister, too!”

Your bottom lip wobbles, quickly hiding it by burying the toddler back into your arms. “You’re so cute, Tiny! Ah,” you sigh out, “I don’t ever want you to grow up; I want you to stay this little forever.” Your tiny dewdrop that you can carry in your arms forever, a place where she truly belongs and will remain untainted by the world revolving around you two.

“But I want to grow up!”

This surprises you. “Why, Tiny?”

She beams, “Because I get to be with you more! You’re always away with Papa and I’m all alone. If I’m grown up, I will be by your side more often.”

You give her a rueful smile. Your hand perfectly cups the side of her head as if both are puzzle pieces fitted with each other. “I can’t wait to see you in the future; but for now, I’ll cherish you like this. Because you want to know a little secret?” The smile on your face grows at the sparkles lighting up your baby sister’s eyes. They seem to gleam like jewels within a pool of moonlight. The hand cupping her face transfers to cover her ear, your voice dropping into a whisper purely for the two of you to hear—not even the flowers can be a witness to your little secret. “Nothing in this world truly belongs to me except my love for you, owner of my heart and my tiny dewdrop. You are the one gift Mother gave to me and I don’t know what I’d do if you slip from my fingers too soon. Let me love you as my baby sister and let Time pass by the way it always does. Alright?”

A sheen then covers your sister’s eyes as she stares at you in pure, adulterated emotions that a four-year-old like her can muster.

“I love you so much, Tiny—always remember that, okay?”

She meekly nods, your words flustering her cheeks in a faint surge of heat. “I love you, too, Onee-chan.”

It’s you two against the entire world. Despite how the circumstances bring you your sister, you will never love her any less. You may have familial burdens to carry on your poised shoulders, they don’t include the most precious treasure to you at the moment. 

The moment is shattered when the flowers slightly express their disappointment before you can sense the pattern of footsteps behind you.

“Ojou-sama, Lord Yoshiki is summoning you to his office,” Aida, a maid that you have grown quite fond of through the years, tells you, her head low like the head maid has taught her during her initiation—always show reverence to the members of the main family; they are your benefactor, your salvation, your puppeteers.

“Did he say why, Aida-san?” You pry from her, your arms still around the girl nestling on your lap.

The woman shakes her head. “No, Ojou-sama. But if it helps ease your mind, he is not in a troubled mood.” A knowing glint sparks her eyes as she trails them on the swaying vermillion blades dancing by her feet. 

“Very well,” is all you offer to her as a response. You turn to your baby sister, who is already pouting at the thought of spending the rest of her afternoon in solitude. “Tiny, I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” She is looking at you like she’s begging for you not to leave her alone and that alone nearly shatters your resolve. As the only child aware of the workings of the clan, you must attend to Father’s summons. Your sister will have this role in the future but for now, even with no shed of the Joushou’s cursed technique in your veins, you should do your duty. So, you carefully lift her from your lap before settling her feet on the grass. “I promise we’ll eat your favourites later.”

“And watch Sanrio?”

The smile on your face grows. Ah, your obsession with that cartoon and its characters; it’s purely the reason why your sister adores the white long-eared puppy as well. You, yourself have developed a liking toward the hooded bunny and the golden retriever characters. “And watch Sanrio,” you echo after her. 

“Yay!” She cheers, her hands high in the air and her smile bright enough to illuminate an abyss.

You let go of her small hands before turning around to face the maid sent to escort you to where Father is. “Take me to him, Aida.”

“As you wish, Ojou-sama.”

The walk is silent—you can even hear the grating of the wood against a sudden gust of wind, bringing the scent of cherry blossoms in the air.

Ah, it's spring without your mother again. 

You remember watching her work wonders in the gardens during this lucky season of the year. The pinks the entire world is waiting to sprout are sitting on top of Mother’s palms, the small spark of her cursed technique speaking with the roots and the trunks until all you can see are raining petals of cherry and plum blossoms. You never once looked forward to spring again after her passing. But there is an undeniable clench in your chest when you think about your baby sister never sharing the same enthusiasm about that season; she doesn’t get to press her face on the glass windows at her age every time spring knocks on your household’s door.

The scent of the flowers die down when the shoji doors to Father’s office slide open.

“You called for me, Father?”

The image of your father has long since dwindled. He was never the same again since the death of Mother. The elders have always expressed their bafflement at him refusing another proposal to be remarried. The clan needs male heirs, they say, one that can withstand even the next strongest sorcerer to be born. His previous impeccable appearance is replaced by a rugged man with the constant presence of stubbles and hastily tied hair. There are no elaborate kimonos; instead, he is often dressed in rather simple hakamas, but that doesn’t betray his station. He is still the head of the Joushou clan, the only clan to have ever survived the Domain Expansion of the recorded strongest sorcerer across centuries. 

Father doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “You are dismissed,” he directs the words to the maid who escorted you.

You flash Aida an imperceptible smile right after she bows her head as lowly as she can without toppling over. Her footsteps are silent and she leaves behind you and the man who will decide your fate.

“Who is it this time?” You still fix your eyes on the hardwood panels of the floor. 

The sigh that comes out of Father amounts to the weight he carries after reading the papers on his hand. He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he fishes out an unsealed piece of paper from a nearby stack and throws it on the table.

You walk to the edge of his desk to catch a glimpse of the sender. Something pulses inside you at the implications the letter’s seal brings. You know it’s inevitable to be tied to this family and you have long accepted it but that doesn’t prevent the trepidation clogging your throat. “The Zen’in?”

After you make it real by uttering the syllables of their name, Father pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows scrunched in an uneasy exhibition of pain. “I’m sure you remember that Zen’in Ougi’s wife died a few months before.” Your silence is an enough answer for Father to continue. The memory of attending the funeral is still fresh in your mind and there’s no mistaking the reeking disappointment coming from the clan elders of the Zen’in. Another wife gone; another chance for a holder of the Ten Shadows lost. “They want you as his second wife.” His fists clench on top of the papers.

You’re quiet for a moment. “Can I read it, Father?”

Father waves his hand.

The sound of crinkling paper fills the room. You flip the folded flaps of the letter. The tidy calligraphy starts by addressing your father. Your eyes skim over saccharine words crafted to impress him.

The letter opens with the head of the Zen’in clan iterating that this is the perfect opportunity for the Joushou clan to enter the inner circles of the jujutsu society.

It goes on by saying that if the Gojos never had that pesky godling born in the same year as your little sister, your clan would have made it within the triad of jujutsu families, even rivalling the authority established by the Kamos. Pity that the Gojo clan beat your family by a hairbreadth and pity that the inheritor of the Purification Technique is of the lowly sex. You take a glance at Father, knowing that this section of the letter is the reason behind the tick in his jaw. You continue on reading how the children from this union would be the leaders of the next generation of jujutsu. With the Glorified Womb and a carrier of the Ten Shadows Technique, it is bound to be fruitful—the most awaited heir of the Zen’in clan won’t just be a figment of someone’s imagination.

We hope this is met with utmost consideration. After all, this is the pinnacle we are both waiting for. Wed your bloomed flower to my youngest son and all will be well—you will be compensated handsomely. Everything you could think of, we will provide as long as they belong to our capabilities. Do not make the wrong decision, Joushou. The fate of your clan rests on your word. 

“This is not in my position to ask but,” you start, lifting your head from trailing your eyes over every well-crafted, harsh word the Zen’in sent, “Father, tell me you’re not going to consider this?” He doesn’t offer a response. He simply stares at a spot on his desk, his hands woven over his mouth. You hear your heartbeat in your ears as you place the letter on the furniture separating you from him. “Father.” The man goes on to blankly stare at you. At the silence, your voice gains volume. “He’s the same age as Uncle Hatsugu!” He stands up from his seat, lifting his chin in the air while you feel tears peeking through your bottom eyelids. At the stony facade he dons, you slowly shake your head. “Father, no. No, no, no!”

Father merely blinks. The previous tension weighing on his shoulders vanishes and in front you is the man who thought it was best to force your mother to bear the son he wanted. “[Name].”

“Please tell me you haven’t—”

“It’s the Zen’in.”

“But that doesn’t mean—!”

“You will have four years.”

Standing in this room with him becomes suffocating with each passing second. Marrying young has always been the culture in your hidden world. Women are a commodity. You hope that because Father was kind enough to tell you of each suitor sending their letters, he will also be kind enough to reject them until you have fully lived your life. “Please,” one word is all you can say. And if that isn’t enough for Father, you try to convince him with your eyes. Yet the more you look at him, all ready to kneel and plead to give back your girlhood, you gradually understand that you have no choice. Father looks like he’s seen a ghost within you. The shock morphs into rage, then, later calms into a quiet nothing that rings so loud your tears cascade on your cheeks. “I-I don’t want this, Father. The Zen’ins—”

“Are a respectful family that is worth leagues more than ours,” he finishes. “They stand as what orthodox should be in our world. This,” he taps his forefinger on the letter, “is just the beginning, [Name]. We are nearing the pinnacle of jujutsu in this generation and it starts with your marriage to this man.” You open your mouth to retaliate. He cuts you off from speaking with a hand. “You are someone born in my family. Do your duty just like any other woman before you.”

“Just listen to me—”

“Am I clear, [Name]?” Father fixes a wide-eyed glare at you. “You didn’t inherit your mother’s viability for heirmaking for nothing. This is your purpose. Whatever fantasies you have running in that head of yours, cease it. Do you understand?” 

You don’t answer him.

“[Name].”

Flinching at the way he says your name, you look down at your feet.

“Do not make me angry; we both know that it won’t end in your favour.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “I understand, Father.”

“Good.” Then, he waves you away. “Go. I have a letter to reply to.”

You don’t know where your feet take you. After the shoji doors slide shut behind you, you are floating. You see and hear nothing. When you lift your head from mindlessly tracing the ground you walk on, you are outside in the gardens, the little girl you left behind earlier still in the same place. She turns around at the sound of your footsteps but you don’t give her a chance to call you because you pull her into your arms. You can feel her pressing her cheeks against yours and it hurts. You bury your face in her hair, your embrace fully encompassing her from the world. The air smells of hellebore and amidst the lake of white and purple, a clump of begonia stands as a beacon.

Toji spits out blood on the blades of grass surrounding the Zen’in estate. Imposing eyes follow him from the visible hallways of the traditional Japanese household. He can already assume what they are whispering about— the black sheep of the family is at it again, disappearing in random hours of the day and coming back all bloody like he wants to taint our sacred home . Toji clicks his tongue at the thought and by doing so, irritating his split gums, which irritates him even more. He couldn’t care less. Let them talk, let them paint him into their version of a devil, let them say that he’s the curse of the family; to Hell with all of them.

He keeps on walking until he reaches the nearest entrance to his father’s wing, where his side of the family resides. The maids scurry away from his path and the only sound accompanying him to his destination is the jingle of charms dangling from his wallet. It’s jarring, how stark the various shades of pink and blue are against his dark garb. If he is one of the nosier women in the estate, he would have questioned it as well. The carved flowers make a nice melody with each step and they all sing something that’s purely her . Because that’s the reason why the hanging charms are in his pocket—they’re all for her , the precious doll of the Joushou clan and the belle of everyone’s ball, including his. Even as he let himself loose by facing a dozen curses in an abandoned hospital, he still managed to think of something so soft, a feat in itself that he never thought possible for someone like him.

It’s a miracle that nothing intercepted him. Usually, during his excursions, Jinichi would make himself known and throw remarks that would have the two of them grappling for the first punch. This time around, none of the notable people in his family lurks around the corner, waiting for their moment to strike. It’s peaceful for once and Toji doesn’t know how it makes him feel.

“You.”

A maid squeaks when Toji’s gaze falls on her.

“Where are the others?”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. She can’t fully look him in the eye.

“I’m fucking talking to you,” comes from Toji’s mouth.

With a hitched breath, the maid answers, “They’re all gathering in the Master's office.”

“The old man is dying; what are they gathering there for?”

The maid grips the edges of her cheap uniform, creating creases that would surely earn her some nagging from the matron of housekeeping. Locking eyes with him is a mistake because she starts sweating even though this part of the estate hasn’t met any heaters in the last few months. Perks of being the most favourite disappointments. Toji carefully wraps his hand around the kanzashi nestled inside his pocket, the ornaments it carries caressing his skin. This is taking too long. Then, the maid stutters, “I-I heard they received a message regarding a marriage proposal.”

“Who?”

“I-I don’t know, Sir.”

Toji lets out a mirthless laugh. “It’s bitchy Ogi, isn’t it? Should’ve known.”

The maid keeps quiet with her head down. Without addressing her any further, Toji walks past her and makes his way to the main wing of the estate. 

Despite saying that he doesn’t care for the inner workings of their clan, he can’t help but feel amusement for another failed marriage to surface. After his newest aunt’s funeral, all anticipation and hope for the clan’s future has been sucked dry. Pity that these women are sent to this wretched family, hoping to at least be treated as royalty. All they got is the constant spiel that they are far beneath their husbands even though they share a last name through marriage. Toji’s mother was one of those women. And Heaven forbid, another tombstone will be added to the clan’s guarded cemetery with this letter.

With silent footsteps, Toji leaned on the wall next to the sliding doors of his grandfather’s office with his arms crossed on his chest.

“—Can’t tell me this is fucking fair!”

His father.

“You have not proven yourself worthy for this, Ichiro.”

The wheezing gives it away.

Booming laughter erupts from behind the closed doors, followed by a guzzling of a drink. “If only your wife died before giving birth to two failures, one of which is standing with us in this room also vying for this girl’s hand in marriage. Would you look at that, you two are almost twins sneering at me like that!” Another round of cackles from his alcoholic uncle. “You would have a chance with this girl who’s even younger than your sons! Ha! Just saying that makes me want to puke—”

“Not in here, Naobito,” a warning from Grandfather.

“—the contents of my stomach.

“Like Ogi is any better.”

“Do not bring me in your squabble,” says a calm, grating voice.

“I still believe this is something you have planned to dethrone me from my chance of being the heir. Are you that threatened by my son’s manifestation of cursed energy?”

Ogi scoffs. Toji imagines him lifting his chin in the air—the arrogant bastard. “It’s not my fault you are hindered by the existence of your precious child. Or do you regret ever siring him for a chance at a young girl? I’d say you are a hypocrite, brother.”

“Say that to my face, you little piece of shit!”

“Father, why not Jinichi?” Toji’s father tries pulling the tides in their favour. “They are close in age. My son developed a technique uniquely his, a promising one that would shake the other clans if he would inherit the position of heir. Why not give him this girl as a chance to redeem our bloodline? The future user of the Ten Shadows Technique will surely emerge from their coupling.”

“It is true that our family has established a hierarchy unlike the others,” the senile man coughs out, “but I would never waste something worth more than diamonds on your dying bloodline.” Toji can hear his father raising his voice while his older uncle cackles in glee. If only he’s not carrying treasure in the depths of his pockets, he would have bled through his pants with how tight he’d be clenching his hands. “Compared to Ogi, your son’s technique is nothing. My son has gained a reputation from the higher-ups of our world, a feat your son could only dream of. What Ogi can do will only be the catalyst in a fruitful union.” There is a pause. “And there is the case of your other child. What’s to say Jinichi is tainted by his younger brother? Don’t even make me begin on how that abomination always succeeds in being the family’s blunder. I have presented the letter for her hand in marriage with Ogi in mind and no one else. Do not make me exert my power over you, Ichiro, because you are nothing but a failure to me.”

“Father, you surely know how to knock down someone,” Naobito says in mirth.

Toji is still against the wall of the old man’s office. His hands are itching on pummeling something to the ground. Fucking elders and their ridiculous degrading words—they make him want to wring their necks and feed them to the curses they keep in the basement. Toji wants nothing more than to witness the light dim and eventually flicker out from this senile man’s eyes. Heat starts travelling all the way to the tips of his ears. Hearing everything urges his body to retreat in his room and wallow in self-pity. But anger gets the best of him, always. This fucking family and their superiority will be the death of them; he is already cursing them. They would ask for Heaven for what he is doing to them in his head. Then again, Hell would probably be Heaven for them for all the grotesque things they do behind closed doors. 

“Then, it’s final. Ogi will wed Joushou [Name] the moment she turns eighteen. This is the pinnacle of jujutsu and I expect nothing but congratulations from you pitiful fools.”

That is the moment Toji realised, he would take down the pinnacle of the jujutsu world.

Notes:

in the victorian language of flowers, hellebore can mean 'we can overcome scandal and slander'. when paired with begonias in a bouquet, it brings a reminder that future challenges will arise.

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[journeytothewestresearch]

Is Six Ears an Aspect of Sun Wukong?

I've seen some people claim that Six Ears is not an aspect of Sun Wukong's mind. They either ignore the references to "one mind" and "two Minds" (and the Buddhist philosophy behind them), or they just say it's allegory and nothing more. Well, there are actually internal story details from chapter 58 that support the close connection between the Monkey King and his doppelganger.

1) The Bodhisattva Guanyin and her “eyes of wisdom” (huiyan, 慧眼) can’t tell them apart:

The various deities and the Bodhisattva stared at the two for a long time, but none could tell them apart (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 106). 眾諸天與菩薩都看良久，莫想能認。 [And later:] Pressing his palms together, our Buddha said, “Guanyin, the Honored One, can you tell which is the true Pilgrim and which is the false one?” “They came to your disciple’s humble region the other day,” replied the Bodhisattva, “but I truly could not distinguish between them …” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 114). 我佛合掌道：「觀音尊者，你看那兩個行者，誰是真假？」菩薩道：「前日在弟子荒境，委不能辨 …

2) The tight-fillet spell works on both Monkeys:

Asking Moksa and Goodly Wealth [a.k.a. Red Boy] to approach her, the Bodhisattva whispered to them this instruction: “Each of you take hold of one of them firmly, and let me start reciting in secret the Tight-Fillet Spell. The one whose head hurts is the real monkey; the one who has no pain is specious.” Indeed, the two disciples took hold of the two Pilgrims as the Bodhisattva recited in silence the magic words. At once the two of them gripped their heads and rolled on the ground, both screaming, “Don’t recite! Don’t recite!” The Bodhisattva stopped her recital … (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 106). 菩薩喚木叉與善財上前，悄悄吩咐：「你一個幫住一個，等我暗念緊箍兒咒，看那個害疼的便是真，不疼的便是假。」他二人果各幫一個。菩薩暗念真言，兩個一齊喊疼，都抱著頭，地下打滾，只叫：「莫念，莫念。」菩薩不念 …

(If someone disagrees with this one, they need to show where it says Six Ears is faking the pain.)

3) Both the Jade Emperor and the imp-reflecting mirror can’t tell them apart:

Issuing a decree at once to summon Devariija Li, the Pagoda-Bearer, the Jade Emperor commanded: “Let us look at those two fellows through the imp-reflecting mirror, so that the false may perish and the true endure.” The devaraja took out the mirror immediately and asked the Jade Emperor to watch with the various celestial deities. What appeared in the mirror were two reflections of Sun Wukong: there was not the slightest difference between their golden fillets, their clothing, and even their hair. Since the Jade Emperor found it impossible to distinguish them, he ordered them chased out of the hall (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, pp. 107-108). 玉帝即傳旨宣托塔李天王，教：「把照妖鏡來照這廝誰真誰假，教他假滅真存。」天王即取鏡照住，請玉帝同眾神觀看。鏡中乃是兩個孫悟空的影子，金箍、衣服，毫髮不差。玉帝亦辨不出，趕出殿外。

4) Only omniscient beings like Investigative Hearing (Ksitigargbha's mount) and the Buddha can tell the two apart:

[T]he Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha said, “Wait a moment! Wait a moment! Let me ask Investigative Hearing to listen for you.” That Investigative Hearing, you see, happens to be a beast that usually lies beneath the desk of Ksitigarbha. When he crouches on the ground, he can in an instant perceive the true and the false, the virtuous and the wicked among all short-haired creatures, scaly creatures, hairy creatures, winged creatures, and crawling creatures, and among all the celestial immortals, the earthly immortals, the divine immortals, the human immortals, and the spirit immortals resident in all the cave Heavens and blessed lands in the various shrines, rivers, and mountains of the Four Great Continents. In obedience, therefore, to the command of Ksitigarbha, the beast prostrated himself in the courtyard of the Hall of Darkness, and in a little while, he raised his head to say to his master, “I have the name of the fiend …” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 112) …地藏王菩薩道：「且住，且住。等我著諦聽與你聽個真假。」原來那諦聽是地藏菩薩經案下伏的一個獸名。他若伏在地下，一霎時，將四大部洲山川社稷，洞天福地之間，蠃蟲、鱗蟲、毛蟲、羽蟲、昆蟲、天仙、地仙、神仙、人仙、鬼仙，可以照鑒善惡，察聽賢愚。那獸奉地藏鈞旨，就於森羅庭院之中，俯伏在地。須臾，擡起頭來，對地藏道：「怪名雖有…」。 [...] Smiling, Tathagata said, “Though all of you [Guanyin] possess vast dharma power and are able to observe the events of the whole universe, you cannot know all the things therein, nor do you have the knowledge of all the species” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 114). 如來笑道：「汝等法力廣大，只能普閱周天之事，不能遍識周天之物，亦不能廣會周天之種類也。」 […] [After the Buddha explains the ten categories of life and the four types of celestial primates (see the introduction here), he says:] As I see the matter, that specious Wukong must be a six-eared macaque … (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 115). 我觀假悟空乃六耳獼猴也 …

In short, the twin monkeys are so hard to tell apart simply because they are representations of the true and illusionary minds (refer back to the article) within the same person.

So what does this say about Shadowpeach? I know LMK is a separate entity from the novel, but applying canon to this ship would make it more self-love, right? I'm sure those with creatively perverted minds know what I'm taking about.

[vivacissimx]

roose bolton as a father figure to theon

the theon's disturbing relationship to paternalism beam is still shining bright. obviously the ned and balon and balon and ned Thing is happening but if we are going to embrace the horror of ADWD, let's lean all the way in.

the role of the father is molded as such to manufacture obedience from his children—generally speaking but also daughters in a specific way, sons in a specific way. filial duty is considered a virtue in westerosi society (even when your father fails to be virtuous himself) and it's the mode by which the father holds power over his children when they come of age. the father reproduces himself by claiming a son under his name & castle, the father reproduces his values by shaping behavior, the father punishes unsanctioned behavior not (merely) by criticizing the contents of the actions of the son, but by virtue of it being disobedient i.e. obedience to my instructions has within it an inherent Rightness / my instructions are Right because they are mine (circular i know!). this is probably doubled for those who follow the Faith of the Seven where the image of the father is a reflection of the Father aka disobedience flirts with blasphemy. sorry for the monologue—this is gonna be important later.

one of the reasons ned & balon come across as such supreme assholes in theon's ACOK storyline is because even outside the emotional reality of theon being a hostage from 10 years of age, he also pretty much does obey what they have to say. there is a time where he plays by their rules and they still don't approve of him or claim him fully. it's a social contract where ned and balon don't really fulfill their ends of the bargain, so it feels unfair. it feels willfully blind because ned and balon SURELY see the benefits they've accrued at theon's expense—ned lives in peacetime having experienced war, and balon keeps his life/lordship which if he were to have been executed for treason, would have all seemingly gone to a boy lord theon—yet they don't recognize the "theon's expense" part.

see how that works? "you are virtuous and right for following my commands" but theon follows their commands and doesn't get his Virtuous and Right headpats. and that rankles him deeply.

okay, now onto roose as theon's father figure in ADWD:

theon is part and parcel of roose's son ramsay. Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek. in fact the original reek was a servant who roose gave to ramsay's mother as the first act of acknowledgement. it's through reek that ramsay became roose's bastard. we see that when roose demands ramsay give theon up (briefly), ramsay must oblige... hence, reek is still a form of reward/acknowledgement from roose to ramsay. theon is entangled in them and for roose to kill theon could very well be construed as killing off (ramsay as) his son

roose thanks theon for giving him the north via taking winterfell & (inadvertently) ruining robb's situation. roose is thanking theon for the ability to reproduce himself as lord of winterfell and warden of the north—a duty that a son owes his father

i wrote a post about theon's gender troubles that delves into his parallels with barbrey ryswell dustin—how roose treats them both with certain cares to insure their good behavior, and how they both see through the farce. however the difference in roose bolton's world of easy replacement (he replaces multiple wives, domeric with ramsay, reek with reek II) is that barbrey is warned of her fate via the example of bethany ryswell bolton, her sister and roose's dead wife, while theon is warned of his by the example of domeric bolton, roose's dead son.

barbrey steps into the role of domeric's caretaker and main maternal figure because her sister is dead. then ramsay kills domeric. roose allows it. barbrey puts it as: “The widow of Barrowton… and yes, if I so choose, I could be an inconvenience. Of course, Roose sees that too, so he takes care to keep me sweet.” sweet is not the best word for our barb but she plays along with roose's game despite there being no real endgame beyond a petty revenge against the starks. the writing is on the wall though. not to put too fine a point on it but: ramsay will kill any children walda frey has from roose, and barbrey will know precisely who did it

in theon's case, roose's manipulations go like this: “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward… he will give me back to Ramsay then

roose actually tells theon the story of domeric. he describes domeric's relative capability and desire for brothers. he confesses that ramsay killed domeric and that he did nothing about it, that he fully anticipates ramsay to kill any children he has with walda. later, when theon is thinking about how roose will give theon back to ramsay, the conclusion is clear: ramsay is going to torture and abuse you, and i will do nothing—just like i will do nothing for any other sons i might have

theon co-victimhood with jeyne. does that make theon roose's sort-of daughter-in-law?

that last point was a haha joke... unless? after all, theon did canonically desire for ned to adopt him via marriage to sansa. so roose adopting him via "marriage" to ramsay, theon's use to roose being dependent on his subservience to ramsay, or more specifically, his role as legitimizing ramsay/reproducing roose in a similar way to marrying arya stark and having bolton children with her will... that is to say, haha

starks and boltons are foils, ned and roose are foils, ramsay's dogs and starkling direwolves are foils: if ned was a quasi-father figure AND simultaneously warden to theon then why would roose not be as well considering the stark/bolton relationship?

remember when i said that theon is intensely bothered by the fact that he "obeys" ned/balon but gets nothing for it? if you agree with that then consider this passage: Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man’s death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.

there's likely much more i could say here but those are a few points that i think are interesting as part of the larger discussion on theon as well as the social critique in ADWD theon POVs. i mean it really pulls the curtain back—stripped of all romanticism and in the dead of winter where nothing grows, what is a wife truly? a whore, jeyne says. what is a hostage? mine own face on their lie, not [even] a man, theon says.

what is a father? well in theon's decidedly horrifying case, it's the man who has use for you or else what's the point of you being alive

[see-arcane]

If Laura rises after death in the novel I wonder. What do you think vampire Laura is like personality-wise. Regardless what her feelings towards Carmilla, now her sire, might be in undeath, what do you think is still fundamentally Laura and what changes?

Kept, Augmented:

What we could take as obliviousness--or simple active denial of what hints she is picking up from Carmilla--hardens into disbelief that this has happened, that Carmilla (Mircalla) has done this to her.

A tight grip on old horror-pain at how Carmilla has apparently haunted her since girlhood and how it was her that murdered Laura's friend before fastening onto her.

New:

There is predatory power of her own to explore. No longer just a victim to be talked around and shielded. She is the monster now. How will she handle being taken off both the pedestals of Victim to Infantilize and Virtuous Maiden when she has to take blood herself?

Prodding the edges of how much fealty/obedience she truly has for Carmilla as her sire. Remember, Carmilla herself was turned, but that vampire is nowhere in the picture. Did Carmilla run away from them? Was she abandoned? The rules of this particular vampiric hierarchy will be fun to explore, likewise any rebellion Laura may still feel against the loving horror that's done this to her.

[sunnycanvas]

Balwin and his wife honeymoon

You sighed as you walked after the wedding. It had been tiring. Greeting all the high ranking guest of came to visit from far and nobles of the kingdom. You could already tell some saw you as friend while some saw you as foe to reach their ambition. It was tiring to smile and entertain your guests. All you wanted was go back to your beloved. You could tell that even Baldwin IV also felt the same.

Now you finally reached your bedroom with priest and nobles wishing you goodnight on your way to room. You swore you heard some maid giggling and some women gossiping about you and Baldwin IV. "Doesn't matter, they are not worth thinking over" you thought. "At last at your bedroom" you thought smiling locking your bedroom

You finally sat on your bed and looked at your room. You thought about Baldwin IV and how happy he looked in altar. You could see he was in brink of tears he was so happy. You looked around your room and saw no sight of him

"It seems like he is already greeting the guest. Your cheeks flushed as you remembered the next part of ceremony. You closed your eyes and thought of his leprosy infected body. You always found his body hot despite his scares. Actually you found his body hotter with scars. You sighed and thought of his nude body when you accidentally saw when he was bathing. You moaned at the thought of him fucking you hard. Of him taking out his frustration of war on you and you like obedient wife sucking his cock whenever he arrived from war or maybe Baldwin IV taking you to war with him and making you serve as his sex slave. You would cook, clean and pleasure him. After all a good virtuous wife doesn't disobey her husband.

"My, love?"

You jumped when you heard the voice and noticed Baldwin iv already in the bedroom. "How long have you been here" you questioned. Baldwin IV chuckled at your reaction and said "For a very long time".

"I swore that I locked the door" I locked the door you questioned confused. He nervously replied "I was in bathroom" . You could tell Baldwin IV was nervous about the next part of ceremony as well.What you failed to notice that despite his nervousness Baldwin IV took wanted to fuck you hard like rabbits in heat but he was afraid that he might get you infected with leprosy.

Baldwin IV sat down next to you on bed and nervously said his deepest desires

"I want you to do something for me"

He gulped and continue "I want you to play with yourself"

You looked at him confused and he looked down embarassed and said "Masturbate , for me"

You were confused but also knew that Baldwin IV was virgin and afraid to transfer his disease that was the reason of put you at distance many times but you could tell despite everything Baldwin IV really wanted to fuck you and was feeling nervous about it for personal reasons.

You started stripping while dancing a bit by swaying your hips to tease him. You could see Baldwin IV blushing furiously at your private strip show. You soon sat on bed spread your leg and began playing with your folds. You started remembering the blessing of seeing his nude body while he was bathing and had the audacity to feel jealous of water that flowed down his body. You close your eyes in bliss and played with your folds as well as nipples thinking of Baldwin IV hands instead of your own

Baldwin IV felt flattered by your little game of seduction showing you didn't care what he looked like, when Baldwin IV saw you close your eyes he felt bold enough to play with his cock

He loved enjoy your private strip show and loved hearing you moaning his name . He couldn't hold back anymore and took out his cock and started rubbing himself as he closed his eyes in bliss not noticing that you stopped. He kept on moaning until he felt something warm on his dick. You were grinding on his cock. "My lord, please forgive me but I can't help myself" "I really wanted to do this for so long" "Ever since I saw you bath"

"What are you talking abou-Ah! You started to ride again. Attempting to finally get off the heat you felt in your pussy.

"Stop" he commanded

You looked at him shocked. "You sure a good virtuous wife and queen our Kingdom needs who is peeks at her husband and tries to dominate him on bed"

You felt like crying, not wanting to accept you were a bad, disobedient wife and queen of the kingdom. That was unacceptable in laws of religion.

"I hate the thought of submitting to someone, especially to my wife"

"On your knees"

Not wanting anger your lover you did what he told you

"Lower"

You bent down even lower

"You (Y/N) will give me a kiss of peace on my cock"

He felt you pull down his pants and take out his cock.Soon cold, round and wet was on his cock. Baldwin IV was suprised not expecting you to immediately do as he commanded and sucking him. "(Y/N) Ah!" He moaned and started thrusting his hips inside your mouth "My love don't feel insecure, I love you the way you are. We can stop if you want". He tightly gripped your hair making it hurt but you quietly took it all "But unfortunately I don't want you to stop". His leprous dick was veiny, large and thick. You loved how squishy it felt. It was like you were sucking dessert. He finally cummed inside you and you swallowed his cum. It tasted bitter sweet.

Baldwin IV felt like animal instincts took over him and he commanded "Get on the bed". You did as you were told and quickly went on the bed.

Baldwin IV all of sudden felt shy seeing your nude body and looked away shyly. You chuckled at his behaviour knowing that the king never felt the warmth of a woman. He slowly crept towards the bed and gently pushed you down. With his trembling hands he slowly bend down his hand towards your chest. Once his hand reached your chest he started playing with your boobs. Rubbing and squeezing them. He sighed in bliss and began kissing your neck

You moaned and later winced in pain when you felt him sucking hard. You realised that Baldwin IV was leaving a hickey.

"I saw the way men were looking at you, they need to realise that you belong to me". Baldwin IV replied angrily

While you giggled at his possessive nature while bearing the pain. Baldwin IV ensrued he left hickies all over your neck. He soon started leaving it on your chest. He soon reached your nipple and started sucking on it. While his other hand played with your other boob, rubbing and squeezing it. He soon reached your belly and started leaving butterfly kisses especially towards your naval region. Baldwin IV bend down near your fold blowed air on it with his mouth. You arched your back in pleasure. You felt embarassed by his actions and tried closing your legs but he forcefully streched them apart.

"You are so beautiful. I love the colour of your vagina it's so pretty" as he says this he leans forward and kisses the nub inside vagina. He could see your a single drop of your cum coming out of vagina and about to reach the bed sheet. Before it could reach Baldwin IV pulls out his tongue and takes single lick of it. He stops and closes his eyes in bliss savouring your taste

"I love how soft your flower is" with his fingers reaching down and playing with your folds. Your legs desperately try to form more friction by his fingers by arching your back. Baldwin IV smiled at your desperation and sucks his fingers covered in your cum

"And how sweet your nectar is" "Here you too taste it". He dipped his fingers in your vagina again and forcefully put his fingers inside your mouth forcing your to taste yourself

"Suck my fingers, like a whore you are" you ended up doing as he said wanting to prove him that you will be good virtuous wife and queen for the kingdom of Jerusalem.

Baldwin IV forgot all about his shyness and became rough. He bent down and started sucking your vagina. He started eating you out. Licking , kissing and sucking so hard that you felt that it was his last supper on earth for which he was grateful for, he sucked, nibbled and kissed your nub do hard that it got swollen. He later went your tummy and started using his teeth bitting you on your stomach. He made long bite marks on your stomach by moving up and down

"Jerusalem will need an heir which we have to give " as he said this he went back to kissing and biting your nipples by switching turns "Soon they will be filled with milk to feed the baby" he said this while simultaneously angled your his cock near your vagina and thrusting inside you. You arched you body in pain as his enamours dick split you into half that blood slowly came out. You could tell now that Baldwin IV had forgotten all about his leprosy and making love to you like any ordinary man. Your hole in pussy happily welcome his love in exchange of blood. You cried in slight pain and Baldwin IV kissed all over your face as apology

"Move" you whispered

Baldwin IV slowed moved savouring the feeling of your folds. "You are so tight" he whimpered. "A perfect pussy to get impregnated". He started pounding inside you hard with his cock constantly savouring tightness of your hole.The pain turned to pleasure and you enjoyed his cock in bliss. You soon felt him cumming inside you. He cummed so much that you could feel that some of his cum falling in bed sheet. Baldwin IV took out the cum that had fallen out and put it inside you pussy. You winced a bit at a bit overstimulation. "We need to ensure that none of my cum is wasted" "The more you get it inside you the better will it be" you felt tired and wanted to sleep until you heard "Ready for round 2?" You sighed knowing you won't be getting any rest

[big-mean-trans-dyke]

There is actually one point on which I agree with TERFs - Trans women go to hell.

Of course, from a TERF's point of view, this is a bad thing, but this assumption relies on a misunderstanding of how the afterlife works. In reality, *everyone* goes to 'hell' when they die. The christian idea of heaven and hell is simply based on confusion around perspective.

As trans women are ontologically good, and superior in all ways, when they die they're put in charge of this afterlife, just as they should be in this one. They're free to do as they please, when they please.

This, of course, leaves everyone else. Sorting them out is done in a very, simple, and surprisingly elegant way. The most important factor when establishing a person's morality is, of course, their submission to their betters. For this reason, a perfect, virtuous cissy who spent their lives deferring to transfems will be rewarded with an eternity of taking girlcock, tonguebathing transfem masters, and generally enjoying the bliss of such a perfect world.

On the other hand, you have those who denied the natural order of things. TERFs, bigots, conservatives, religious leaders. They get...... exactly the same thing! An eternity of taking girlcock, having their faces shoved places they probably don't want them, living in servitude to people they hate. The difference for them is that unlike on earth, there will be no merciful moment where their mind finally breaks and they give in to the pleasure in a blissful moment of conversion. Instead, they'll live out the rest of eternity in misery, serving someone they hate.

You see, this way transfems are rewarded with all the holes they can fill for their supremacy, good cissies are rewarded for their obedience in life, and the wicked are punished all the same in a way that's pleasurable for the ruling class.

[isadomna]

Jane Seymour & Mary Tudor

Jane Seymour made all the efforts she could muster to convince Henry VIII to reinstate Mary to the succession and invite her to court, but he wanted Mary to accept that she was his illegitimate daughter first. The King was a vain man who hated the idea of a political party clustering around his widely popular twenty-year-old daughter, whom many perceived as his rightful heiress. He was bent on forcing Mary to accept that his marriage to her mother was invalid. Mary could hardly believe this. She knew that Jane Seymour had initiated the process of reconciliation, and in a letter to the new Queen, she described herself as her “most humble and obedient daughter and handmaid”.

Chapuys and Mary’s other supporters were glad to hear of Jane’s pleas and the ambassador commented that ‘such a wish on the part of the said lady is very commendable indeed’. News of Jane’s affection for Mary was well known and word even reached Mary’s cousin, the Empress Isabella, that Jane was virtuous, kindly, and well disposed to Mary, in whose favour she had spoken.

Jane’s efforts on Mary’s behalf always irritated the King, who once called his wife a fool for trying to speak up in favour of Mary’s reinstation to the succession. She should, he warned her, think about the exaltation of their future offspring and not any other children. Jane tactfully replied that she spoke in Mary’s favour to seek “the rest and tranquillity of the King, herself, her future children, and the whole realm; for, without that, neither your Majesty nor his people would ever be content”.

Mary, threatened by the arrests of her supporters and frightened by the possibility of losing her head, signed the document acknowledging that her parents’ marriage was invalid, thus rendering herself the King’s illegitimate daughter. She also accepted the King as the Supreme Head of the Church in England and repudiated “the pretended authority of the bishop of Rome”. Everything she and Katherine of Aragon had fought for with such vehemence over the past three years vanished with one stroke of the pen. Mary’s spirits were also raised somewhat when Chapuys promised to procure a secret dispensation from the pope for her actions.

Once Mary had been forgiven by Henry, Jane was able to safely intercede for her again and she set about persuading Henry to meet with his daughter. Early in the morning of 6 July 1536, Jane and Henry set out with a small retinue to visit Mary. The visit was intended to be a private one and, upon their arrival, Jane embraced Mary, kissed her and took her by the hand. Jane had not seen her since 1531, but she had very fond memories of the princess from her time in the household of Queen Katherine. Jane was only around eight years older than Mary, but was prepared to be a mother and friend to Henry’s eldest daughter. Henry gave his daughter his blessing with tears in his eyes before saying ‘my daughter, she who did you so much harm, and prevented me from seeing you for so long, has paid the penalty’.

The first visit of Henry and Jane to Mary was a great success and they stayed until the evening of the second day, spending the time in private conversation. Jane gave Mary a fine diamond ring as a token of her affection and Henry presented his daughter with 1000 crowns for her to spend on small pleasures, telling her that she never need worry about money again. For both Jane and Mary, the meeting was everything that they could have hoped and, as Henry and Jane prepared to leave, the king promised his daughter that he would reinstate her household and that she would soon return to court.

The date of Mary’s return to court is not recorded, but it must have been some time during the early autumn of 1536. Jane would have been quietly encouraging Henry to invite his daughter back to court and, whilst she had not dared press the king, she made it plain that she desired it. Henry also desired to see his daughter again and he may also have had good reason to want to please Jane as there is some evidence that she might have thought herself pregnant at the time of Mary’s visit.

Jane was pleased at how the reconciliation between Mary and Henry had gone. It was the realisation of one of her dearest hopes to have Mary with her at court, and she kept her stepdaughter often in her company, walking with her hand in hand. Jane and Mary developed a deep and lasting friendship and Jane always ensured that Mary was treated with respect. In October 1536, the French ambassador recorded that Mary was “now the first after the Queen” and played a ceremonial role at the royal table, passing the napkin for washing hands to the King and Queen. Yet neither Mary’s legitimacy nor her position as heir was restored. For Jane and Henry, the hope that she had been pregnant in the autumn of 1536 proved to be false.

Jane Seymour’s generosity towards Mary often overshadows her relationship with Anne Boleyn’s daughter, but it is clear that although she had a closer relationship with Mary due to their respective ages and religious views, she was not indifferent towards Elizabeth. A Book of the Queen’s Jewels—an inventory of valuables owned by Queen Jane and given as gifts to her favourites—reveals that she often presented both Mary and Elizabeth with valuable trinkets such as beads, pomanders and girdles. Further accounts of the Queen’s wardrobe reveal that she provided Elizabeth with items of clothing, such as Scottish bonnets and linen. She also paid for Elizabeth’s New Year’s gift in 1537 and gave money to Elizabeth Cavendish, who served in Elizabeth’s household.

in June 1537, a new Imperial ambassador arrived to treat for a marriage between Mary and the brother of the king of Portugal, Jane was allowed to meet with the ambassador and discuss the negotiations for the match. Jane promised him that she would do everything she could to promote the match and even informed him that she had tried to persuade Henry to break his alliance with France in favour of the emperor.

Throughout her pregnancy, Jane had a craving for quails and other delicacies. Knowing this, Mary provided Jane with quails and cucumbers from her own gardens. On 12 October, after two days and three nights in labour, Jane was finally delivered of a son, the future Edward VI. Three days after the birth, Mary stood as godmother at the font in the newly decorated Chapel Royal at Hampton Court as Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, performed the rites of baptism over the infant prince.

On 24 October, Jane Seymour died after suffering severe internal bleeding, probably caused by a placenta that failed to detach properly after her son’s birth. Mary, as chief mourner, carried out a prominent role in all the ceremonies surrounding Jane’s burial. For the religious services on 1 November the young princess was apparently too grief-stricken to attend, her place instead taken by her friend the Marchioness of Exeter. A solemn vigil was once again kept over Jane in the chapel and, the following day, more religious services were held, this time with Mary in attendance. Mary took her role seriously and, in spite of her grief, she forced herself to be present and to ensure that Jane, who had become her greatest friend, was honourably treated. Mary gave presents of money to the Queen’s three chamberers, her page, footman and gardener. She also gave offerings during the Masses for the Queen’s soul. Mary was so depressed after Jane’s funeral that the late Queen’s sister-in-law, Anne, Viscountess Beauchamp, sent her daughter accompanied by a nurse to lift Mary’s spirits.

Sources:

Elizabeth Norton, Jane Seymour: Henry VIII's True Love

Sylvia Barbara Soberton, Rival Sisters: Mary & Elizabeth Tudor

Sylvia Barbara Soberton, The Forgotten Tudor Women: Gertrude Courtenay. Wife and Mother of the last Plantagenets

[laniusbignaturals]

OBSESSED with your posts 💗💖💗🐥 do you think edward & joshua grew to be the men that they are due to their upbringing? when looking at them both, i’m reminded of leopold & loeb and how much of their wealth and sense of superiority played into the assholes they became—and why they ultimately believed they could get away with committing the perfect crime

this doesn’t make much sense sorry lol but the tldr; i’d love to read your thoughts on these two bone heads and their parents 💗

Content Warning: discussion of cult tactics, abuse, neglect, infanticide and general harm unto infants, pregnancy complications, emotional inc*st and inappropriate age gaps. This is also just a complicated read with a lot of moving parts, so be prepared for that.

No need to apologize! That’s a very astute comparison. If there’s a deviation between Leopold & Loeb and Edward & Joshua in terms of their social background, it would probably be that the former (to my knowledge) grew up in similar environments, while Edward and Joshua were raised in ostensibly very different cultures which they coalesced into one far more monstrous entity.

“Ostensibly” is carrying a lot of weight there. The Followers don’t necessarily embody these qualities, but historically, academia in the west has represented a font of organized racism and misogyny, legitimizing and promoting ideas that we nowadays look back on as cruel and ridiculous, like phrenology and such. (I fully accepted the popular hc of Edward’s family being from the ruins of USC partly for this reason, on top of the Trojans reference.) The fact that Caesar sprung from the only organized academic body in the wasteland can be taken as a continuation of that ugly tradition, and the Mormon Church’s ties to colonialism and it’s status as a modern day cult speak for themselves. Honest Hearts doesn’t engage with Mormonism critically, so the way Joshua’s upbringing in such a setting impacted him has to be inserted by us the players.

There’s a few articles you can read about the practices that make the modern day Mormon church a cult, and the impact these practices have on children raised in this environments. But some core tenants that seem relevant to Joshua’s growth are the instillment of fear and uncertainty into every aspect of one’s life, especially family and community, the hyperfocus on “cleaning” (both physically, to ensure members are always busy, and mentally/spiritually, as an exercise in paralyzing self-doubt,) and of course a tremendous amount of restriction placed on gender and sexual expression from an early age.

And this is draconian institutional abuse, not responsibility or healthy self-reflection or what have you. It’s a small wonder Joshua has something of a martyr complex when we meet him in-game: having been brought up in an environment that encouraged close surveillance over all human impulses, no matter how natural or innocuous, and never experienced a version of accountability that wasn’t a smokescreen for torture and control, all his desires need to be neatly wrapped up in diversion and justification to avoid giving credence to the idea that he’s sullied, disgusting, subhuman, unworthy of love. These themes of being taught that the loss of autonomy is virtuous/necessary so that the sufferer begins to perpetuate it themselves, and of being perpetually denied stability in spite of a seemingly endless mandate of labor, are the ones that I try to carry over into his mother’s story.

Her name is Dinah Graham, née Gardner. I work on her characterization with @dustwhirlsandrainbows. She has five co-wives.

She was very close with her mother, whose name was Madeline Gardner (née Talmage.) She, along with the rest of the community, raised Dinah to idealize a version of motherhood that revolved around obedience, self-sacrifice and participation in the colonial machine. Dinah’s mother died as a result of pregnancy complications, (as many women and children do in Quiverfull-esc religious sects,) altering but not deconstructing the way her daughter engaged with the edicts of their community.

Like her mother, Dinah got married at a very young age. She named her firstborn daughter after her mother: Joshua was her second child. She was close with her husband’s second wife Abigail, who struggled with her fertility, but by the time the third Rebecca came along her husband was beginning to be less considerate towards her, which caused contention between them. The fourth abandoned New Canaan, to be subsequently treated like she’d never existed, and the fifth wed Mr. Graham when she was a teenager. He married the sixth soon after Joshua founded The Legion, which should tell you something about the way Mr. Graham related to his children.

Joshua bonded less with his father and more with his maternal Grandfather, Dinah’s dad and Madeline’s widower. He also becomes closer with his second-to-last stepmother Elizabeth after he returns from the burning: since he left New Canaan when her children were infants, they weren’t as affected by their relation to a war criminal as his other half/step siblings. She also had personal history which made her particularly sympathetic to his plight, but that’s another post. I usually use Laura Galán of “Piggy” as a fancast for her in her youth.

Ingrid Torelli of “Late Night With The Devil” is a good representation of how I imagine Dinah in her youth, especially with the off-putting, ragdollish body language. She’s playing a 13 year old here, but the actress is 18. Dinah was in that age range when she got married to Mr. Graham, who was a couple years older than her. Saint Olga of Kyiv bears a close resemblance to her in adulthood: fittingly, since she’s the patron saint of defiance, defense and vengeance.

Wives were offered to men in New Canaan as rewards for good service to the church, and conversely, to be married to an accomplished clergyman was considered an achievement for young girls. As such, Mr. Graham was generally inattentive to the welfare of his family, and put his myriad of children and step-children into the position of constantly competing for his attention and favor, which was connected to their social life external to the household by virtue of his own status. The vastness of their family is part of the reason why Joshua always references them in such nondescript terms: he had siblings, half siblings, aunts, uncles, stepmothers and step-grandparents, etc. His children suffered as a result of the infighting, resentment and awkwardness between their mothers, and some of them came into the family with pre-existing issues which caused them to lash out at the other kids.

(For example, during Rebecca’s previous marriage, her youngest child had been a victim of infanticide by a co-wife who was going through pregnancy induced psychosis. The incident caused her then-husband, Mr.Ballard, to abandon New Canaan, opening Rebecca up to be wed again. Her two surviving children, Jobe and Ethel, were left severely traumatized, and Jobe actually pressed Joshua’s hand to a hot pan when they were both still young. He’s become less aggressive by the time Joshua returns from the Legion, but his actions are re-contextualized by Joshua’s botched execution, so. There’s that.)

Here’s a good representation of Joshua’s relationship with his daddy.

It’s also an excellent segue into talking about Edward!

So there’s a theory that the breakdown of Joshua and him’s three decade long relationship was due in part to Edward’s personality changing from his untreated brain tumor. And while that idea makes the storyline more interesting, I think the game offers a more explicit example of a shift in Edward’s neurology within his stated backstory. The implication of Caesar’s mother taking him to The Boneyard after his father’s death is that whatever home they had been living in was destroyed in the same incident. Raiders don’t attack for no reason - maybe they were landholders. The loss of that kind of generational wealth would certainly contribute to that sense of aggrieved entitlement we see Edward display so aggressively in game. Growing up in the Boneyard, he wouldn’t have any direct connection to whatever rural culture they’d previously been apart of, except that which he would get through his mother. Maybe that’s where his need to assert himself as a supreme intellect comes from: insecurity about the fact that his people were (in his mind) uncultured and uneducated.

But the transition from one setting to another is less important than the circumstances in which that transition occurred. Having a parent killed and a home destroyed, then being taken on foot to another settlement by the remaining one, would represent an extreme disruption to the established patterns of safety in which infants are supposed to exist. “Neural development occurs most rapidly in early childhood and is shaped by experience,”and reactions to trauma in small children with limited expressive & defensive capacities are markedly similar to signs of cognitive impairment in adults: symptoms like the loss of previously established movement and language skills, detachment from & disinterest in their surroundings, appearing “frozen” or sustained periods of blank staring, sleeplessness and nightmares, etc.

The sleep one is sticking with me. Insomnia can cause brain damage even in adults subjects, and babies with undeveloped brains are far more vulnerable to serious consequences from such disruptions. Consistency and routine are also important to a young child’s ability to rest: not only having it disrupted by an incident of violence, but being uprooted and taken to a new place in the immediate aftermath, could’ve severely damaged his ability to cope with the stress of that situation as it was happening, let alone in the years afterwards.

And that’s why I think going through something that would’ve been taxing & traumatizing for a grown adult as a baby with an extremely delicate brain is much more likely to have had an adverse impact on Edward’s neuroanatomy - and subsequently changed his personality for the worse on a physiological level - than a tumor that popped up when he was well into manhood. It’s difficult to ascertain, since two year old children don’t have full personalities in the first place. He essentially lives his whole life in the aftermath of that event.

These two themes - of the psychological interplaying with the physiological, and of growing up in reaction to traumatic experiences that preceded all other sense of identity - are the ones that I try to carry over into my writing for his mother. There’s also comparison & contrast made between Edward’s family and Joshua’s, my attempt to explore how people in vastly different situations can end up in similar circumstances. A key difference is that the Grahams are much more thoroughly influenced by their community and extended family, while the Sallows are more self-contained.

I call Edward’s mother Clarice. I’ve put down a frankly obscene amount of plotting, backstory, and analysis for her (and her associates,) but very little actual writing, unfortunately. Her full name is Clarice Belinda Sallow. She was born to Earl Sallow and his then girlfriend Lola on a ranch not far from the dilapidated USC campus, on October 28th of 2189, the same year the NCR was founded. A charming but emotionally unstable philanderer, Earl had several other illegitimate children by various women, but he didn’t pay any of them half the attention he paid Clarice. Clarice was Earl’s only daughter, and as such he (subconsciously) saw her birth as an opportunity to mold a woman from scratch, suited to his needs and incapable of abandoning him. Lola fled the family when Clarice was a toddler on account of Earl’s habitual adultery and intense jealousy, leaving her to be raised exclusively by her father. She spent her childhood performing the duties of a wife, tending the ranch, cooking and cleaning, washing and mending, etc.

Though Earl never SA’d his daughter, his emotional attachment to her was wildly inappropriate. He leaned on her for support, barred her from an outside education, and kept her largely isolated from other children, especially boys. He also dictated the clothes she wore, her spending habits and personal interests, and kept her on her toes with guilt trips and episodes of rage. The most aggressive of these incidents was when Clarice got her first boyfriend at the age of fourteen. When her father found out, he threatened her in extremely graphic terms which I can’t repeat on tumblr, and assaulted the kid she’d been dating.

Earl died after a grueling battle with spinal cancer in 2209, when Clarice was twenty years old. The last year of his life was painful and lonely, and he had little contact with anyone but Clarice. (This sounds cathartic on paper, but the legacy of this period is just further damage to his daughter’s mental health, so. Don’t cheer too loud.) In the aftermath of her father’s passing, Clarice was severely distraught, lacking a tangible identity after spending her formative years so devoted to one man. She fell in with Earl’s friend and neighbor, a carpenter named Frank Abendroth (nicknamed “Roth”) who managed his affairs after his death. Roth ended up abandoning his own family and bringing Clarice with him to a settlement in the north. There, he took a second mistress, an east coast transplant named Vanessa.

Roth and other businessmen in the USC area had had a handshake agreement with the local NCR which allowed them to store raw materials like lumber off the books, so they couldn’t be taxed for importing them. Roth assumed that the authorities in the north operated on the same terms. They didn’t, and he was arrested for customs fraud and sent to prison when Clarice was about twenty one. She found out she was pregnant with his child soon before, but was spared having to tell him by his arrest, and Vanessa helped her get an abortion. Together, the two girls went in search of Clarice’s oldest brother Paul, who was living in a flophouse in a semi-urban mining town. They moved in with him and quickly became enmeshed with his friend group, which included a bounty hunter, his wife, and her longtime friend, a native of the Boneyard named Roy Tillman.

(Never thought I’d get the chance to post this incredibly niche meme, but here you go.)

Leaving out some major life events for brevity (and because I might end up changing them,) Clarice eventually married Roy, and they settled on her father’s ranch before it was burned down. Theirs was a common law marriage, since Roy had already legally married someone else when he was younger, though they’d long since separated. That, (and the fact that property ownership in the wasteland is easier to prove when you share the surname of the former owner,) is why Edward has his mom’s last name.

Roy was something of a slimeball, being influenced largely by the opportunistic bastard trope and a willingness to tacitly profit off of, if not participate in, unjust systems. He spent a long time working as a moonshiner, outselling his competitors by producing cheap rotgut liquor. He met Paul when the latter was a bouncer at a dogfighting ring where he liked to gamble. His first love, the bounty hunters wife, had been a victim of labor trafficking, and Clarice also had unusually low standards as a result of her past. But whatever else Roy was, he was also markedly less dangerous and unpleasant than his male peers, causing Clarice to see him through rose tinted glasses and feel as if she owed him something. She gave birth to Edward when she was thirty five, and died of cancer around the age of fifty seven.

On that note, fun fact about the USC area: they, as a community, consumed irradiated food in huge quantities. For some families, it was all they ever ate. This practice began before the NCR was around to incentivize widespread sharecropping and educate wastelanders on the specific dangers of an irradiated diet. USC was landlocked and ecologically devastated, with the remnants of pre-war urbanization making it difficult to institute sustainable livestock farming. So eating radioactive food with every meal started out as a matter of desperation, when the area was still widely impoverished. By the time Clarice was in her teens, the practice had evolved into more of a rural masculinity ritual, the sort of habit meant to affect that one was tough and down to earth, (like beer, whiskey and meat in the South.) Earl partook, and he taught Clarice to partake, and Edward came out of Clarice.

That’s why they all get cancer.

As other people have discussed, Edward’s father’s murder at the hands of raiders and the destruction of their pastoral, patriarchally inherited land makes for excellent propaganda, and he’s used to using those events as a rhetorical tool when trying to recruit people. On an emotional level, Edward tends to look on his father with ambivalence or active disgust. To be killed in a failed attempt to defend their home, leaving his son in the care of a woman who was significantly younger and weaker than him, is a massive blow to the image of the kind of man Edward would like to believe he came from.

His relationship with his mother started out stable if not healthy, but became more fraught as he entered his teens. From the start, Clarice was deeply afraid of recreating the pseudo-incestuous bond her father had with her, especially after Roy was killed and they were left a family of two, much like she and Earl had been. Lacking positive examples of what parenting should look like, she embraced an authoritarian style of motherhood with firmly delineated parent-child roles, and had periods of neglect and abusiveness, like breaking/hitting things in rage when he was around or giving him alcohol to put him to sleep. Though these behaviors cooled as Clarice got older, and her life become more anchored, Edward resented his mother’s growing inability to (in his mind) justify her misgivings as a domestic authority by remaining a strong, imposing figure worthy of obedience. Part of the reason he accepted the assignment to the Grand Canyon was because Clarice was nearing the end of her life, and he didn’t want to be around for her demise.

Clarice’s face is square, and like her son she has a hooked nose, broad shoulders, brown eyes and blonde hair - a combination which is very difficult to find representation for when hunting for fancasts. But Olga Mironova in “Come And See” looks similar to her, as well as Leah from TLOU2, Kirsten Dunst in “Melancholia,” and Tammy Barnes from Far Cry 5. The woman in the black and white photograph is Andrei Tarkovsky’s mother. (Final image is from this gif)

[stromuprisahat]

Tainted

Siege and Storm- Chapter 21

Alina goes through another identity crisis after dreaming of the Darkling.

Up until now, Alina's thinking was more or less rational. This is her puritan upbringing rearing its ugly head once again.

Simple lust cannot exist. Something needs to be WRONG with her. Geez. girl, at least fuck the Shadow Man, before you're gonna feel bad about it!

Honey, you're no longer a child. Your world can be more than two shitty people, both tied to the same horrible place.

A few vague impressions of an actual childhood, buried deep not to offend her first cult, then THE institution Alina keeps dragging with her even after physically leaving it, and the walking-talking (fucking-humiliating) dead weight she gained there. Alina's life in a nutshell...

How can even seemingly innocent sentence turn disturbing in context of other values instilled in Alina. Polite, yes. But also meek and obedient, virtuous and anticipating every need or wish of her (soon-to-be) legal owner husband, the only aim of a peasant girl like her.