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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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home from war | sukuna x reader

Home from War | sukuna x reader

featuring: sukuna x reader (historical au) with small moments of megumi x reader

warnings: very mild suggestive content, mentions of manslaughter and slight yandere tendencies + a toxic sukuna + angst + not proofread :D

part two!

How does one soothe their lover who’s come from war?

You ponder about this carefully, eyes dark as you let your gaze travel from the opening door. Sukuna comes in, bare chest littered with cuts caked in mud, blood, and dirt, and you see the way the grip around his katana falters just a little bit. The room is dark – it is late at night, after all, and you had stirred awake in your accidental slumber from waiting too long for him to return home – but you see him under the darkness clearly. Way too clearly.

Those markings on his face you so dearly love don’t even seem threatening. You seriously question your sanity at this point because he is the Ryomen Sukuna; King of Curses. It’s no secret that he does as he pleases, taking someone’s life as if it was second nature to him, claiming territories, wealth, and even people as if they were his own.

You should be scared, and in a way, you are.

But not in that way.

You’re scared because his shoulders slump, those once burning red eyes fluttering close as he drops to his knees on the floor. Without wasting another second, you leap off the bed, your arms wrapping around his figure. He reeks of death, and before you know it, you wash his exhaustion away by peppering his face with the pads of your lips.

Sukuna hums, pulling you closer to him until there is no space between skin, his neck nuzzling in your face. “I’m home,” his lips brush the bare skin of your neck, his breath warm and ticklish. “I made it home to you, my love. Safely like you asked.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Immediately, you bite down your tongue and blink back the tears that threaten to fall. Safely? You want to snap back, your nails almost raking down his back. This is hardly considered “safely” when his knees wobble as you guide him inside the bath, nearly unable to keep his eyes open as you wipe away his cuts and the other remnants of war present on his body.

“I’m sorry,” his voice echoes in the confined walls. You don’t even realize the tears had fallen until his rough, calloused hands brush a tear away. He tilts your chin upwards to look him in the eye, lips trembling when those devilish eyes soften – reserved for you and only for you – and Sukuna sighs through his nose. “I wish I could stop the war, but — ”

“It’s not possible,” you finish for him, forcing a smile to help ease his worries. At this point, you’re conflicted between wanting to scold him to not leave the temple anymore and just stay with you, but you also know why Sukuna doesn’t do that.

It’s because he wants to keep you safe. As long as you were around, Sukuna would go the moon and back just to keep coming back home to you. Perhaps that was the most painful part – the fact that you knew he wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t met you. Sukuna was the fearsome King of Curses, powerful and undefeated even after a thousand years, but he wasn’t omnipotent. Hundreds of jujutsu sorcerers have lost their lives trying to defeat them, and it took about a hundred more deaths before they backed off at the realization he couldn’t be defeated or exorcised.

Until you came.

You were Sukuna’s weakness, the chink in his armour, his Achilles heel.

The moment it was known that Sukuna kept a lover, they just kept coming. The war begun. Soon enough, your days of rolling around in bed with him, trapped under his arms and weekends spent in whines of each other’s names disappeared.

Sukuna has a temple to defend. A lover to protect. A woman to cherish. A soul to treasure.

It was all because of you, and you know better than anyone else that he was tired. But he’d never tell you that. He would still scoop you in his arms; pull you closer by the hip so he could lay his ears on your chest, eventually falling asleep with the sensation of your fingers massaging his scalp while you hum to soothe him. The sound of your heartbeat has Sukuna exhaling rhythmically minutes later.

The notorious King of Curses, bundled up in the arms of his lover, completely relaxes in the privacy of his shared bedroom with the woman he loves most. It was as if the war didn’t happen at all. He sleeps with a small smile on his face, sleepily mumbling your name and reaching up to kiss your smooth skin every now and then.

It was perfect. It was heaven.

But that wasn’t you.

Because you are not her; you are not even human. You listen to all this on the other side of the temple. If you were anyone else, someone like her, then Sukuna’s intimate moments with his lover would be private – something that would be kept and cherished only between the two of them. But you aren’t human.

You are a curse born from people’s heartbreak and grief. You don’t even remember how you came to life; your first memory hazy of nothing but endless pain and so much anger you lost yourself. Until he came.

Ryomen Sukuna; the King of Curses – he adored you.

Finally, he met his equal. A curse equally as powerful and blinded by darkness, hatred, and bloodlust – you were one of the rare curses whose presence he enjoyed, and it didn’t take long before he invited you to his temple and offered a seat next to him.

You are Ryomen Sukuna’s right hand warrior, his greatest partner when it comes to battle. If he was powerful before, people feared you both even more when you joined powers. He didn’t go to war without you. For days on end, you and Sukuna would traverse villages and slaughter kingdoms to fill the emptiness gaping in your hearts, but he changed when he met her.

That fragile, meak, little human that loved him and changed him.

Because of her, even you are forced to join this war against jujutsu sorcerers. It’s been a long war – consisting of ten days and waning red moons. You and Sukuna barely came out unscathed this time, the Gojo clan seems to have something else under their sleeves, and your yukata had been ripped open in pieces while blood washed over your body like water.

You and Sukuna came back tired, weak, almost defeated.

You lay your back flat against the wall, teeth attacking your bottom lip while you pour potions over your cuts. At the other side of the temple, Sukuna is already fast asleep, safe in the arms of his lover. And you? You couldn’t even let out a small noise of whimper. Sukuna’s heightened senses would pick up on it, mistake that it would be his precious little woman in his sleepy daze, and you don’t want him to be further agitated.

Besides, once he realizes that it was just you, he would only go back to sleep.

Because he knew you didn’t need him, not in that way. You were the Curse born from Heartbreak, possibly the only ever person who would know pain and suffering the same way he did, but that isn’t true. Sukuna wouldn’t understand that this is your suffering – to have him within grasp but out of reach, to know that he was always with you, that he loves you just the same, but not in the way you want him to, not in the way you need him to.

To him, you are his beloved friend and partner in crime.

You are not the one who soothes him when he comes from war. You are not the one that gets to feel his harsh tongue soften at the first contact of your lips, to have the privilege of having rough hands that easily tortured others to be gentle as he dips his hands in the dips and curves of your body. You are not the one who gets to see him when he wakes up and he smiles half-lidded. You are not the one who gets to kiss his pain and wounds away, to wipe his tears from his cheeks because looking at you makes him wonder how lucky he is to have you.

Instead, you are the one he brings to war with. You are the one he trusts to keep her safe, to watch his back and guard all possible blind spots during war. You are the one who jumps in front of him when a blast of fire is on his way, and you are the one who heals his wounds in the battlefield when he grows too weak. You are the one he laughs with when you’ve both decapitated the enemy, growing only stronger with each passing day under the belief maybe both of you could rule the world someday.

But does any of it matter?

You always believed that you were okay with it, that having him trust you with his whole life, enough to have you sleeping under the same roof as him, was everything you needed. But after she came, you watched him fall in love, and you felt pathetic.

You could never have him.

You could never have what they have.

Sometimes you wonder, what if you just said it? In those nights where nothing but the moonlight illuminated both of your blood-stained faces, chests rising up and down as it both rumbled with laughter, discarded glasses of alcohol thrown on the ground – it would’ve been the perfect moment, wouldn’t it?

Though deep down, you knew the answer.

Sukuna wouldn’t love you, couldn’t love you. He wanted someone to protect, not someone to fight wars with. He wanted someone to come home to, not someone he wrecked homes with. He wanted to listen to someone’s dreams and passions – all of the things you didn’t have because you were born out of pain, living in pain, and Sukuna was the only thing that soothed you for a bit.

Your breaths came out raspy as your wounds began to close up. The stench of blood remained on your body, the red liquid drying up.

Sukuna wouldn’t want an impure woman like you. It makes sense he loved her. She was as bright as the sky while you were as dark as day, and when she laughed, she lit up the whole room. You don’t laugh, you don’t even smile. The only times you ever got to feel that sort of happiness was when you were still a fresh-born curse, a wild Sukuna more than glad to teach you of his ways.

It’s okay, you lie to yourself, crawling back to your bed while ridding yourself of your clothes. You would shower later; sleep needed to come first. Curses like you don’t really need, but you were too exhausted – inside and outside – that for once, you want to submit to healing.

As you close your eyes, you hear Sukuna stir in their room again. The sounds of faint lip-locking echo in your ears, making you slap your palms on the sides of your head, but you hear it, you hear it, you hear it, you hear it.

“How is Y/N?” she asks worriedly, her dainty, small, and innocent fingers that could never harm a fly brushing against his skin. Warm.

“She’s fine,” Sukuna rasps tiredly, “She’s a little beaten up, but she’s in a better state than I am,” you hear him kiss her on the forehead, a contended sigh leaving her lips. “She’ll be fine, my love. You know Y/N. She is fierce, brave, and courageous. This war is nothing to her.”

“I still feel bad she joined the war just so both of you could protect me.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“She knows I love you,” Sukuna mumbles on top of her head, his hands tracing patterns on her back. Tears flowed out your eyes, your body trembling as you bit your fist, drool flowing down. You couldn’t stop the way you felt your heart torn to pieces. Really, it shouldn’t be anything new to you. You are a curse manifested from heartbreak, after all, but why did it hurt so much this time? “Y/N is a long time friend and ally of mine. She cherishes everything I cherish.”

“But still...aren’t you going to check up on her? I couldn’t even welcome her back. I haven’t seen you both in days and I...”

“Shhh,” Sukuna lulls her worries. “I’ll check up on her right now, although I don’t think she needs it. She’s a strong warrior, after all.”

“Sukuna,” her voice was laced with warning this time, but it later softens, as it always does. “Even the strongest have their weak moments, like how you are with me. Just because someone is capable of enduring the pain, doesn’t mean they won’t appreciate an act of kindness. Y/N has been loyal to you far longer than I have, but you really need to show your gratitude more to her,” she sighs, “Go check on her, my love. See if she’s doing well. If she’s fully recovered by tomorrow, I’ll head out to the market and prepare you both a lovely meal. It’s the least I could do.”

Sukuna chuckles, “My love, we don’t need to eat.”

“No matter. She likes miso soup, doesn’t she?”

By now, you’re frozen in bed. The blood and dirt and your skin have stained your sheets, and your hair is knotted in tangles from endless fighting. Maybe this is the reason why you hated yourself more than you hate her – because deep down, she isn’t really someone you could hate.

It makes sense Sukuna loves her.

Unlike you, she is kind, caring, gentle and full of love. What did you have? Pent up anger, bloodlust, temperamental tendencies and a hobby of withdrawing as a form of isolation because you couldn’t cope with the heartbreak – this is your gift. Your curse.

She is a blessing.

You hear the bed dip feet away, and whispers of, “Be safe, I’ll wait for you,” before a door slides close. Sukuna’s footsteps pad nearer in your hallway, in a place that he had his servants build just for you years ago when you proved your loyalty to him. Back then, you were over the moon when you saw him telling his people he wanted you to have your own room, but now it was like a huge slap on your face that Sukuna cared for you, but he didn’t want you close to him in the way she was.

Your room was on the other side of the temple, at the back, to be specific. While she stays with him in his own chambers, he used his magic to build her a beautiful garden filled with her favourite flowers, while you were somewhat locked away behind it all.

A bitter smile makes it way to your face. Sukuna was coming, not because he wanted to, but because she asked him to.

You want to laugh. Instead, you run out the room in such speed that the sheets fly away from your bed, and the floorboards crack under the force of your movements. When Sukuna raps his knuckles on your door, asks if he could come in (as if he needed permission for that), and you don’t answer, he takes it upon himself to intrude.

He isn’t surprised at your discarded clothes, or how your room remains dark and empty, as if you’d never been there at all. This isn’t the first time you ran away, and this would not be the first time he ran after you either.

He knows you’ll come home.

After all, it was him you kept coming back to – although he didn’t know that.

Breakfast the next day wasn’t any better. She invited you to join them, fretting over the cuts on your cheeks and dabbing at them with a wet towel. She feels like a doting mother who wouldn’t stop worrying about her child who tripped, and again, you realize why he loves her.

The food was good. Like she promised, miso soup is placed in a bowl you painted years ago, and she beams at you expectantly while Sukuna caressed her thighs under the table. Your lips tremble as you take a spoonful of it, letting the warm soup soothe your exhausted body with a sigh. Sukuna peers at you in the same curiosity, head tilted to the side ever so slightly as if waiting how you’ll react.

It’s no secret you don’t open yourself up to anyone other than him. The moment she came to live with you both, he could tell you locked yourself up in your room and even disappeared for weeks under the lie that you were parading in the districts to “look for some fun.”

Sukuna knows you better than you know yourself. He knows it’s a lie, that you’re not someone who “looks for fun” and that you probably just stayed up in the mountains watching the sunrise. He knows you’re uncomfortable with her displays of affection, of how she easily adored you or how she cared for you like you were her sister or even a friend, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

If anything, he only hopes you would treat her the same way.

You don’t finish your bowl. It’s extremely difficult to enjoy the food when Sukuna compliments her on her cooking skills and she turns beet red beside him, nervously giggling that she just wanted to make you feel better. Sukuna bends down to steal a peck from her lips, teasing her that she was his “sweet angel” who had a heart of gold.

They don’t even eat.

They’re just giggling, laughing, kissing, and you understand – you really do. It isn’t every day that Sukuna gets to indulge in the presence of his beloved. But only you are there with him. It’s either he trusts you enough to let his guard down, or you’re unimportant enough that he doesn’t care if you see him completely baby her and spoil her rotten with how he grabs her onto his lap and starts kissing her nose and then her eyelids.

Their cheerful laughter is a great contrast to the sound of your heart shattering into pieces. They don’t notice that you’ve excused yourself, heading out the room and into the back part of the house, passing the servants on the way.

Similar to how they treat Sukuna, they quiver and bow before you, making sure to keep their eyes on the floor in fear you’d slice their heads off. You fight back a sigh. You wouldn’t do that – not when they welcomed you so warmly (or rather, fearfully) and accepted you as their master. You realize that they don’t act this way around Sukuna’s lover. In fact, they light up when she’s around and talk to her freely; everyone was just comfortable in her presence.

You know you’re not her.

You could never be her.

She was a human, and you’re nothing but a lonely, heartbroken curse.

Hours pass by, and no one looks for you. You dare not enter the garden Sukuna made for her even if you also like the flowers, simply because you don’t want Sukuna to be appalled at the thought that someone like you – a Curse who’d killed people and tortured others – would also be enamoured with something as innocent as daisies.

The lake is peaceful that night. It’s painful to bathe back at the temple because the servants won’t leave you alone. They insist on washing your body for you and that you should lay back, but you refuse to be coddled. The lake is on the other side of the mountain, deep in the forest with smaller curses lurking, so no one would find you here.

The moon shines down bright on you, and for the first time since you’d gotten home, you smile.

It looks so beautiful. So big and bright, yet so haunting and peaceful with secrets you could never uncover. You stare at it as you take off your robes layer by layer, feet dipping into the cold water before submerging completely. The ripples on the lake illuminated by the moonlight makes it even more soul-stirring.

You cup the water and wash your hair, finally getting rid of the invisible stains from the war. You felt clean, refreshed – but your heart still rumbled with hatred and darkness. Hatred that you couldn’t be good enough, hatred that you’re destined to be lonely and unloved.

One of the good things about bathing at midnight is that no one gets to see your tears when it mixes in with the water, and you throw your head back in laughter with your arms extended to the sky. This is who you are – a Curse with no future and no past.

Later, you choke as a sob begins, your fist clenching above your heart. It hurt everywhere.

You wanted Sukuna – so much that you felt like you were going to go insane.

If it wasn’t for him, you’d be trapped in an endless nightmare. But he saved you, cared for you, made you his equal. So why couldn’t he love you? You’ve always been there for him. When people turned against him or plotted a rebellion, you were the one who snuck into clan houses and slit their throats, making their descendants and followers witness the consequence of disrespecting Sukuna.

When he was nearly exorcised by an overpowered jujutsu sorcerer, you summoned an army of thousand lost souls to defeat them, nearly ending up with you losing your head in the aftermath. It was always you – you were always there from him since the beginning, so why didn’t he love you?

You cupped your eyes with your palms, unable to stop the tears from coming now. Your whole body shook with sobs, turning number and number at the cold water. Nothing mattered, nothing mattered, nothing did if you couldn’t have Sukuna.

“Sukuna,” you cried out, pushing your hair back as the ripples blurred in your tear-stained view. “Sukuna, help me, please...” Put an end to my suffering, you inwardly begged. Death is a better option than watching him fall deeper and deeper for her, knowing that could never be you. He’d never look at you that way. He’d never touch you that way. He would never be your lover, and your sobs grew more desperate because you know you are his lover.

God, you loved him so much more than you hated yourself.

This sort of madness had you gasping for air. Death – death is a better option. It is a much more peaceful way to go than to suffer each waking day to have what you want be explicitly stated to be reserved for anyone else but you.

You froze when a pair of arms encircled your waist, his grip strong and vice-like. He turned you around, his large hand coming at the small of your neck to bring you down to his shoulder where you could hide your tears. Until now, he knows you better than you know yourself, and he knows it would shatter you even more if he saw you crying.

“Y/N,” Sukuna begins, and your eyes widen when you see he’s still wearing his robe. He must’ve jumped in the water. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What’s wrong?”

Your lips turned blue from the cold. Unable to help the shiver that ran down your spine, your teeth chattered, and Sukuna pulled you closer to the heat of his skin. He sighed worriedly. “You need to tell me what’s wrong, otherwise, I can’t help you.”

“I” You falter. Your heart drums loudly in your chest. He would reject you, break your heart into pieces all over again but – so what if he did? It almost made you laugh. You’re the Curse of Heartbroken Souls. It wouldn’t make a difference if he hurt you now. Instantly, you weaken in his hold, and Sukuna’s hands grip your waist to keep you upright.

“Fuck, Y/N, what’s wrong —”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” you repeat, more confidently this time. You pull away from him in the slightest bit, eyes blown wide as you peer up at his appalled ones. His hands squeeze your waist subconsciously, his sharp nails piercing through your skin until it draws blood. It makes you gasp a little, but you’re used to the pain. Right now, you want to be selfish and free yourself from this pain. “I want you to kiss me, Sukuna.”

His eyebrows pinch together. “What the fuck are you saying? I love someone else, you know I won’t —”

“Won’t do what?” You challenge, eyes burning from the intensity and ferocity of each nerve humming to life. “This isn’t who you are, Sukuna. You’re the King of Curses. Or have you already forgotten those days you would accept those female offerings and you’d fuck them until they’re out of their mind, then discard them as if they were nothing but dirty laundry? You were strong back then, majestic, but now you’re fucking weak,” You spat out. You know you’re spurning him on and pushing all his buttons, but somehow saying those words gave you great relief.

Now, it was time to see his patience snap, which shouldn’t take long since his grip had turned bruising on your hips, and he growled under his breath. “Don’t do this, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who shouldn’t do this,” you growl back, “You haven’t been the same ever since that pathetic excuse of a woman came. Don’t you remember that she left her husband and children just because she was a whore for you? Because you pleased her better than her human spouse?” You push him away with enough force that it sends him a few feet back, and Sukuna scowls. “She doesn’t love you! She only stays by your side because she was nothing but a filthy rat before and now you treat her like a queen! She’s nothing but a lowly human who —”

“Enough!”

“ —made you believe you’re someone she could love! Don’t you get it, Sukuna? We’re Curses, she’s a human! She will never understand us! You’re lying to yourself if you believe she doesn’t cry herself to sleep at the thought she’s next to a monster —”

“I said, that’s enough!” In a flash, Sukuna was in front of you, clawed hands wrapped around your neck. It would be so easy for him to break you and kill you right then and there, your feet already above ground and your exposed breasts just within his sight. Nevertheless, you only laugh cruelly at his agitation. “You know nothing,” he squeezed your neck tighter, “about what it’s like to love someone. How dare you say that she does not love me?”

“I know, because if you let me, I could love you a lot more,” you choked out, clawing at his arm, but he is unfazed by your efforts.

Sukuna lets go of you. You drop in the water as you gasp and breathe for air, but Sukuna’s wide eyes bring you back to reality. It’s that face, the one that tells you he’s been unaware this whole time, and the sudden confession drops on him like a cannonball.

Like a switch has been flipped off, you revert back to your normal self. Using your arms to shield your body, you run away from him, about to make it to the bank when his voice stops you. “Do you truly mean it? Do you love me?”

You close your eyes. “Yes. I always have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” you pull your hair to the side, squeezing the water out. “You barely believe me now, so why believe me if I said it earlier? It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Then why were you calling for me? I heard you crying. You said you wanted me to help you.”

You whip around, tears furiously flowing down. “I’m going to the jujutsu sorcerers myself tomorrow and let them exorcise me. There’s no point to my existence, Sukuna. I’m tired of all the wars. I’m tired of fighting for someone I don’t even care about. I’m tired of loving you and watching you look at her instead of me, when I’m the one who’s always been there for you. I’m tired of —” you hiccup, embarrassed that he was now watching you break down in front of him. You were a powerful curse, dammit, you shouldn’t even be crying about this. “—I’m tired of not being the one you love.”

Sukuna stands there gaping. You don’t give him another chance to speak as you walk away, seemingly a new habit of yours now. You haven’t always been this way. Patience was never one of your strongest points, but being around Sukuna for the past years taught you a thing or two. That all shatters now that you’ve grown tired, the shame of patheticness crawling between your legs as you retrieve your robes, not bothering to dry up.

He exhales through his nose, claws balled into a fist to restrain his anger. Now he wants to be gentle with you the way he is with her?

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic – you keep chanting to yourself. You’re not there yet, but there have already been rumours that you’re the Queen of Curses, the only one who ever managed to be Sukuna’s equal. Although men feared you, they also lusted after you.

How could they not? You were a sexual prowess, and a fearsome figure in the battlefield. Men are confused whether they want to be with you, or if the mere utter of your name had them fainting. Sukuna, on the other hand? He didn’t care. He didn’t notice you. You’re nothing but a war tool to him, his friend and companion during his dark days when he grew bored and would randomly slaughter homes and enslave people.

He’s not the same anymore. The Sukuna you once knew was gone, and you turned back away from him bitterly, the blue flames licking up your skin as a symbol of anger, hatred, but most of all, humiliation.

That night, you didn’t go back to the temple.

And a small, quiet village who’d been loyal to both you and Sukuna had become the victims of your frustration.

The next day, silence echoes in the hallways of the temple. You couldn’t hear even the soft breathings or whispers of the servants. Your ears perk up once you cross the threshold, dropping your bloody katana and releasing your hair from its red tie. The temple servants must’ve already heard that their relatives died the night before – all thanks to your inability to handle your feelings.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, you’ve done this a thousand times before with Sukuna: killing people, enjoying their screams, basking in their surrender and painting the image of hope fading from their eyes into the back of your school.

You’ve done this a thousand times before with Sukuna, but this is the first time you’ve done it alone. You only ever took their lives because Sukuna asked you. Because he assured it was a way to keep gaining strength and to make a name for yourself; that being a powerful Curse was the best feeling in the world and no amount of woman or alcohol felt greater than power.

Sukuna lied.

To him, his heaven was in her arms.

And you? Utterly lost. Broken. With nowhere else to go. As you enter your room, you’re greeted by the sight of a made up bed and cleaned sheets. Even after slaughtering families, your servants still cleaned your room out of fear, and the previous blood from the other day had been wiped away with bleach.

Then, you see yourself from the floor length mirror. White yukata that might as well have been red from the amount of absorbed into the cloth draped over your curves, and your eyes lost what little light it once held. Blood drips from your fingertips and you swipe your thumb over your lip, a small gasp falling to your lips as you recall a little girl, barely five or six winters old, with the exact same lips trembling as she begs you not to kill her parents.

It’s the splitting image of you when you were younger, when you ran around cities unintentionally wreaking havoc out of confusion over your powers. You have no parents. No past. No memory. You just came into existence because of mankind’s grief, and it only made sense you carried that burden more than anyone else.

But you’re not this. You are not a killer. You didn’t enjoy it. You never enjoyed it. Even when Sukuna convinced you that you did, there was no forgetting the fact that you cried yourself to sleep when you were younger at the thought you grew more powerful because you added to the heartbreak of people.

The word heartbreak lights up a bulb in your head. That’s right...you’re the Curse of Heartbreaks – of pain, of grief, of mourning, of suffering.

If you couldn’t have what you want, then why should he? Isn’t it already written in your fate that your destiny is to carry those pain, inflict it onto others, and make them realize they’re wasting their lives believing a lie that love prevails all? That love prevails even someone as irredeemable as Sukuna?

You won’t allow it.

Without wasting another second, you dash to her room. Sukuna’s out to deal with some clan leaders for whatever ritual he wants to perform or out to get more healing potions. The girl never went anywhere else outside the temple because both jujutsu sorcerers and curses are always ready to prance, and she’s smart to not put herself in harm’s way.

But you are harm’s way.

You run so fast through the hallways that you keep bumping into corners, denting the wooden boards and the floor cracking beneath you. You don’t stop until you reach their room, swiping the doors open, and sliding on the doorframe when you see she’s still asleep.

She and Sukuna must’ve stayed up all night performing...activities. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been this weak. She’s a lively and bubbly girl, she wouldn’t have – you freeze in your spot.

Tentatively, you reach over to where she softly snored, tilting her to face you by grabbing her shoulder. She only groans in her slumber before burying herself under the covers. “Sukuna...” her brows furrow as she twitches, probably dreaming about something, and she kicks the covers off with a whine. That’s when you see it. And then you see everything.

A small – barely there – bump on her tummy is half concealed by her lace gown that reveals her skin free from scars, a sign that she’d never really been in battle. But she’s carrying his child, and even though you’re not the one pregnant, you feel bile rise up in your throat.

Your knees wobble and you fall beside their bed, your palms shaky as you place it over her belly. First, you hear a baby cry, and then, a man’s scream.

Sukuna carries his daughter’s form, the little thing bundled up safely in towels while her father coos at her. She’s so small, vulnerable and exposed to the horrors of the world, but she didn’t need to worry about that. Sukuna would protect her, and so would you.

You stand outside the room, a small smile on your face with your arms crossed on your chest. Well, you’ll be damned. You’re not a fan of children and babies in general, but you do admit the infant’s cries sound like music to your ears. It means she’s alive and healthy, and even though her existence is nearly impossible considering her father is a curse, the girl was born perfectly fine and well.

Suddenly, a dark, ominous presence looms over the room. You stand on guard, hands drawing your blade to prepare for whatever or whoever attacked you. You’re not a fan of the kid and or her mother regardless, but Sukuna is left open and vulnerable for attack in this state. He’s too busy fawning over his kid to sense any incoming assault.

However, something doesn’t feel right with this one. That dark, suffocating feeling doesn’t travel. Instead, it’s stagnant and somewhat docile, as if it has no intention to attack, but its threat still remains. It doesn’t even seem like it came from anywhere or it’s about to arrive. Rather...it’s like it was always there to begin with.

Your eyes widen at the realization.

What would happen if a curse...fathered someone else? Would it be human? Or would it be something worse?

You slam the doors open, and everything happens in slow motion. The baby’s mother reaches out to a nearly sobbing Sukuna, eager to see her child, but just as her small, grubby hands wrap around her mother’s pointer finger, it falls. She stops breathing, her arm falling limp, and Sukuna stops cooing. The baby’s cries cease, staring up at her father and extending her small arms to cup his face.

It seems he realized it too, but it was too late.

“Sukuna, don’t!”

The child giggles, her knuckles brushing against her father’s jaw, and the King of Curses lose his grip on her. You watch as they both fall, a garbled scream leaving your lips. The midwife runs to save the child before she’s crushed under Sukuna’s weight, but she too has fallen victim the moment her skin made contact with the baby’s.

No...it’s not even a child or an infant. It’s not even human.

It’s the Curse of Death.

And at her birth, the world would grow dark, darker than what you and Sukuna have already caused the world to be. Her words would sound like a fork scraping against a plate; torturous, excruciatingly painful, and enough to have you begging for death. The simple brush of skin upon skin takes away the energy, power, and life even of the most powerful beings. After all, what is stronger than Death? It was the only absolute truth in the world – which all things must come to an end.

You retract your hand from her body, sweat dripping on your hairline. That thing growing inside her body...it must not be born. Sukuna would die.

With a silent scream, you whip out the dagger and force it upon her stomach. Or at least, you would’ve, if not for the blade that had peaked out your chest and nearly poking Sukuna’s lover’s back. Blood stained the silver blade, leaking into your lap.

You drop your dagger.

“I trusted you,” Sukuna begins calmly, pulling out the sword from your body in one swift movement. He ignores the way you cough out blood, your head shaking as if to deny his words. His face remains expressionless as he wipes your blood on his thigh, dropping the potions to aid her pregnancy beside her on the bed. Sukuna crouches down to your level and pulls you by the hair until he’s close enough that you could see his two other eyes also glare at you. “Have I not made it clear she is to be untouched? Just because you’re unable to handle your petty jealousy, does not give you a goddamn right to kill what’s mine.”

“What grows in her is a monster,” you sneer, struggling against his grip. You’ve forgotten that his sword is imbued with his special curses that would immediately exorcise any weaker Curse, but because you’re on the same level as him, you die slowly, and a lot more painfully.

“That child is mine. It was created out of love.”

“It is not a child!” You argue, “It will be born as the Curse of Death, one that will kill both you and your little lover!”

“And if you’re lying?”

You grit your teeth. “I would never lie to you, Sukuna.”

His brow shots upwards, a smirk creasing his lips. “Is that so?” he shoves you until you slam against the wall. Sukuna treads to you dangerously, his tongue peeking out to swipe at his lips. You know that darkness in his eyes better than most – it’s the look he always wore when he decides to go for the kill. “Then, since you’re always honest to me, tell me this: do you still love me?”

You don’t even think about it.

“Yes. That’s why I’m telling you to get rid of that thing before you and everyone else dies.”

“A concerned little lamb,” he hums in amusement. “That makes it clear then,” Before you could process what happens next, you take your last breath as Sukuna rips out your heart with his claws. It’s not an actual heart, but rather the core of your Curse manifestation and the gem-like object is crushed under his fists. “Queen of Curses, Curse of Heartbreak,” he drops the pieces of your heart into your lap, Sukuna growing more and more blurry in front of you. “Die the same way you came to life: with a terrible, terrible heartbreak.”

Sometimes, you can’t help but feel like you’d been an awful person in your past life. It’s not that you’d ever done anything illegal or rebellious. Your parents are quite proud of your immaculately clean school record, and your grades are even above average. The school’s faculty absolutely adores you for your preppy personality, always volunteering to help others and taking the lead when no one wants to budge.

You suppose you’re quite a role model, but what no one understands is that maybe you’re always going out of your way to be kind with someone because deep down, you have a nagging feeling you’ve once been a terrible person.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around your legs as you hug it to yourself, whacking your forehead in your knees to get rid of those impending thoughts. There’s really no reason behind it, more like an intuition that you’ve forgotten about something important.

You’re pulled out of your trance when warm, soft hands push your hair back, and a pair of even softer lips land at your shoulders. Immediately, you smile, turning your head to peer at the dark-haired beauty that shyly peeks up at you under his long lashes. He keeps peppering kisses all the way up to your neck until you laugh from being ticklish, and it doesn’t take long before Megumi has you smiling again.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbles on your shoulder, his warm hand drawing comforting circles on your lower back. Again, the simple gesture ignites something within you, something about oddly familiar even if you don’t feel like you’ve experienced it firsthand. “You’ve been deep in thought lately.”

“Lately?”

“Hmm,” he moves up your face, pressing a long, solid kiss at your forehead. It makes you relax and sigh happily, unable to help your urge to crawl into his lap and bury yourself in his arms. “Ever since Itadori enrolled here, you’ve always looked at him...quite weirdly. Is he bothering you? You know if he does something weird, I won’t hesitate to feed him to the Divine Dogs.”

That elicits a laugh from you. Now that you think about it, you’ve been awfully quite ever since Gojo sensei came back with that overly excited kid. You don’t know why, you don’t even realize his presence affects you, but you don’t want Megumi to worry about it when you can’t understand it yourself. So you hug him closer until the scent of fresh laundry wafts your senses, and you brush his scalp tenderly.

Megumi purrs.

“It’s nothing you should worry about, I’m sure I’m just tired from exams.” Unlike Megumi, you’re not a jujutsu sorcerer. You came from a totally human family that lived a totally mundane humane life, unaware that curses exist and people actually die from it. If it wasn’t for Megumi saving you that one time in school when you unknowingly stayed behind the same night the Occult Club did and ran into some freaky monsters, you would continue living without any idea of it.

It wasn’t always easy accepting Megumi’s true identity, but you loved him more than anyone else, and so hiding in his dorms while lying to your parents you were going to sleep over a friend’s house has become somewhat a daily occurrence. You’ve even made friends with the lovely Nobara and Maki senpai who welcomes you with open arms – although maybe it’s because you never fail to bring them food from the city and some fashionable items for Nobara.

Megumi senses your hesitance to talk about it, so he drops it and enjoys the feeling of your skin on him instead, your breaths falling in the same rhythm. Tonight, he and his classmates would go out on a mission again because the idiotic Gojo-sensei was away overseas, and as always, you’d stay up late in Megumi’s room, waiting for him to come back right after he promises you you’ll come back safely.

You close your eyes and wrap yourself around him like a koala, and Megumi laughs at how small you are. He doesn’t brush you off, though. He knows you fear for his life despite the fact you trust him with his abilities, but you can’t help it. It’s only natural to worry about your loved one, after all.

For now, he’ll have to keep cuddling and kissing you for as long as he could before he leaves.

How does one soothe their lover who’s come from battles?

You scramble away from Megumi’s bed the moment you’re waken up by the sound of steady knocks. The first aid kit lays on his study desk, which you swipe with sleepy eyes as his baggy clothes crinkle in your smaller figure. It’s rare that Megumi lets you see his state during after battles, but today, tonight, he allowed you to stay even after his mission.

Your steps are nothing but hurried when you slide the door open, his name about to fall from your lips until you’re greeted by a young man with strawberry blonde hair and black marks on his face. It’s Itadori Yuuji, but at the same time, it’s not him...

His cheerfulness and airheaded self is gone, replaced with a much sinister entity residing within it. The man before you sighs, frowning in distaste at your clothes – your boyfriend’s clothes – before he invites himself in and shuts the door behind him.

Sukuna hums, pulling you closer to him until there is no space between your skin and his, his face nuzzling in your neck. “I’m home,” his lips brush the bare skin of your neck, his breath warm and ticklish. “I made it home to you, my Queen. Safely like you asked.”

“Wha-?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so quietly you wonder if you heard it at all. “For not believing you, for not seeing you. It took me thousands of years to realize where I fucked it all up, but I know the truth now. And you were right – you were always right. I hope in this life I no longer break your heart in the same way you soothe mine.”

- - - - -

A/N: Sounds like a pretty confusing ending, which it is, and I was gonna leave it at that but because I don’t want anyone to go “HUH?” after reading this, I’m just gonna explain :D Sukuna eventually realized how toxic he was to the reader in her past life, how he convinced her to be a bad person with him then emotionally abandoning her the moment he found his happiness. She was the Curse of Heartbreak, and her powers remained even after she was “exorcised.”

She broke his heart by showing him how he lost everything after her exorcism and his lover’s death (because he also saw the future that the child was the Curse of Death) and all those years of suffering eventually made him realize that the power of heartbreak was the one that destroyed him. So in the present, when the reader was reincarnated as a human girl, he finally found her and tries to make up for his mistakes because she was actually his first love, he just didn’t realize it because both of them were somewhat barbaric and psychotic. Lmk what you think, I hope you liked it!

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wearetheblacklegion · 5 years ago

Text

Death of a World

@fuukonomiko (can you tag the other champions?)- based on her wrath ask

Callidia was a world of the Ecclesiarchy, an entire world dedicated to the worship of the God-Emperor and veneration of his Saints. At this time of year all were preparing for the annual Festival of Saint Callidia. The patron Saint of the world, the one hundred days of festivities and celebration mirrored the one hundred days in which the saint interrogated the xenos worshipping witch who came to corrupt loyal imperial hearts. Even to this day the remnants of the witches robes were on display beneath a glass case alongside the reliquary bones of Callidia. The festival would culminate in the ritual burning of effigies, symbolizing the witch being burned at the stake for her crimes. The Arch-Cardinal himself would preside over the ceremonies for the next hundred days. As a worldwide broadcast of the Cardinal’s opening sermon was interrupted by the darkening of the skies, awe turned to horror as they realized this darkness was man made. A massive fleet had entered orbit over the capital city, one comprised of countless variations of vessels both Imperial and xenos. The Arch-Cardinal’s broadcast fizzled and stuttered our, replaced by a new one. A feminine voice issued from every speaker on the world, one so laced with anger and venom that it froze the blood in the listeners veins. “You celebrate the torture of an innocent woman, memorialize her death, venerate her murderer. My sister came here seeking peace and sanctuary and you gifted her only with pain and blood. This gift I return to you now. Revel in it savages and know that I will feed every one of your miserable souls to the lowest of my servants!” The broadcast died and the sky began to burn.

Talorax watched, amused slightly as the panicked masses rushed towards his defenses. The Iron Warrior had been meticulous, encircling the city in tight cordon of hastily dug trenches and weapon emplacements. Artillery opened up with booming thunder over the chatter of gunfire. Explosions ripped gaping holes in the mob even as they were torn apart by the massed fire. Quickly it became a charnel ground of exploded meat and viscera, forcing the survivors to choose between another suicidal rush or retreat back into the city. At his command the columns of Land Raiders and Rhinos began pushing forward, grinding corpses to meaty pulp beneath their treads. Talorax allowed himself a smile. There would not be two bricks left stacked upon each other when he was through.

Icarus impaled a screaming priest upon his blade, the power field charting flesh and bone. The man had a moment to scream before the weapon ripped up and out through his torso. Around him the forces of the goddess fought with the zeal of fanatics. To his right a warrior seized scrambling man and swung him bodily into a marble column till he burst like a forest piñata. To his left a tattoo covered cultist fell upon a scrambling pilgrim, dagger slashing and stabbing with a fury worthy of a khornate worshipper. One woman clad in the vestments of the clergy bravely rushed them with a candelabra only to be mobbed down and shredded by a chittering swarm of imps. Astartes, mortals, and daemon alike fought side by side with the wrath of their goddess fueling their limbs. This world would die, it had been commanded.

Drogan roared as he killed, daemonic strength pulsing within his flesh. His bone blades flashed out, punching through the vulnerable throat armor of a Celestian. The battle sister gurgled blood and clawed uselessly at him before he discarded her upon the floor. He heard a feral howl and saw a blur of storm gray rush past him, Hirvik leaping into the fray with chainsword screaming. Furio was not far behind, draped in newly acquired skins still bleeding, a ghastly resemblance to his long deceased gene-father. Only the maddest and most fanatical followed them, wielding archaic or warp forged weapons of terrible power. Astartes roaring battle hymns as they cut through Sororitas ranks, masses of crazed and mutated cultists going laughing to their deaths and pulling down sisters through sheer numbers, summoned daemons running amok. And through the center of it all strode the goddess in her war form. Fuuko was clad in sinuous armor of ebony and crimson, patting only for the eternally open eyes upon her chest and the fanged maw of her abdomen. Batlike wings folded tightly into her body as horns rose from her flowing mane of jet black hair. She moved with unhurried grace, an eye of calm amidst the madness, yet her very presence shook the material realm with barely restrained power. One sister broke through and rushed the goddess with a blade raised high, screaming praise to her Corpse-God. Her blow never made it as silvery steel intercepted and turned it aside. Vico was the greatest swordsman of the Vaults, unmatched and undefeated. With disarming ease his sword flickered our and took the martyr’s head clean off. None would ever get past his blade to reach his sovereign.

The Celestian Sisters fought with courage and righteous fury but it availed them none. The last one died still cursing them as Vico’s fangs tore out her throat. With the defenders slain it was only a few moments before two mortals dragged the crimson swathed obesity that was Arch-Cardinal Julianus. The man was dumped into a cowering, sobbing heap before Fuuko’s feet. There was only cold disdain in the goddess eyes. “I wonder if my sister begged the way you pitiful mortal did. Did she scream? Did she cry out for mercy? Would your kind even have listened. Scream for your Emperor little priest, scream like all the victims of your precious church.” The maw opened wide, slavering fangs stretching out in endless hunger. Julianus stared into the madness of oblivion and he screamed as it closed in on him.

For one hundred days a world burned. Their cities were reduced to rubble, their holy sites ruined and the earth salted. Pilgrims and clergy alike were hunted and slaughtered in an orgy of death and blood, none allowed to survive. When her earth was finally spent the forces of the Vault returned to orbit and virus bombed the world to barren rock. When the Imperial fleet did finally arrive all they would find was a planet-sized tombstone, a monument to the wrath of the divine.

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katycatking-blog · 5 years ago

Video

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BGhgZekwCM)

CONTENTS

Achilles: Early Life

Achilles: The Trojan War

Achilles: The Illiad

Achilles: The Fate of Achilles

The warrior Achilles is one of the great heroes of Greek mythology. According to legend, Achilles was extraordinarily strong, courageous and loyal, but he had one vulnerability–his “Achilles heel.” Homer’s epic poem The Iliad tells the story of his adventures during the last year of the Trojan War.

Achilles: Early Life

Like most mythological heroes, Achilles had a complicated family tree. His father was Peleus, the mortal king of the Myrmidons–a people who, according to legend, were extraordinarily fearless and skilled soldiers. His mother was Thetis, a Nereid.

Did you know? Today, we use the phrase “Achilles heel” to describe a powerful person’s fatal weakness.

According to myths and stories composed long after the Iliad, Thetis was extraordinarily concerned about her baby son’s mortality. She did everything she could to make him immortal: She burned him over a fire every night, then dressed his wounds with ambrosial ointment; and she dunked him into the River Styx, whose waters were said to confer the invulnerability of the gods. However, she gripped him tightly by the foot as she dipped him into the river–so tightly that the water never touched his heel. As a result, Achilles was invulnerable everywhere but there.

When he was 9 years old, a seer predicted that Achilles would die heroically in battle against the Trojans. When she heard about this, Thetis disguised him as a girl and sent him to live on the Aegean island of Skyros. To be a great warrior was Achilles’ fate, however, and he soon left Skyros and joined the Greek army. In a last-ditch effort to save her son’s life, Thetis asked the divine blacksmith Hephaestus to make a sword and shield that would keep him safe. The armor that Hephaestus produced for Achilles did not make him immortal, but it was distinctive enough to be recognized by friend and foe alike.

When Homer wrote the Iliad in about 720 BCE, however, readers and listeners would not have known any of this. They only knew that Achilles was a great hero, that he had superhuman strength and courage and that he was supremely handsome. Homer painted a more nuanced picture: In addition to these qualities, his Achilles was vengeful and quick to anger and could be petulant when he did not get his way. He was also deeply loyal and would sacrifice anything for his friends and family.

Achilles: The Trojan War

According to legend, the Trojan War began when the god-king Zeus decided to reduce Earth’s mortal population by arranging a war between the Greeks (Homer calls them the Achaeans) and the Trojans. He did this by meddling in their political and emotional affairs. At Achilles’ parents’ wedding banquet, Zeus invited the prince of Troy, a young man named Paris, to judge a beauty contest between the goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Each of the goddesses offered Paris a bribe in exchange for his vote. Aphrodite’s was the most alluring: She promised to give the young prince the most beautiful wife in the world. Unfortunately, the wife in question–Helen, the daughter of Zeus–was already married to someone else: Menelaus, the king of Sparta. At Aphrodite’s urging, Paris went to Sparta, won Helen’s heart and took her (along with all of Menelaus’ money) back to Troy.

Menelaus vowed revenge. He assembled an army of Greece’s greatest warriors, including Achilles and his Myrmidons, and set off to conquer Troy and get his wife back. In Homer’s telling, this war lasted for 10 bloody years.

Achilles: The Illiad

When the Iliad begins, the Trojan War has been going on for nine years. Achilles, the poem’s protagonist, has led one battle after another. He has met with great success–in fact, he is undefeated in battle–but the war itself has reached a stalemate.

Homer’s story focuses on a different conflict, however: the internecine quarrel between his hero and Agamemnon, the leader of the Achaean armies and Menelaus’ brother. In a battle that took place before the poem begins, Agamemnon had taken as a concubine a young Trojan woman named Chryseis. Chryseis’ father, a priest of the god Apollo, tried to buy his daughter’s freedom, but Agamemnon mocked his entreaties and refused to release the girl.

Enraged, Apollo punished the Greek armies by sending a plague to kill the soldiers one by one. As his ranks thinned, Agamemnon finally agreed to allow Chryseis to return to her father. However, he demanded a replacement concubine in exchange: Achilles’ wife, the Trojan princess Breseis.

Achilles did as his commander asked and relinquished his bride. Then, he announced that he would no longer fight on Agamemnon’s behalf. He gathered his belongings, including the armor Hephaestus had made, and refused to come out of his tent.

With the Greeks’ greatest warrior off the battlefield, the tide began to turn in favor of the Trojans. The Greeks lost one battle after another. Eventually, Achilles’ best friend, the soldier Patroclus, was able to wrangle a compromise: Achilles would not fight, but he would let Patroclus use his powerful armor as a disguise. That way, the Trojans would think that Achilles had returned to battle and would retreat in fear.

The plan was working until Apollo, still seething about Agamemnon’s treatment of Chryseis and her father, intervened on the Trojans’ behalf. He helped the Trojan prince Hector to find and kill Patroclus.

Furious, Achilles vowed to take revenge. He chased Hector back to Troy, slaughtering Trojans all the way. When they got to the city walls, Hector tried to reason with his pursuer, but Achilles was not interested. He stabbed Hector in the throat, killing him.

Hector had begged for an honorable burial in Troy, but Achilles was determined to humiliate his enemy even in death. He dragged Hector’s body behind his chariot all the way back to the Achaean camp and tossed it on the garbage heap. However, in the poem’s last section Achilles finally relents: He returns Hector’s body to his father for a proper burial.

Achilles: The Fate of Achilles

In his Iliad, Homer does not explain what happened to Achilles. According to later legends (and bits and pieces of Homer’s own Odyssey), the warrior returned to Troy after Hector’s funeral to exact further revenge for Patroclus’ death. However, the still-vengeful Apollo told Hector’s brother Paris that Achilles was coming. Paris, who was not a brave warrior, ambushed Achilles as he entered Troy. He shot his unsuspecting enemy with an arrow, which Apollo guided to the one place he knew Achilles was vulnerable: his heel, where his mother’s hand had kept the waters of the Styx from touching his skin. Achilles died on the spot, still undefeated in battle.

Citation Information

Article Title

Achilles

Author

History.com Editors

Website Name

HISTORY

URL

https://www.history.com/topics/ancient-history/achilles

Access Date

16 August 2019

Publisher

A&E Television Networks

Last Updated

June 7, 2019

Original Published Date

March 21, 2011

HISTORY.COM EDITORS

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diioonysus · 6 years ago

Note

what are the top ten most interesting people in history to you?

10. Catherine de’ Medici: said to be one of the most powerful woman in Europe

9. Charles V: the heir to three of Europe’s leading dynasties and his domains ranged for 4 million square miles

8. Richard lll of England: last king of York, and a mystery of whether he murdered his two nephews has never been solved

7. Henry VII of England: the first of the Tutors

6. Roman Emperor Tiberius: said to be one of the greatest Roman generals, but was known to be a dark ruler

5. Caligula: Tiberius’ heir, who was INSANE

4. Alexander The Great: one of the world’s most successful military commanders: undefeated in battle

3. Marco Polo: the first person to document their travels to Asia, and the Mongol leader refused to allow him to leave

2. Thutmose III: conquered 350 cities and was a military genius, and considered the greatest Egyptian warrior pharaohs that transformed Egypt into an international powerhouse

1. Leonidas the legendary King of Sparta: who sacrificed himself and his 300 men to protect Greece from an invading Persian empire, famous words when asked by the persians to give up their weapons: “come and get them!” when seeing that they were surrounded; he commanded the remaining greeks to return and defend the city, 300 Spartans and 700 Thespians and himself stayed behind to protect the city and were killed in a trap.

#history #Egypt #greece #england #france #rome #asia

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junker-town · 6 years ago

Text

Marta revolutionized women’s soccer

How the Brazilian legend redefined an entire sport by the sheer force of her brilliance.

The 2007 World Cup semifinal between Brazil and the United States was one of world soccer’s greatest butt-whoopings. Marta was the best player on the pitch from whistle to whistle, and the match was effectively over at halftime when, already down two goals, USWNT midfielder Shannon Boxx was red carded. There was little for Brazil to do in the second half except show off, and Marta could never resist an opportunity like that.

In the 79th minute of the match, Marta received the ball 30 yards away from goal. She had her back turned to American defender Tina Ellertson, who appeared to be in good position. Marta’s first touch popped the ball up in the air, and the entire American defense stopped to watch. With a magical second touch, Marta flicked the ball over Ellertson’s left shoulder while spinning in the opposite direction.

Modern defenders have since learned to react to this by committing a hard foul, but Ellertson had no frame of reference. She’d almost certainly never had an attacker try it on her. By the time she realized she should just pull Marta’s shirt, it was too late, and the Brazilian was a step past her.

Bravely, Cat Whitehill stepped up to Marta. But by the time Whitehill stuck her foot out for a challenge, Marta was already taking the ball in the opposite direction. Whitehill, a world class defender who finished her career with 134 national team caps, missed her tackle by more than a foot and stumbled. When Whitehill finally recovered her balance, Marta’s shot was already past goalkeeper Brianna Scurry.

“That was one of those moments where as an opposition player you were devastated because it was likely our worst loss in the history of the national team, but on the other side, recognizing that you just saw a glimpse of brilliance,” recalls Heather O’Reilly, who started the match for the USWNT.

While Marta became a household name in that moment, she was already well-known inside women’s soccer. She’d won 2006 FIFA World Player of the Year off the back of impressive performances in European club play. She’d already scored five goals in the World Cup before the semifinal. Marta was well on her way to being recognized as the world’s best player.

But this game in particular marked a turning point for both Marta’s career and women’s soccer as a whole. This was the moment when it became obvious she was more than just the new best player in the world. Marta was going to become the most influential player in the history of the sport.

Brazil didn’t go on to win the World Cup. Marta missed a penalty in the final against Germany. And yet, the 2007 World Cup isn’t remembered for Germany’s triumph at all. It’s remembered for Marta.

“She brought a joy and electricity that wasn’t there before her,” O’Reilly says.

Marta developed that spark in the small town of Dois Riachos, Alagoas state, playing against boys when she wasn’t supposed to. Coaches love to extol the virtues of unorganized street games and the creativity which blooms from them. That effect is amplified when players are held to higher standards because of their gender.

“I played with the boys out on the street without shoes. I was the only girl and every time I played I had to try something so that I could be better,” Marta said in 2012. She had to hide that she was playing from her brother, who didn’t want her to participate — not because he had anything against her playing, but because he wanted to protect her from bullies.

Marta’s mother told off people in town who didn’t want her daughter to play, and accompanied Marta on a two-day bus ride to Rio de Janeiro for a tryout when she was 14. She made the team, Vasco de Gama, but two years later they shuttered their women’s organization. Marta had to play for an amateur club halfway between Rio and her hometown, Santa Cruz, until she was 18 and allowed to move abroad under FIFA rules. After turning 18, Marta left for Umea IK in Sweden.

“The lack of support, people not believing that I could be someone and do something, was the right fuel that really made me stronger and really motivated me to overcome all the lack of support, all the discrimination, all the people not believing,” Marta said about the risks she took when moving clubs as a young player. “I told myself, since I’m a warrior in my personal life, I’m going to take this as a fuel.’”

From 2002 onward, through the next decade, Marta dominated everywhere she went. She scored six goals at the first FIFA women’s youth championship as a 16-year-old, playing against players who were two-to-three years older. She won the Pan American Games a year later, then an Olympic silver medal and a UEFA Champions League title a year after, which led into five consecutive FIFA World Player of the Year awards from 2006-2010.

During her time in the United States, Marta was a member of two of the best club teams in the history of women’s soccer. The roles she played in each of them showed off how complete a player she is.

On the 2010 FC Gold Pride squad, Marta was the unquestioned star and acted like it, scoring 19 goals in 24 matches en route to a WPS MVP award. A year later, her and FCGP teammate Christine Sinclair joined forces with Alex Morgan and Caroline Seger for a Western New York Flash side that looked more like an all-star team than a salary-capped organization. She was more unselfish with the Flash, scoring 10 fewer goals than the season prior, but was still the best player on a championship-winning squad.

When her first stint in America was finished, Marta moved back to Sweden, where her European career started, and won three more league titles.

Marta’s list of titles and individual awards are enough to make it clear she’s the best to ever play the game, but her biggest influence was in how she dominated.

“Usually the most explosive players didn’t have the touch to match, at that point in the development of women’s soccer. Even though you knew she wanted to cut to her left, you knew what was coming, you couldn’t stop it because she’s that quick,” Aly Wagner, Fox World Cup broadcaster and USWNT player on the 2007 team, says.

She adds, “when Marta was determined to get by defenders, she was going to. She was feisty. She had just enough nasty in her. That’s a thing you didn’t see out of creative players at the time, that bite.”

It seems obvious now that a woman could possess all of these skills simultaneously, but it wasn’t in 2002, when Marta first stepped onto the world stage. Even by the time 2007 rolled around, and Marta had been well on her way towards her peak, most people inside of the game still had a very limited idea of what female players were capable of.

Ask a women’s soccer fan who Greg Ryan is, and they’ll tell you he’s the idiot who swapped out Hope Solo for Brianna Scurry and had no plan to slow down Marta in 2007. But until that semifinal, Ryan could do no wrong.

The USWNT of that era played a simple, long ball-oriented game which relied heavily on having better athletes than their opponents. Many considered this style antiquated, but it worked: the team was undefeated under Ryan’s guidance for more than two years, winning four out of the five tournaments they played with him as coach before the World Cup, losing only to Germany on penalties in the 2006 Algarve Cup final. He had not previously been branded as a bad coach, and he probably wouldn’t have been let go by U.S. Soccer if the World Cup draw shook out a bit differently.

But he benched Solo, his team got destroyed by Marta, and the USWNT made a dramatic change that started them on a path towards the team they are today.

O’Reilly and Wagner both recall a locker room filled with players and coaches who were convinced their attitude and teamwork were superior to all other teams, and stronger than any individual talent. They saw Brazil as a team with Marta and a couple of other talented individuals, incapable of beating a real team like theirs.

“We always had this incredible self-belief that the American attitude would let it all work out and it was kind of a humbling moment when it didn’t,” O’Reilly says.

“We rarely discussed the other team,” Wagner says. “I know this sounds absurd because it’s so different now, but things have evolved so much. Marta was a key player that we focused on, but that was rare. We were very generic in our defensive gameplan, everything was broad strokes.”

The USWNT’s direct style didn’t work against Brazil. O’Reilly, Abby Wambach, and

Kristine Lilly couldn’t just outrun and outmuscle the Brazilian defense. And every turnover gifted Marta more chances to run at the Americans in space.

Backlash against Ryan was swift, Swedish manager Pia Sundhage was named as his replacement four months after the loss to Brazil. She took the job intent on morphing the USWNT into a squad that could keep the ball on the ground and attack in multiple ways, rather than relying solely on their athleticism.

“From the first day on the job, she sang to us with her guitar, ‘The Times They Are A Changin’ by Bob Dylan,” O’Reilly says. “That was a sign that we were putting any issues from 2007 in the past, and that this was a new year and a new journey.”

Less than a year into Sundhage’s tenure, the Americans got their rematch with Brazil in the 2008 Olympic gold medal game. Marta was consistently dangerous, but ultimately held at bay, and the Americans won 1-0 in extra time. Sundhage made her team value possession.

“It was frustrating at first because it was against our DNA to possess for possession’s sake and not see a direct result,” O’Reilly says, “but Pia encouraged us to slow down and strike after we’d exposed the opposition. She taught us to cherish the ways to keep the ball for longer bouts.”

The USWNT was not accustomed to attacking through long passing moves on the ground, and would still rely on direct counters and set pieces to score most of their goals. But what they sacrificed from their attack, they made up by limiting the number of times Marta got the ball in space, and forcing her to do more defensive work.

When the Americans were reliant on going long, Marta never had to worry about her role on defense, or chasing to get the ball back. Because the Americans turned the ball over constantly, she got a high volume of opportunities to do something audacious. Even for a player of Marta’s ability, the fourth goal in the World Cup semifinal was a fairly low-percentage move, but one she’ll eventually make if given enough chances.

So keeping possession against Brazil became the USWNT’s best possible defense: Marta can’t score if she doesn’t have the ball.

This didn’t just win the Americans a gold medal in 2008. It marked the single biggest philosophical change that the most successful program in the history of women’s soccer has ever made. The USWNT blew up its entire philosophy because it got destroyed by one player, in one game.

And the USWNT has only been pushing further and further towards trying to dominate possession with each successive coaching hire and tactical switch. From Sundhage, to her successor Tom Sermanni, to current coach Jill Ellis, the USWNT has spent the last 12 years transforming into a keepaway team, dedicated to never letting something like Marta’s 2007 performance ever happen again.

There’s no consensus about who the best pre-Marta women’s soccer player is, but all of the players who are in the conversation are rather straightforward and uninventive, despite their brilliance. Michelle Akers was a wrecking ball who defenders bounced off of. Sun Wen’s primary skill was she was a technically precise ball-striker. Mia Hamm used her giant brain to ghost away from defenders. Birgit Prinz was built like a brick house and stayed composed under pressure. And even the silky, skilled Homare Sawa had a game that was more about vision and precision than trickery.

In the modern game, these players would mostly be considered lunch pail, Do Your Job types, not superstars. In 2019, the focal point of a team’s attack needs to have more than one elite skill. They can’t just be tough as nails, or lightning quick, or technically superb. They need to be at least two of those things, with hopefully a few creative tricks up their sleeve. And the biggest reason it occurs to coaches and players to be so ambitious is Marta’s example.

All of the best teams in the world have attackers with both pace and flair now. The United States has Tobin Heath, France has Eugenie Le Sommer, and the Netherlands have Lieke Martens. These players aren’t much younger than Marta, but they came up through the ranks at the perfect time. All of them were limited players in their younger days, but started their professional careers in a world that had been reshaped by Marta.

O’Reilly, a winger who had both speed and solid technical ability, thinks she would have been asked to work on different skills if she was a teenager today.

“Early in my career, I relied on my speed and athleticism, getting behind players,” O’Reilly says. “Even when I moved to the wing, I was instructed to be very direct and learn a good crossing technique. If I was a young player now I would be presented with more questions at training. I was told a lot of times what to do, and I’m a very coachable person, so I would execute what was asked of me. If I was a young player now I would be put into positions in order to problem solve and make critical decisions on my own.”

Maybe the best direct comparison between pre- and post-Marta USWNT players is Amy Rodriguez and Mallory Pugh. Both were 5’4” forwards whose primary asset as teenagers was their outstanding speed. Both were dominant at Under-17 level, and both were rated as the top player in the country in their graduating classes.

Rodriguez was made into a run-in-behind, goal-poaching striker. It’s a job she did well, but it’s also fair to say she didn’t quite make the most of her talent, scoring 30 times in 132 national team caps from 2005 to 2018. It was only later in her career, once she started playing for FC Kansas City, that she developed a wider skillset, playing with her back to goal and combining with her teammates. By then, she was no longer considered a starting caliber player for the national team.

If Rodriguez was a teenager today, she might have been turned into something a bit more like Pugh, a tricky winger who’s expected to star for the USWNT once Heath and Megan Rapinoe hang up their boots. Pugh often looked like a one-trick speed demon in her early youth national team appearances, but she’s become a more complete player since then. She’s an elite dribbler who can beat anyone one-on-one. She enjoys nutmegging people, and she’s improved her through balls considerably over the past two years. If Pugh was born in 1987, she’d likely have none of those skills.

“Marta took the game to the next level from what everyone deemed possible,” Wagner said. “Her combination of athleticism, skill and flair became possible for every next player that was going to come along.”

Marta was by far the best player in the world during the time period between women’s soccer’s initial explosion in 1999 and Europe’s very recent expansion of professionalization, which is probably the most important time in the game’s development. As the definitive star of the era, she shaped what the game would become — both in how individual players would develop and in how the game evolved tactically to counter players like her.

The game’s early pioneers showed people that women’s soccer was exciting and had something to offer, but Marta opened up a wider range of possibilities. She opened the minds of young women and their coaches, and that’s why she’s the most important person to ever play the game.

“Progress for women’s soccer here doesn’t walk, it crawls,” Marta said in 2014. “Many of these girls have the qualifications the sport demands, but with no incentive, or sponsors or publicity, it’s impossible to move forward. It’s impossible to support yourself playing soccer if you’re a woman playing the game in Brazil.”

She said this about her home country, but it could apply to most countries in the world. Both FIFA and individual football associations have been slow to invest in women’s soccer, and only make efforts to combat sexism when a lot of money is at stake. The on-field progression of women’s soccer has very little to do with anything institutional. It’s almost all down to the influence of exceptional individuals.

O’Reilly says Marta’s success “encouraged more girls to be take-on artists, to really value their skills.” She adds, “maybe at a young age it doesn’t pay off because you’re not the biggest player on the field, but over time working on your skills and your one-on-one ability and your agility with the ball pays off.”

In her unique way, Marta showed young women athletes they could define a game on their own terms. This, more than any trophies or awards, is her legacy.

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dailybollywoodqueens · 8 years ago

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what films would you rec for a bollywood begginer?

Oh gosh. There are so many good ones, but let me see.

Here are some films I would consider watching.

Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge - When Raj and Simran first met on an inter-rail holiday in Europe, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight.

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara - Three friends decide to turn their fantasy vacation into reality after one of their number becomes engaged.

Jab We Met - A depressed wealthy businessman finds his life changing after he meets a spunky and care-free young woman.

Swades - A successful Indian scientist returns to an Indian village to take his nanny to America with him and in the process rediscovers his roots.

Dil Chanta Hai - Three inseparable childhood friends are just out of college. Nothing comes between them - until they each fall in love, and their wildly different approaches to relationships creates tension.

Lagaan: Once Upon Time in India - The people of a small village in Victorian India stake their future on a game of cricket against their ruthless British rulers.

Highway - Right before her wedding, a young woman finds herself abducted and held for ransom. As the initial days pass, she begins to develop a strange bond with her kidnapper.

Kahaani - A pregnant woman’s search for her missing husband takes her from London to Kolkata, but everyone she questions denies having ever met him.

Kai Po Che -Three friends growing up in India at the turn of the millennium set out to open a training academy to produce the country’s next cricket stars.

The Lunchbox - A mistaken delivery in Mumbai’s famously efficient lunchbox delivery system connects a young housewife to an older man in the dusk of his life as they build a fantasy world together through notes in the lunchbox.

English Vinglish - A quiet, sweet tempered housewife endures small slights from her well-educated husband and daughter everyday because of her inability to speak and understand English.

Lootera - An aristocrat’s daughter falls in love with a visiting archaeologist, but he holds a secret that could drive them apart.

Fitoor - Modern adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations; a poor but talented boy falls in love with a girl from an affluent family.

Queen - A Delhi girl from a traditional family sets out on a solo honeymoon after her marriage gets canceled.

Rustom - In 1959, a decorated naval officer is accused of murdering his wife’s lover.

Dangal - Former wrestler Mahavir Singh Phogat and his two wrestler daughters struggle towards glory at the Commonwealth Games in the face of societal oppression.

Pink - When three young women are implicated in a crime, a retired lawyer steps forward to help them clear their names. (Warning: rape/assault)

Hindi Medium - A couple from Chandni Chowk aspire to give their daughter the best education and thus be a part of and accepted by the elite of Delhi.

Trapped - A man gets stuck in an empty high rise without food, water or electricity.

Badrinath Ki Dulhania - Badrinath Bansal from Jhansi and Vaidehi Trivedi from Kota belong to small towns but have diametrically opposite opinions on everything. This leads to a clash of ideologies, despite both of them recognizing the goodness in each other. (Although I would caution watching due to sensitive topics discussed in the movie).

Dear Zindagi - Kaira is a budding cinematographer in search of a perfect life. Her encounter with Jug, an unconventional thinker, helps her gain a new perspective on life. She discovers that happiness is all about finding comfort in life’s imperfections.

Raees -Criticizing the prohibition of alcohol in Gujarat, this film unfolds the story of a clever bootlegger, whose business is challenged by a tough cop.

Lipstick Under My Burqa - Set in the crowded lanes of small town India, a burkha-clad college girl struggles with issues of cultural identity and her aspirations to be a pop singer. A young two-timing beautician, seeks to escape the claustrophobia of her small town. An oppressed housewife and mother of three, lives the alternate life of an enterprising saleswoman. And a 55 year old widow rediscovers her sexuality through a phone romance. Trapped in their worlds, they claim their desires through secret acts of rebellion.

Neerja - The story of the courageous Neerja Bhanot, who sacrificed her life while protecting the lives of 359 passengers on the Pan Am flight 73 in 1986. The flight was hijacked by a terrorist organization.

Namastey London - A man takes his thoroughly-British daughter to his home country, India. There, he arranges her marriage to someone she considers a fool. The daughter attempts to outwit them, but the groom quietly and patiently hatches his own plan.

Kapoor and Sons - A story revolving around a dysfunctional family of 2 brothers who visit their family and discover that their parents marriage is on the verge of collapse,the family is undergoing a financial crunch and much more as the drama unfolds.

Taare Zameen Paar - An eight-year-old boy is thought to be a lazy trouble-maker until the new art teacher has the patience and compassion to discover the real problem behind his struggles in school.

Piku - A quirky comedy about the relationship between a daughter and her aging father, whose eccentricities drive everyone crazy.

Barfi! - A charming deaf-mute prankster’s bittersweet relationship with two women, one is autistic, turns his life upside-down.

Omkara - A politically-minded enforcer’s misguided trust in his lieutenant leads him to suspect his wife of infidelity in this adaptation of Shakespeare’s ‘Othello’.

Wake Up SId - Sid Mehra (Ranbir Kapoor) is a young man living in Mumbai who benefits from the indulgence of his parents. After graduating from university, he makes a stab at working in his father’s business, but lasts only a week. He then meets Aisha (Konkona Sen Sharma), an aspiring writer from Calcutta. Sid helps her get settled in the city and then wants to take things further – but Aisha isn’t interested because of Sid’s slacker personality. Will her rejection serve as a wake-up call for Sid?

Jodhaa Akbar - Epic romance, set in 16th-century India, about the love story between Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar, the Mughal Emperor of Hindustan, and Rajput princess Jodhaa. In order to extend his empire, Akbar agrees to a marriage of alliance to young and fiery Jodhaa but soon realizes he has to defend his choice of bride as his courtiers voice their displeasure at the idea of their Muslim Emperor marrying a Hindu.

Devdas - After his wealthy family prohibits him from marrying the woman he is in love with, Devdas Mukherjee’s life spirals further and further out of control as he takes up alcohol and a life of vice to numb the pain.

Bajirao Mastani - In 16th century India, undefeated warrior Bajirao was bestowed with the title of Prime Minister, and became the greatest weapon of his Empire. Bajirao recieves a rider with an urgent request to save a fort under siege by the Moguls, Bajirao’s greatest opponents. He refuses initially, but is mesmerized by the rider, a beautiful Rajput princess who rode for days to seek him out. Despite Bajirao’s best efforts, he cannot deny his love for Princess Mastani. She pursued him to Pune, where Bajirao’s family promptly sent her away. Bajirao faced great opposition from his family, his people, and his priests. Every attempt is made to separate them, but they always find their way to each other, finally paying the ultimate price in the name of love.

Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham - Rahul, the adoptive son of business magnate Yash Raichand, feels eternal gratitude to his father for rescuing him from a life of poverty. Yet, when Yash forbids his love of poor Anjali, Rahul marries her and moves to London with new wife and sister-in-law, Pooja, breaking the heart of his mother. Ten years later, Rahul’s younger brother comes to London intent on brokering peace between father and son.

Dil Se - The clash between love and ideology is portrayed in this love story between a radio executive and a beautiful revolutionary

Damini - The theme revolves around the character Damini who represents truth and innocence. After her marriage in renowned wealthy family, Damini happens to see a cruel act done by her brother-in-law. She wants the victim to get justice, but the family including her husband oppose her, which leads her to leave the house. Soon she is helped by a drunkard, an ex-advocate, who helps her in all respect to reach to her aim and therefore justice.

Mrityudand: The Death Sentence - Mrityudand is a film commentary on the social and the gender injustice. A woman (Madhuri Dixit), her sister-in-law (Shabana Azmi) a laborer (Om Puri) and others unite to stand up against a hard-nosed businessman.

Sadma (stars Sridevi) - One night, Sadma is in a car accident, which leaves her with amnesia. She runs away from the hospital but ends up in a brothel, where she meets a friendly schoolteacher.

Rangeela - A middle class young woman, who dreams of Bollywood fame, is caught in a love triangle between her childhood friend and a famous actor.

Ek Hasina The - A woman falls for a charming and mysterious businessman. The whirlwind romance turns sour when she is framed for his underworld crimes. Now, finally out of prison she is ready for sweet revenge.

Anand - The story of a terminally ill man who wishes to live life to the full before the inevitable occurs, as told by his best friend.

Mere Brother Ki Dulhan - A quirky rom-com where Kush finds the ideal Indian bride Dimple for his brother Luv and a series of comical and unpredictable events follow.

I know that the question is asking for Bollywood films, but I need to go ahead and include two of Indian Cinema’s post popular films ever released.

Bahubali - In ancient India, an adventurous and daring man becomes involved in a decade’s old feud between two warring people.

Bahubali 2 - When Shiva, the son of Bahubali, learns about his heritage, he begins to look for answers. His story is juxtaposed with past events that unfolded in the Mahishmati Kingdom.

Not Bollywood films, but these are recommended by our followers:

Ok Kamani (Similar to Ok Jaanu) - Two young lovers are compatible in every way - they even agree that marriage is futile. However, their emotions are not so easily managed, especially when they witness the unconditional love of the older couple with whom they live.

Alaipayuthey - A computer expert and a crusading doctor marry in secret, then deal with death and trauma.

If you ever need more recommendations. Just shoot a message at our inbox. And I will update the list as they come.

- Sonia

#replies #Anonymous #bollywood films #films #answered #updated the post #this will be your extensive film recommendations

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