#thus his vow to be worse actually

[winepresswrath]

trying to plot out a xichen/huaisang emma au solely for the purposes of slotting jin guangyao and nie mingjue into the already married siblings role. in theory this leaves us with no one to play emma's dad but no they're both emma's dad for maximum impact. and obviously jin guangyao is also the nanny. and it ends with huaisang vowing to be worse, actually.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I��” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

[morelikeravenbore]

✨ Ominis Gaunt headcanons

This lovely anon (as well as a few others) asked if I'd consider writing my Sebastian Alphabets for our favourite Slytherin Heir, but as a girlie whose brain space is 99% dedicated to Sebastian Sallow and like, 1% dedicated to, I dunno, survival and stuff, I struggled lol. Instead, I'm here to offer you some of my personal Omnom headcanons based on how I write him as a seventh year in How to Make a Villain, post fifth-year events.

(trigger warning: he's sassy and traumatised because that's just how I imagine him.)

Enjoy under the cut! (SFW!)

✨ He's a Cancer sun, Libra rising, Capricorn moon.

Cancer sun: Hard outer shell, soft squishy middle; deeply emotional but retreats into his hidey hole when triggered, emotions shift as often as the moon phases; cares deeply.

Libra rising: refined, pretty, physically attractive, charismatic; focused on justice and fairness, right and wrong; drawn to refined pleasures: art, music, fine food and clothing.

Capricorn moon: practical, rigid, dutiful, committed; craves stability; can appear cold and unfeeling on the surface, prone to pessimism; does not take shortcuts, does not look for the easy way out.

✨ He plays piano. (Duh, that's practically considered canon by now). Without sight, music is how this li'l Libra rising bebe appreciates and creates beauty.

✨ Being a member of high pureblood society, he is fluent in French. As a child, he spent his summers in southern France with his family, who own a manor in by the ocean. (Later, after he befriended the Sallow twins, he spent his summers in Feldcroft instead.)

✨ It was fearless little Anne Sallow who reached out to Ominis in their first year, and thus Anne, not Sebastian, was the first friend Ominis ever made. This friendship signified a profound change in his life: he never expected to make a real friend, let alone have anyone show him the kindness, tolerance and companionship that Anne did. His friendship with Sebastian, though a by-product of his closeness with Anne, grew more slowly, but by the time their first year was over, the three were inseparable. His friendship with the Sallow's gave Ominis the first sense of belonging in his life.

✨ Due to his deep-seated abandonment and trust issues, the damage to his friendship with Sebastian after the events of fifth year are near irreversible; worse than Solomon's murder was the loss of Anne, which Ominis blamed solely on her brother. But beneath this resentment toward Sebastian, buried so deeply he never fully acknowledged it to himself, was a festering anger towards Anne for leaving him. She was the first person he ever loved (platonically or otherwise, it's up to you), and though he understood her reasons for leaving, her absence felt like another abandonment. It was easier to project this anger Sebastian than ever admit that he was angry at Anne, too.

✨ To keep Sebastian out of Azkaban after Solomon's murder, Ominis had to call upon his family for help. In exchange for their covering up the incident, he was forced to pledge his allegiance to furthering the Gaunt legacy. Thus, he gave up his dreams of freedom and living as his own person. He'd always harboured a secret desire to pursue music, perhaps study abroad in France, but instead had to promise to fulfil his "familial obligations" to the Gaunt's by marrying a woman of their choosing and working in whatever influencial Ministry role they assigned him.

✨ Romance. Given how cruel his family is, Ominis vows to never fall in love. The idea of condemning someone he actually cares about to the Gaunt name and legacy is unbearable — he'd sooner enter into a loveless, arranged marriage than inflict that sort of pain onto another innocent person. That's not to say he won't ever fall in love, but it would take a very, very special person to capture his attention and break through the many (many) defensive walls he's put in place around his heart.

And here's a little snippet of Sebastian and Ominis' dynamic in How to Make a Villain, which you can read on wattpad or ao3 if you like :)

[sleepyorchidmonster]

As a fun exercise, I went over all the standard banner characters and attempted to think of actual in-universe reasons for each of them to be featured in this group and make us lose the 50/50 by randomly spawning.

Turns out it's quite wholesome!

Jean

Well, for starters, she probably feels a deep sense of gratitude for the Traveler's help with Stormterror, and still thinks they deserve more than just a few posters for their sibling (especially since the knights were already going to do that anyway). Also, she probably stays up at night (not that she actually even sleeps, she's just stressing while doing paperwork) thinking about how Traveler doesn't have a roof over their head, and is traversing a completely unfamiliar world with only Paimon by his side, "What if they get hurt? Can they even heal themselves?"

We get a 50/50 when the worry gets the best of her.

Diluc

Similarly to Jean, he's also worried about the Traveler's well-being and would like to repay them for their help with Stormterror and the Darknight Hero's Alibi. Also he's extremely invested in the Traveler's quest to find their twin.

And he KNOWS the Traveler is going to end up fighting most harbingers, so he's looking for a rematch, and maybe even a chance to punch whoever decided to leave a kid in a foreign land to act as a spy, in the rain, I might add.

His chances of coming home tend to increase whenever he realizes we're befriending the Fatui (I literally lost the 50/50 to him for the first time during Lyney's banner lol).

Mona

She was practicing hydromancy when she foresaw the Traveler was about to suffer a great loss. Despite knowing she can't change the future, she wanted to at least be there for them, maybe try to shield them from the worst of it.

The "loss" she foresaw was the 50/50, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She's also low on mora and wanted to help out with a few comissions or ley lines.

Qiqi

She once heard Dr. Baizhu go on an hour-long rant about how the Traveler has no regard for their well-being (Chansheng: Pot, meet kettle), stressing over the Traveler potentially dying a gruesome death with their allies being none the wiser, be it from an enemy or simply a disease left unchecked. The fact that they're outlanders who may not have developed immunity for most of Teyvat's illnesses is another concern of his.

Qiqi then wrote a reminder to check up on the Traveler's health, especially since Baizhu couldn't leave the Pharmacy for that long.

There's also an additional note about how the Traveler is always collecting herbs and other olants, so if she can't find any Violetgrass or Qingxin, chances are the Traveler took them all.

She comes to visit whenever she checks the notes and remembers. Hence the high rate of Qiqis.

Keqing

After witnessing the Traveler being 5 hours late for an important meeting because they got sidetracked with quests, seelies and treasure, she deemed it unacceptable and vowed to set them straight as soon as possible. There'll be no procrastination on her watch.

(Also she wants to repay them for saving Liyue, deciding that the posters weren't enough compensation for everything they went through).

Tighnari

He found out the Traveler is worse than Cyno at taking care of themselves and decided to take matters into his own hands.

His methods range from providing medicine and helping out with traversing the rainforest and other difficult environments to simply anihilating the enemies before they have a chance to land a hit.

He may also appear if he thinks the Traveler is getting Cyno's sense of humor.

Dehya

Like the others, she's also worried for the Traveler and wants to help them out on their journey to find their sibling. She's also completely aware that people are scamming the Traveler for commissions and would like to have a small chat with those scammers. Preferably with her fists.

Also, imagine seeing your friend off to a new region and then not even two weeks later there's news about them being arrested, and a gigantic flood. She's CONCERNED.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Hi! Hope your August is off to a good start. Could I send a prompt for Talk Shop Tuesday?

Feel free to ignore the prompt if not!

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

@somestorythoughts Sorry I did not answer yesterday, it took me a bit to get my thoughts in order for this.

Look there is never a bad time for me to receive a prompt,  a question, or a random message.  It brings me great joy.

Now For the Prompt:

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

My first thought, before anything, is that Mij is the ringleader. There is no doubt that the medics would be the ones to spearhead this and Mij, of all of them, best remembers both Jaster and little Jango.

I also think that the medics do not really know what the babies are really there for at first. If we think about the Psychology of Jango Fett- Orphaned twice over, a leader too early, the death of his people (that he 100% will not face is partly his own fault-as he shot first) and his own enslavement, semi forced addiction to Spice from the aforementioned enslavement. While none of these things makes Jango evil, they do make him a bit broken. I do believe that in this one he is lying to everyone. 

He is telling the Kaminoans that he is training what will be the GAR (it does not matter if they know the full plot or not, Jango thinks they don’t). He is telling Dooku that he is honing the clones into a weakness for the republic and a wake up call for the Jedi while knowing Sidious’s actual plan for the clones. Of the trainers, he is telling some that the clones will be a trap for the Jedi, others that they will be getting some enormous payment, while telling still others (like Mij) that he is planning to steal the clones to rebuild the True Mandalorians, assuring the interested groups that he is working for the best of Mandalore. 

Most of all Jango is telling himself that he has not become worse than any of the crimes committed against him. 

It is all lies. 

For the first year, this house of cards remains standing. Jango has convinced most of the groups he is lying to that he is lying to everyone but them. Not that all of them care, but some do.  

It is such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things, that tips Mij off. Jango has managed to explain away the numbers (to give the clones a chance to name themselves), the lack of armor (that much armor is expensive), and other such discrepancies as necessities for ‘tricking’ their employer. 

It starts with a single look. A microexpression when Mij asks Jango to hold the toddler A-17 during a routine check. Disgust. It stuck in Mij’s mind all the harder, as he had just witnessed Jango with Boba not 10 minutes prior. 

Mij started to, discreetly, poke around. It takes him all of a week to find the chips. The slave chips embedded in the heads of babies. The babies with Jango’s face and slave chips in their heads. 

Mij has made an error. Mij.exe is also experiencing an error.

Everything is an error. 

Now Mij has a choice, and both those choices involve breaking a vow he swore so many years ago to Jaster Mereel, and later to Jango Fett. He could choose ignorance, and follow his Alor, convince himself there is a good reason for what he is seeing; pretend that there is any good reason for slave chips. And thus dooming untold children, untold babies, breaking his moral code irrevocably. Or he could choose the babies, could undermine his Alor, betray the trust that Jango had in him. Be one more person to abandon Jango, the boy that Jaster had adopted and loved. 

The choice was not an easy one, and it hurt. It hurt worse at how careful he had to be, gathering allies. The remnants of the True Mandalorians were bound by trauma and shared hell. It was excruciating, having to keep secrets, but Mij knew that not everyone would make the choice he had. Not everyone would choose the babies. He could not begrudge them, but he could not trust them either.

It took another month of wrestling with their choices before Mij and his allies, 14 other former True Mandalorians, came to a decision.  There were not enough of them to wrest control of Kamino, not enough to take the 10s of thousands of babies away and keep them safe. They debated going to the Jedi, having realized that the Jedi ordering the Clones was just another lie, but the Jedi were bound to the Republic. They could not protect or free the babies. 

There is only one group that could, politically, if not physically. One that Mij did not want to go anywhere near. Knew that he would have to give up what made him Mandalorian; that he would have to give up the Mandalore Jaster Mereel had envisioned.  By the end of the month, all 15 were in agreement that there was no other way.  

Though it took time, and careful planning, Mij makes sure to be holding a now toddler A17 when his call finally connects to Satine Kryze. He can feel her gaze slip to the baby in his arms as he pleads his case to the Duchess of the New Mandalorians. As he agrees to whatever hoops she wants them to jump through, if it would mean that the children are safe and loved. 

His Ancestors who marched ahead would be angry that he would give up their culture, but they would despise him for abandoning the babies to their fate.

[milestonekestrel]

I want to hear more about your interpretation/ version of Addair because he is very interesting to me and for some reason I have grown attached to him........ I hate him so much and I want him to suffer because I like him a lot... ya know

OOH OK!!

Addair. I love this guy. I have a lot of thoughts about him lets see...

(cw for abuse)

Well, I´ve already talked about my family headcanons for the guy. But basically, his father and mother never really loved each other. They were kind of a ¨make each other worse¨ kind of couple. His father was an abusive prick and his mother a bystander. She was barely there, for Addair.. for life. They divorced after things got.. really bad (his mother was hospitalized), and his father got custody. His mother remained a bystander.

Addair grew up mostly underneath his father. He learned to follow orders or get hurt. He learned this from his father. He learned everything from his father. He didn’t get out of the situation until 17, and his father never really left him.

On the rig, you really don´t get a good introduction to the guy. There was an Addair post I remember, about how many people don´t spend long enough looking into him. They see the National Front poster (which is.. I mean yeah tbf it´s not great) and decide ¨well fuck this guy.¨ I don´t, by any means, think he´s a great guy. But, I do think he´s a human. You see, he has an interesting way of looking at his childhood trauma. in that he.. doesn´t. He just thinks that everything´s going to be fine now. Willful ignorance turns into blindness, and this is why he sits alone. There are parts of his father that never leave him. Seventeen years of conforming and following orders, seventeen years of conditioning don´t exactly just disappear. But Addair thinks it will. He thinks that making a vow to not be like his father is enough. and. boom. trauma solved.

and on some level he knows, he knows he has built a dam out of paper. This is why he acts the way he does. he can´t handle criticism of himself because its true. Because he wants to be right because going back to those seventeen years is painful. going back to those seventeen years is too painful. He has kids now. he has a family. he wants to be good for them. he wants to be a better man for them. and on some level, he is. He is a loving father. But it is almost like a disguise. it is the dam, and the dam is made of paper, and things are always getting through. So he lashes out, he can´t take jokes, and he is, frankly, a terribly mean person. On the rig, he has no family to be better for. He loses connection with that, a little bit. and he misses them and that makes it worse.

He´s been on the rig so long, isolated and angry. and it´s only getting worse, and he’s miserable and looking for someone to blame.

Enter Caz. Caz is an inexperienced man who manages to win the crew over quickly. Roy likes him, and most of the crew like Roy, so they like Caz too. Caz has never worked on a rig before, and Addair knows this. And yet, and yet he is so popular. With the crew. Even Rennick admits he respects him. So Addair takes it all out on him! He hates that man, so much, and not even for a good reason. He hates Caz so much that when he is in danger of drowning, actual, mortal danger, Addair can’t let it go. He can’t let that pettiness go. And he’s damn lucky Brodie and Douglas were there, because maybe he could tell himself he would be okay if Caz had died. Hell, maybe he can tell himself Caz should’ve died. But Caz didn’t. Addair doesn’t truly know what it would’ve been like if Caz had. If he came up dead, or worse, not at all. It's easy to say things, but the situation is not real to him, and thus he can´t accurately judge his reactions. It's easy to do things, like walk away, when you've no frame of reference for consequences or aftermath. Maybe he's a prick, and maybe he hates Caz, and maybe he wouldn't lose sleep over it or anything. But he's not going to feel right about it. 

But Caz lives. And Addair gets to keep being angry. And the anger is what makes him so violent. He's not just angry. As a human, he's confused, miserable, and he misses his family. (he misses them very much, and yet he works through the holidays. And yet he barely calls them. And in this way he is like his mother) But he's angry, too. And he´s fucking furious when he´s infected. And that's why he's so violent. 

And that’s why he throws himself in front of the flare at the stack. Because he’s so angry. Because he wants to hurt Caz. 

And that’s why he falls off the stack into the ocean. And that’s why no one saves him. 

[kaisaniku]

wxson au

mostly from the translator: (I wrote this in a very casual and sloppy way.)

[New Energy WH-307] can make the synchronization rate between the human body and machinery reach the highest index, and can also make the decayed human organs or cell tissues get a perfect new life through mechanical grafting. It is undoubtedly ahead of its time and is the pioneering work of the Higgsbury family and a powerful weapon to consolidate its position. This is not only due to its sophistication and irreplaceability, but also due to the "toxicity" that lies beneath the iceberg. The WH-307's energy-using machinery is transferred to the human body as if it were a newborn baby that is always waiting to be fed, and as the energy is consumed, the side effects on the body's functioning increase: moodiness, physical weakness, and an irrational emotional dependence on the energy supplier. In order to keep their bodies functioning properly, users of this energy have to resort to monopolies. ......

Wilson Percival Higgsbury, a fugitive aristocrat who breaks with his family to pursue scientific research in a remote galaxy, meets Woodrow by chance, who has similar aspirations. Woodrow's research into the integration of the human body and machinery is radical, but it's exactly the kind of "fresh blood" that a young lord who's had enough of corrupt stereotypes and deceitful behavior needs. Like Wilson, Woodrow hated WH-307, the "ancestral dregs from the slave society" (they said by their teeth), and vowed to develop a new energy source that was scientifically and politically advanced, which moved Wilson, an idealist, to the point that he wanted to worship him on the spot. Although their temper is a little worse, who can say no to such a peer with a dream and technology? "My name is Wilson ...Percival." A curious coincidence, Wilson did not tell them actually himself is the Higgsbury

Theoretical hypothesis, then collection of raw materials, then experimentation, then theoretical hypothesis, then collection of raw materials, then experimentation... The fun times the two spend together end in a failed experiment. An explosion that left the left half of Woodrow's face down to half of his chest cavity damaged, including his heart. Ironically, the only thing that could have saved them from this kind of injury was the WH-307 ......

Wilson almost cried and brought them home, he really couldn't spare that much thought on other sides, just thinking about how to save his best friend was enough to break him down. Thus, another "energy slave" who could not escape Higgsbury's clutches was forced to be born ......

Wilson's lack of thought on whether the person in question really wants to be saved is reflected in the fact that he almost saves Woodrow and then gets killed by them. "Who the hell are you" "How can I trust you when you've been lying to me all the time" "I don't want to live like this"... ...Woodrow wakes up and strange energies fill half of their body. Wilson had never apologized so many times in his life, knowing that his father had punished him with an "I'm sorry" sentence outside the icy door, he didn't want to say it even if he was freezing his ass off. The two confronted for a long time, Wilson said later and choked up, those tears reminded Woodrow something. The new heart had given them some memories that shouldn't have been stored, and they seemed to remember the sobbing face Wilson had made when he thought they were dead. What to explain those tears if it was all just to control them, the revolutionary. But what if those memories are also artificial? What if the false memories were also a part of controlling them? What is false, what is real, what is the definition of being alive, a series of philosophical and practical questions that make Woodrow feel that he might as well have died in that scientific explosion. But Wilson hugged them even though he knew they could kill him with one hand. "I will never control you, I will never leave you. You're my best friend, Woodrow, and if you really don't believe me, it's the same for me whether I am killed at your hand or die alone in my remorse for you."

Woodrow literally felt as if his artificial heart pumped. It looked like it was him all right, there really was no one else with this foolishness. Finally, they slowly raised that robotic arm and embraced him back, saying SCREW IT, I BELIEVE YOU

The warmth hadn't lasted more than a few seconds when there was a flurry of movement outside the window. Wilson almost jumped up, wiped away his tears and pulled them up, saying I used too much energy to save you, and I would have blurted out a long time ago that I never wanted to have anything to do with my family again, now my dad's sending someone to come after me.

Then Woodrow said, well wouldn't I have just believed you if you had mentioned this from the beginning?

Wilson scratched his head and said it does make sense.

And so began the rebellious career of the two who were doing research while stealing energy to avoid capture.

[ryin-silverfish]

Fanfic: Bodhicitta

AO3 Mirror

Possibly the start of a short series. About the pilgrims, post-journey, and what led to their reincarnation in LMK.

CW for a bit of body horror at the end.

Tripitaka completes a pilgrimage, ponders his faith, and makes a vow.

bodhicitta: literally "Heart of Bodhi", the motivation and defining quality that makes a Bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism.

---

Thus the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara, Deep in meditation, Saw the emptiness of all five skandas, And sundered all bonds of suffering.

…

An old master living in a crow's nest taught him those lines. It shall protect you from harm, he said, sticking his neck out like an actual bird. Perhaps he used to be one. Perhaps he still was. Or maybe there was no difference.

("A single thought can make a Bodhisattva, or a demon," Guan Yin once told his disciple.)

It was hard not to feel a little cheated, though, when he tearfully muttered the sutra under his breath, and still fell off his horse, got dragged into a river, tied up next to a steaming pot after the monster broke his barrier with a single flick of its tail.

Oh, how he had recited the sutra faster and faster, squeezing his eyes shut, and still the demoness's nails pinched at his cheeks, drawing blood, cooing Aren't you a delicious little snack, in both senses of the word?

Why did it never work like those miraculous tales in the scriptures? Was he really that bad a Buddhist? Did such thoughts make him a bad Buddhist? Or were the tales just another product of the rampant mistranslation he was so tired of?

It won't matter, he told himself, trying to steady his resolve. Once they reach the Western Lands and receive the True Scriptures, he would finally be free of all doubts.

…

Here then, Form is no other than emptiness, Emptiness no other than form. Form is only emptiness, Emptiness only form.

…

"Master, if all things are emptiness, why do you care if I kill them or not?"

Patience, how to be gentle yet firm, a willingness to see beyond the words on paper and into ultimate reality. These are things he would come to learn. But he hadn't yet.

So instead, he began a lengthy lecture on just how much a grave misunderstanding of——no, insult to Buddhist doctrines that was.

Form is emptiness, because it never stops changing, like clouds in the sky. There is no permanence when nothing stays constant, going up and down in the wheel of samsara, lifted up or weighed down by their karma.

It is empty because it is a wheel, and doesn't go anywhere. Not because the chain of causes and consequences don't exist.

"But they had it coming!" The monkey pouted, like one of those spoiled aristocratic nuns he had encountered in the Golden Mountain Temple, who hated monastic life with a passion and only came here to escape a worse marriage. "Are their deaths not a natural consequence of, you know, robbing people?"

"Not by Great Tang laws, and certainly not by Buddhist laws." He rubbed his temple, feeling a familiar headache coming. "But that is not the point. What about your consequences, Wukong? How much negative karma are you accumulating by taking their lives? And how much will I receive by association, for failing to stop you?"

"Oh, so it's all about you?" Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes. They were glowing red, like embers in a hearth, which never failed to send a chill down his back.

"Well, even if I somehow end up in Hell again, it's not like the Ten Kings can do anything to me. And since you'd rather die than letting me stain your flawless karma, I'll leave you to it, then." With a single flip, he was standing on his somersault cloud. "Bye, baldy."

"Wait!" He shouted, but the monkey had already disappeared over the horizon.

…

All things are by nature void. They are not born or destroyed, Nor are they stained or pure, Nor do they wax or wane.

…

But if nothing was stained or pure, why, then, would he be horrified at the deaths of six humans, but not an entire cave of demons?

They were but creatures of the Path of the Beast. Yet he was steadfast in his adherence to the monastic codes, which forbade him from consuming meat, for each meal costed the life of an animal. Was the life of a demon even less than that of livestocks, livestocks devoid of the spark of intellect?

Did their blood not stain his hands too?

Indeed, they were man-eating monsters. And so were regular wild beasts. So were two of his disciples, before they joined him on the pilgrimage.

If mercy could be extended to a monkey, a pig, a dragon, and a river monster that ate his nine past lives, why was it denied from the others?

Sometimes, on long, cold nights where nothing happened, and all they could see were the desert sands below and stars above, he wondered if Sun Wukong was right. If the fact that nothing could be truly created or destroyed, merely changed into another form, meant that death did not matter.

If compassion was but another form of attachment that led to suffering, and he would be better off severing it like the rest of his worldly bonds.

After all, he voiced no objections when the bandits who killed his father and destroyed his mother received their just deserts, nor did he do anything that might have stopped her from hanging herself in shame. Unseen laws were just as true as written laws and monastic laws, and beneath it all lay the karmic laws.

An eye for an eye. A good deed begets a good birth. Violence begets violence.

Were his convictions to do no harm just another lie, then? A delusion that he knew better, for he was the acolyte that actually bothered to learn Sanskrit, the good Buddhist, the master? Nothing but him putting his own discomfort and unseen scars above what was truly just and right and wise, and making his disciples suffer in his stead?

People clung to suffering not because they enjoyed pain, but because of the memory of happiness, and the promise of momentary release. It always felt good, until it didn't.

Like love and its inevitable loss.

He knew. Yet he could not stop hurting, could not let go of his doubts.

Maybe that made him an unworthy monk. Maybe the perils kept coming because he had not learned the lesson yet, and there would be a time when he finally stopped caring.

But whatever that time was, it wasn't now.

…

So, in emptiness, exists no form, No feeling, thought, or choice, Nor is there consciousness. No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind; No colour, sound, smell, taste, touch, Or what the mind takes hold of, Nor even act of sensing.

…

Your senses fool you. Much like how the ghostly immortal, hijacking long-dead bodies, fooled him, and Yellow Robed Demon's illusion fooled the king of Baoxiang.

What makes one innocent? He thought, as he sat inside the cage, all four limbs chained to the floor. Or guilty, for that matter? What makes a man into a beast, a beast into human, a mortal into god, a god into monster?

What makes one deserving of forgiveness? He thought, as he looked into the dead woman's eyes, drowning out her shrieks with his chanting of Ksitigarbha's Sutra, suppressing her blue ghostfire with chains of golden light that wrapped tighter and tighter around the coffin. Or a chance, for that matter? Had she ever had a chance when it mattered?

When is an apology accepted, and not merely heard? He wondered, as he made his own to Sun Wukong, and the monkey didn't even spare a single glance at him. Just kept gazing eastward, a haunted look on his face.

…

No ignorance or end of it, Nor all that comes of ignorance; No withering, no death, No end of them.

…

"Is that how I was like?" Sun Wukong mumbled, as he scrubbed at the end of his staff with a rag. If there was still blood left on the metal, it had already been cleaned off ages ago, yet he kept wiping and wiping, like he was trying to yank someone's vengeful spirit out of it. "Is that what I am?"

"No," he said, then immediately winced. Even with a barrier in between, getting hit in the back with a heavy iron stick was no joke.

"How would you know——" he turned back, and almost instantly squeezed out a smile. "Oh, greetings, master! Didn't see you there. Are you hungry again? Thirsty? Need your bandages changed? Sorry about that whole evil doppelganger business, by the way."

"There is no need to apologize. It is not your doing."

"But…" He looked away, then sighed, tossed the rag into the creek, and shrank his staff back to needle size, putting it into his ear once more. "Well, if you say so, then I ain't complaining, master."

"And you are not your Second Mind."

The monkey froze in place, and didn't speak for a long time. When he did, it was in a barely audible whisper. "Does it even matter, if I wanted to do the exact same thing?"

"You still didn't."

"I tried, though, master." He exposed his teeth in what looked like a grin, but, according to Bajie, was monkey language for I'm scared shitless or Bugger off before I eat your stupid face. "Don't you remember? Right after the fillet. And I was so close to trying again, every time you listened to Piggy and recited that spell for a reason that wasn't exposing shapeshifting demons."

It was strange, how reassuring it was to have your biggest fears confirmed. At the same time, it was also deeply upsetting, knowing that the fears weren't just about someone else, but also you yourself.

"Look, I…I know Macaque. Whatever he is, he sure ain't a literal piece of my mind. But that just makes it worse when he wanted to become me." Sun Wukong clenched his fists together. "He would've dragged me back by my tail, once upon a time, kept the worst of me in check. But I chased him away, and now he didn't know how to be anything else, so he just doubled down and became the worst bits of me anyways."

His eyes started glowing bright red again, as he bared his canines and let out a low growl.

"He killed my monkeys. Okay, Wujing did, but it wouldn't have happened if he didn't make them impersonate you guys. And he dared, DARED call me weak when I lunged at him screaming, after I saw what he did to their bodies! The coward who couldn't even be a villain on his own, without hiding behind someone else's shadow!"

The monkey breathed in deeply. "For that alone, I don't regret killing him. But when Di Ting——okay master, I guess you wouldn't know who that is, it happened after we punched each other into the ground, all the way to——"

"I do, in fact," he said. "Ksitigarbha's steed, the All-hearing Beast."

"Pretty much. But it's less hearing, and more…knowing." Sun Wukong paused. "The very earth speaks into its ears, and when Di Ting rises up from the ground, its eyes just see through you, all of you, and knows whether you are good or evil."

"I imagine that must be quite disconcerting."

"You know what's even more disconcerting? When the only answer it gave was 'Go speak to the Buddha.' I mean, it all worked out in the end, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was simply too polite to tell the truth. That we are but two different flavors of evil, capable of wreaking the same havoc, and," Sun Wukong shuddered, his fur standing on ends, "under a different circumstance, I, too, wouldn't see a problem with throwing my monkeys' lives away."

He knew what he should tell his disciple. No, you are not evil. You are not entirely good, but neither am I. Few people are made of one or the other, and it takes a special level of ignorance to claim so.

He also knew Sun Wukong would not believe it, not after hearing the furious speech he made a few days ago. Is your heart made of stone too, just like the rest of you? Are you capable of finding delight in anything, other than death and wanton destruction?

So instead, he lowered his head, knelt down in front of the monkey, and said, "You can do whatever you want to me."

"M-Master? What are you…" Immediately, the monkey moved forward, trying to lift him up. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"You heard me." He smiled. "I swear to the World-honored One, I will not recite the spell, or use my barrier. If you want to beat me up, or bash my head in, you are free to do so."

"No, no, hell no!" Sun Wukong took a step back. "Why do you think I would? No, why do you suddenly have a death wish?"

"I do not," he said. "I merely put my life into your hands, and choose to accept whatever consequences that ensue. Death is but one possible outcome." A pause. "Is it the outcome you want for me, though?"

"Again, hell no!" He shook his head. "I mean, I'm still mad at you, but this…wouldn't solve anything! And I'm not gonna protect you for so long, only to throw it all away for nothing. What are you getting at here, master?"

"Nothing. I'm just wondering, if you would not kill someone you have good reasons to hate," he looked into his disciple's eyes, "What makes you think you will ever knowingly send your subjects, your family, to their death?"

Sun Wukong's lips moved, but no sounds came out. Then tears started coming out those eyes——no longer glowing, but still red. Seconds later, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven was on the ground, clutching his robes, bawling like a little child.

"But I already did, master…not knowingly. But I still did, way back when."

…

Nor is there pain, or cause of pain, Or cease in pain, or noble path To lead from pain; Not even wisdom to attain! Attainment too is emptiness.

…

Reaching their destination did not free him from doubts, though it did lift a weight off his shoulders, knowing that he could begin the real work undisturbed.

Neither did staying in the presence of Buddhas and Arhats for the next few years, as he slowly but steadily gathered the reference materials he needed for a proper translation. Flipping through ancient, ink-covered leaves and scrolls alike, honing his Sanskrit while learning more local dialects than he ever needed to know.

He knew his disciples would fully redeem themselves upon their return to Chang'an, capital city of the Great Tang. That he would attain Buddhahood for bringing the scriptures back to China alone, and could have left the translation to other capable monks.

Alas, much like doubts, he wasn't ridded of his perfectionism either. So he politely asked to earn his Buddhahood instead, by finishing his translation and making sure people could actually understand the scriptures' wisdom, and was granted his wish.

Perhaps this decision was also born out of doubt. How ironic was it, that he wasn't sure if he wanted Buddhahood anymore, only after it was all but guaranteed?

How ironic was it, that he once was so foolish as to wish he could be rid of pain by severing every bond, by throwing his compassion away?

Enlightenment is not isolation. It is not a single snowflake, frozen in time, but a raindrop falling back into the ocean. You would never find true strength, if you dared not even let yourself be human and feel the slighest bit of weakness.

But what happened when the raindrop, so close to the ocean waves, gazed upon its fellow raindrops in the clouds and thought, For their sake, I want to stay? What would happen to it if it stayed?

Then it shall walk on the Path of the Bodhisattva, that was the obvious answer. However, despite his encounters with multiple Bodhisattvas during the journey, he had never really gotten a chance to know them personally, not to mention making inquiries about their nature.

Well, now would be his chance to find out.

…

"It begins with a Vow," the wily old scholar said, twisting a five-petaled azure flower between his fingers. "And the Vow stems from awareness. Comprehension. A glimpse into the void, a spark of Wisdom."

"Then, dedication, in both mind and body," the three-headed woman laughed, gripping a vajra club with one of her six arms and pointing it at the ground. "It takes great Will to descend into the land of the unliving, be a jewel of light amidst unfathomable darkness. Me? I prefer to Act in this world, help the needy before they reach that stage."

"At the root of it all is Mercy," the familiar woman in white dipped her willow branch into the vase, "the desire to see less suffering in the world, big or small. For you, too, have suffered, and learned that pain is no mark of weakness, nor is it unavoidable."

"I would not say there is anything at the root." The scholar corrected. "For that would suggest the superiority of one Vow over the other, one Path over another, when they are but streams flowing into a single river."

"Ever so precise with your words and diction, I see." his three-headed companion teased gently. "But indeed. To put it in the simplest term: practice what you preach."

"True. Compassion without wisdom is dangerous naivete, and sympathy without action is just empty words." The woman nodded. "But wisdom without compassion can quickly turn cold and detached, and actions and worship, done only for the benefits of oneself, is but another form of bribery."

"Mercy is not turning a blind eye to harm, but choosing the path of least harm——sometimes by offering a chance, other times, by recognizing they would not take it."

"But you already know that, do you not? Tripitaka, River-Float-Boy, Golden Cicada."

"Monk, orphan, prideful student."

"Sinner, redeemer, venerable master."

"So go," the three spoke together as one, "and walk upon your own path."

…

So know that the Bodhisattva Holding to nothing whatever, But dwelling in Prajna wisdom, Is freed of delusive hindrance, Rid of the fear bred by it, And reaches clearest Nirvana!

…

Eighteen years.

Eighteen years had passed since his return. An entire tower was built in the west wing of his temple of residence, to store the sutras and holy artifacts he brought back.

He performed countless masses, to free the dead from their torments, one of which was on Flower Fruit Mountain. He sealed away a fire, destined to burn away worlds at the end of each kalpa, yet ignited too soon inside a child's body. He dealt with visits from nobles and high-ranking officials and rich laypeople all over Chang'an, until Wujing had to carry him back to his bedroom while Bajie shooed them out of the temple gate.

He took in more assistants and scribes. Taizong passed away and his third son inherited the throne. The officials made disdainful sneers at the mention of his new favorite concubine ("A nun! And one of the late emperor's consorts, too!"), then talked among themselves in a hushed and fearful voice, as she stepped over her rivals' bodies and became his empress.

His eyesight grew faint, his back ached on rainy nights, and sometimes he dropped a brush right after picking it up, because of the shakes in his hands.

Yet, after translating over six hundred scriptures, his work remained unfinished, and would likely never be finished.

A pity, but the completed translations would at least be in good hands.

He had recited his last prayers in front of the temple's monks——five days ago? Ten days ago? He could not remember. Everything blurred together, as if in a dream, and the only constant was the presence of his disciples.

His first, dearest disciples.

Wukong had stopped pacing, but was no less restless, if Bajie's muffled "Stop hitting me with your tail!" was any indication. Wujing's expression was one of grim acceptance, ever since he stopped eating and drinking and entered a deep mediation on his sickbed.

Ao Lie…they never told him what happened, but he had a feeling that the dragon prince wouldn't be coming back.

"Then stop standing next to my tail, Idiot."

"Excuse ya', there's only so much space in here!" A squeal. Sounded like the pig got pinched in the ear again. "Why are you so damn jittery today?"

"No idea. I just feel like…something's gonna happen."

And it did, the moment Sun Wukong finished speaking. The air grew cold and still. Before Bajie could yell "Don't jinx it, ape!" all the lamps went out in a gust of wind.

At first, there was only darkness. Then came a spark, a cicada's call, and with light, shadowy shapes.

Tendrils solidified into limbs and tails, bent at unnatural angles. Some silhouettes were fuzzy, clad in fur, some had horns and antlers, while the others were covered in bone spikes and scales. Many were missing chunks of their skulls or entire heads. Even more were charred to the bone, bits of cooked flesh sloughing off them as they lumbered forward.

Eyes with slit pupils, eyes that glowed, bug eyes, fish eyes, a pair of giant, lantern-like eyes, eyeballs hanging out of empty sockets——they all gazed into his, with unconcealed hatred and naked hunger. A few lunged at him, but soon staggered back with a pained screech, burnt by the golden light radiating from above.

Once, the mere sight would have sent him tumbling off his horse, trembling in fear, tears streaming down his face. He would not be standing tall, unfazed, listening to the vengeful ghosts of his would-be killers.

The Great Tang Monk, they cried out. Our doom. Our salvation.

A fellow poet, who became our guest. A group of four whispered from afar, branches and leaves shaking in their hair. The rudest of guests, and a deadly one too!

Did our mother wish for our deaths, Venerable Master? Two tiny shadows jumped up and down, behind a towering tiger demon. Was that what she wrote, in the letter she handed you?

Cheater! Devious bald donkey! A headless tiger, a disemboweled deer, and an oil-soaked goat skeleton tutted. Without your disciples, you'd never have won the contest.

Why is it a crime to eat the flesh of men, when they are never punished for consuming the flesh of our kind? A wrinkly fish demoness sighed. Such unfairness. Such hypocrisy.

Says you! I haven't eaten a single human, I'm just a palanquin carrier!

Do you remember us?

We, who are not worthy enough to count among your perils?

Do you even want to remember us?

Give it back, Great Tang Monk! The chorus of wails suddenly rose to a shrill crescendo. We want our lives back! Give our lives back, or grant us peace with yours!

He looked away from the consequences of his causes, and up into the light.

Six magnificent wings, six limbs, eyes like diamonds, a dot in the middle of the forehead. Cloaked in purple-gold kasaya, sitting in the lotus position. A most divine smile on an inhuman face.

A fleshless, miraculous body, a container of all the good deeds performed over his life and prior lives. A gateway to his Pure Land, an ocean of liquid gold.

One step, and he would be freed of birth and death, pain and doubt.

One step, and the spectres of murdered demons would never be able to reach him again, left behind to stew in their misery until they were dragged back to the Underworld in chains; the majority of them were far from innocent, after all.

One step between him and eternity.

And he needed only to reach out his hand and take it.

Idly, he wondered about what the others must've seen. What made them take that vital step, or stop at the last moment.

Then he shook his head and laughed. Those were their paths, were they not? Not his. Walk upon your own path.

He doubted even the three great Bodhisattvas could have predicted what he had in mind, though. 

"I hereby forsake my Body of Benefit, to give all my accumulated virtues to the restless dead, so that they may be released from suffering, once and for all."

A crack formed in the golden figure's forehead, growing wider and wider, until it stretched from head to toe. Out crawled little cicadas, wings buzzing, making a beeline for the howling herd of shadows.

They flinched back at first, then, upon realizing what was happening, eagerly grabbed each and every insect and devoured them whole, dissolving into golden light with a joyous expression on their faces.

"I vow to descend into samsara, shedding my selves like a cicada's skin, my inherent Buddha-nature obscured, yet remain unfaltering in my pursuit. For there is no courage without vulnerability, no awareness without experience, no immortality without mortality, no transcendance without having been bound to the world."

As the shadows thinned, he could see his disciples again, their motion slowed to a crawl, the panic in their eyes slowly transforming into dreadful awareness at the words echoing through their mind. But there was no turning back. He had already committed to his Vow.

He only hoped that they could see the look on his face, or hear the warmth and wistfulness in his speech, as he continued speaking. This is not the end. I will be nowhere and everywhere. I will always be by your side, in one form or the other.

"For every life of mine, rich or poor, ignorant or wise, man or beast, ghost or god, I vow to undertake a journey, learn the meaning of compassion anew, and teach it to those denied of such chances: whether by birth, by luck, or by their own stubborn will."

"Only after I have walked all the paths that can be walked, learned compassion against all possible odds, taught all who were forsaken, shall I attain Nirvana."

The last cicada had been caught and swallowed. Fully split in the middle, the remnant of his miraculous body was little more than a shell now——a shell that was starting to shrivel up and burn away in bright golden flames.

"Thus saith Golden Cicada, known in this life as Chen Xuanzang. May the World-honored One be my witness, and grant me strength and wisdom on my journey."

The Vow was almost complete. Its binding words tugged at his soul, drawing him closer and closer, into the flames above. His form was fading, yet it did not hurt.

It felt like peace. Like a pair of glowing palms lifting up an insect, sending it back into the blue summer sky.

"Namo," he said, and let the light take him away.

[most-sane-tsukasa-fan]

Knight!Tsukasa x Royalty!Reader Romantic Headcanons

CW: Idk OOC? GN!Reader

Tsukasa had joined being one of the knights for reasons that may be personal... although catching feelings for the royal highness was certainly not one of them.

He wanted to become a soldier to protect his own little sister. Some incident happened when two men broke into their manor and intended to harm his family, almost losing Saki in the process.

From that day onward, he vowed the same wouldn't happen. He worked hard for his position, taking special fencing training and combat training before he even passed to be promoted as an official knight.

Being a knight wasn't even his plan, he just wanted to protect his sister, but as he got older he realized he wanted to protect the kingdom too.

Of course, being one of the youngest knights and still on the weaker side, he feels a bit inferior, though people around him seem to respect his abilities for his age, even catching the attention of one royal family member.

The royal [Name] took a liking to him, being the same age and having not much people to be around with, [Name] often finds themself hanging around Tsukasa often, thus making the knight feel appreciated but also a bit... odd.

Tsukasa was a lonely kid, sure he has a sister, although she spent her life being locked in her room and even stuck in the infirmary for having a fragile body.

He had some acquaintances too but they aren't so close to him. The closest he got to someone is Toya although he lives pretty far and he has to ride a carriage for 2 days to reach Tsukasa.

With the royal's attention on him, he felt like it's the greatest compliment. Even other knights noticed him like Akito, Mizuki, and so on because they could always see the two, no matter what time of the day it is, it's like they're attached by the hip.

Tsukasa didn't even notice how fixated he is with them, unconsciously trying to seem cooler and act all heroic or flamboyant with them with the simplest things such as fetching them water and picking them up bridal style, refusing to let them walk if the streets are wet because it'll dirty them he says.

He'd be dashing to tend to them even if he's in the middle of training and he would go on for months without noticing he's trying so hard to please [Name] until Akito points it out.

He couldn't help but get flustered looking back to the signs he gave... but his heart felt heavy.

Realizing this feeling and how complicated it would be, he understands his desires are unrealistic.

They're royalty, of course they're bound to be betrothed to someone royal as well, not some knight that works for them, that would be like marrying your own boss.

For a while he pushed down this feeling, he noticably became more distant... although it seems that no matter what he does, he always finds himself passing by them and looking for them.

It's really weighing on him, it's even worse when they actually get arranged to be married with another heir from another kingdom... although that's an 'if' situation

Other knights finds Tsukasa spacing out and whenever they point it out he just goes back to he boisterous nature as if trying to act natural.

The thought filling his mind occasionally got him messing up on his trainings, so he figured maybe some weight will be lifted off his shoulders if he just... tells them casually.

And so he asked [Name] to meet him at their usual spot for a quick word before he'll go back to his training, figuring now is the best time while they're still not occupied.

He took a deep breath, feeling his usual confidence faltering a bit as he really did try to be casual with his confession, although it only end up with him pouring his heart out like it's a poetry, stammering over his words just a little as his eyes kept darting around the place.

"Your high- [Name]... I know this might not be something you're expecting to hear or even want to hear but it has been keeping me up several nights now. I... like you... as in 'like-like' you... I hate to say it but this is immature on my end knowing that the two of us wouldn't work. But it feels heavy to not tell you that I desire you, I desire to be around you that even death couldn't do us part. But it seems the world has different plans for the both of us and this burden of a thought is running through my head endlessly. I don't expect you to reciprocate or respond-"

He was cut off by [Name] as they placed a finger over his lips before speaking themself

"I feel the same"

Tsukasa felt absolutely over the moon hearing that, he couldn't suppress the smile growing on his face, his eyes lit up like stars in the sky.

As happy as he is, there's one problem; getting in a relationship with them.

Now that it isn't unknown the two of them feel the same for each other, of course the two would want to date.

But also of course, they can't date that easily or else they would get in a scandal.

Tsukasa and [Name] would at least keep it a secret, and thank goodness because Tsukasa has a talent for acting, he could just act like the usual without even mentioning a thing.

This 'secret' would be kept for a long run with them passing subtle loving glances at each other and on nights they meet up in [Name]'s room when no one is around to spot Tsukasa walking in.

Tsukasa would be the sweetest knight boyfriend, of course his love language being words of affirmation and quality time, you'd expect him declaring his love for [Name] like it's his wedding vow whenever they're alone as the two held each other.

What the two of them wouldn't notice though is that they are also somewhat obvious even in public places.

Either two of you flustering the other, saying subtle flirty jokes or cheesy pick-up lines, and what's the most obvious is that there is now barely a moment where others in the palace could catch you two not being together other then when Tsukasa has to come home back to his family on his day off.

What you so call 'secret' is actually quite noticable to almost everyone who got half a brain that you two have an interest for each other

But, all in all, Tsukasa is happy is ended up like this. Don't get me wrong, he's also worried, but he can't help the ecstasy he feels knowing he has you and you have him. He really is your loving knight.

"I'm sorry... I don't feel the same" (alternate ending)

Tsukasa could feel his heart sink, that same sinking feeling he felt when he still carries the burdening thought... somehow it only felt heavier rather than lifting a weight off his shoulders.

It felt horrible, like something important was ripped from him and he can't get it back.

He could only nod before walking off... of course he knows he'd later regret it for walking out on them, but he just want to get out of there before it hurts even more just by looking at their eyes.

After this he's... pretty much the same, at least that's what everyone thinks

He has put up this loud persona for so long, it just felt natural for him to cover up what he truly feels by using it over and over until he'll be exhausted.

He finds himself now avoiding [Name], seeking company from just the trees when he goes on walks now alone and not with you, occasionally with Akito when the two of them are at their day off.

He doesn't talk to anyone about it, although people did notice something different like Rui, he's a pretty intuitive man but Tsukasa somehow managed to dodge all questions.

Of course he won't let something like this ruin his whole self, he still has more things to focus on like his duties, and this awkward event certainly doesn't mean he doesn't talk to [Name] anymore.

He talks to them, just not as much anymore... he acts like everything is the same when really, a lot has changed.

He'll learned to move on pretty quickly and got back up on his feet, even if sometimes he still sees them in his dreams, even his imaginations.

No worries, he doesn't feel any resentment or negatively. After all, it was the response he expected... he just wasn't expecting it would hit him that painfully.

[materassassino]

🐅💛🕊🗡✨️ for both luke and din

Oh, you spoil me!

Luke // Din

Characterisation: when he's tired or stressed his accent slips. Get him tired enough and he'll sound fresh off Tatooine and come out with something so hick, so desert rat, you'll do a double take.

Can hold his liquour like nobody's business. Don't believe the propaganda that this boy only drinks milk, he comes from Bumfuck Nowhere where the only things for teens to do are shoot womp rats, race speeder bikes and drink, and the Rebellion made it worse because you know those X-Wing pilots party hard.

Can cook, but as a means to survive. He can handle two recipes really well but the rest is just stews and soups because it's hard to get those wrong and they last for ages. However, he's pretty adept at following a recipe and when he does it comes out decent.

Is terrified of the day he'll be asked to choose between his family and the galaxy again, but refuses to even consider the possibility.

Has officially dropped the aloof Jedi facade almost entirely unless it's necessary for something mission-related. It was, he realised, an externalisation of his trauma, and thus he recognises its disappearance as him healing.

Doesn't have any hobbies at all. There was little encouragement of them in the covert, and now he's in his late thirties with a surprising amount of downtime and doesn't actually know how to fill it. Luke encourages him to try new things so he's seeing what sticks at the moment. He's found he actually enjoys overseeing the work to rebuild Mandalore, and he enjoys reading more than he thought he would.

Better cook than Luke, by a long shot. Handles the meals.

Has no actual idea what he looks like in the sense that he doesn't entirely comprehend what he looks like to others. Is he handsome? Is he ugly? Is he average? He genuinely has no idea what others make of him because he's only been seen by like four living adult people and one of them he's literally married to.

Familial relationships: Obviously very close to Leia. They were best friends before, but now there's just added depth, a rock-steady certainty that they will always, always have each other's back. Obi-Wan told him Leia was younger and he's vowed to never, ever tell her.

Tries very hard to both treat Grogu as impartially as possible as his master, but ultimately fails because Grogu is his son. Definitely less of a soft touch than Din, however. He will tell Grogu off if needed.

The closest thing he has to family outside Grogu and Luke is the covert, and that is now a fraught relationship, but the societal norms of the Children of the Watch don't lend themselves to building the deepest relationships. Considers the Armourer as close as realistically possible to a mother figure, consider Paz a brother, in a way, but there's no great depth there, and eventually he realises he feels more of a familial feeling towards Bo-Katan than Paz or the Armourer anymore. He's adrift, in that sense, and it's actually a relief that Luke's side accepts him so openly and generally easily. It's much easier to view Leia as a sister than it ever was to view Paz as a brother.

Platonic relationships: Is friends with all his exes: Han, Lando, Wedge... As for enemies, he does try not to hold grudges, but man he just fucking hates Boba Fett. Poor Din, caught in the middle! Also supremely good at making friends with whoever he meets.

Din's platonic relationships have all been developed extremely recently: Boba, Peli, Fennec, Cobb, Bo-Katan... he's still trying to navigate the concept of having friends. It's weird?

I have no fighting style headcanons for either of them. Just watch canon content? Luke is a powerhouse, Din is supremely competent and prone to head trauma.

Worldbuilding: the rebuilt Jedi Temple is on Mandalore, designed by Luke and built by the New Jedi Order. Eventually they discover a wellspring of the Living Waters on the surface, and they build a garden around it. Neither will live to see Mandalore become green again, but Grogu does.

headcanon ask game

[decarabiandivorce]

#old Mondstadt probably loved short stories like A Monkey's Paw and uses those types of metaphors a lot#a promise from their god of love and safety being twisted so... so they find ways to twist up the twist

Thinking about Decarabian's story later being told as a cautionary tale against a controlling suffocating 'love', and the role Amos would have played in such a narrative....anyway I'm curious what you think of Decarabian and Amos' relationship specifically as 'lovers' 👀

HELLO! I, TUMBLR USER DECARABIAN DIVORCE IS TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT THESE TWO AND THEIR FAILURE OF A RELATIONSHIP.

COME CLOSER

I WILL NOT BITE

oKAY SO

My interpretation of Decarabian and Amos is that of two people that really cared about each other and so thought that perhaps they should be romantically involved with each other. I have a couple writings about how I think they would first meet (Left in my bestie's ask blog like a cat)

But! To understand that I must share how I interpret Amos! She is my babygirl and I think about her a nooooormal amount. Okay so Amos was a hunter at the start of the archon war, but thanks to her courtship she was basically cursed to have the same lifespan as Decarabian. This sounded like a completely sane and normal thing to agree to at the altar, a literal til death do we part. She had been alive for centuries by the time of the rebellion, and when her husband's 'heart' stopped so did hers.

Decarabian on the other hand, has been alive even before the time of the archon war,,, cause ya know,,, he needs to found Mondstadt. Now the city itself wasn't the only place that Decarabian reigned from. The snowy mountains had villages such as Sal Vindagnyr, and he was there to witness the celestial nail be dropped. He saw the horrors gods could inflict on other beings and this shattered his trust in any other divine being. Such a tragedy also made him think about how fragile humanity is, and thus he vowed he would keep Mondstadt safe. At all costs.

They both had a couple of friendships before this all went down, I like to hc Deca as knowing Kairos and thus when she went MIA it only fueled his parania. His closest neighbors were Liyue, and he did not trust a single god from there, and we all know he and Andrius had beef.

Amos, however, was a pillar of Mondstadt's community. She was a hunter! She was strong and powerful and in present-day Mond terms she would be as reliable as Jean or Noelle. However, Mondstadt wasn't as.... free as present-day Mondstadt. With her parents dying when she was about 20 or so, many people kept implying for her to start a relationship.

She.. hated disappointing them. She had never felt the need to take a lover before, but a companion? A friend she coudl share secrets with and be by her side? She craved warmth.

It only got worse when the war started and Decarabian is like "oh shield time everyone! :D " and now she was Stuck. Stuck and unable to go out to hunt. She felt like a burden. A testament to her name. She would spend long days helping out the city as best she could, telling every one of her friends that were concerned for her lifestyle that she was simply too busy for a relationship.

She... never felt an attraction to a person before. Never felt Cupid's arrow sting her chest and cause her to yearn. She had close calls, but could never imagine herself in an actual relationship with either of them.

Yet days in the timeless city still moved on, and the storms cradled the city in their razor-sharp embrace. She dreamed of the forest and of the hunt. She dreamed of those foggy memories of joining the hunting party. She dreamed that someone would understand that she didn't need a lover to be happy.

If this was a story told in the future, this is where the Monkey's paw would curl.

One day, she met a man in the armory and he was so kind and polite to her. No one in the city had seen their god's face, so she just assumed he was a noble or a guard. They talked for hours. He wanted to meet a person that people kept talking about. She would go silent as he mentioned those words, but in the end they became friends.

Yet... she was still troubled by her friends. It sucked have to sit through conversation after conversation about her future. How that having someone by her side would be good for her when she gets older! How having a spouse was a wonderful thing.

After many nights of pressure and debate, she asked out Decarabian. She wanted to experience this. Perhaps she was wrong! Perhaps she was just missing out! He was her friend, so it would be just like hanging out.

Before she knew it, people were happy for her. She was happy that they were happy. She was happy seeing Decarabian smile at her. But was she happy?

It felt like an item on a list being crossed out. An obligation she had to fulfill. She got what she asked, but...

...

Its fine! She is fine! Its...

its nothing.

don't worry about it.

(^ doodled them while writing this all down ehehe)

Years later, she and him were wed. Everyone was so happy. It felt like a dream walking down the aisle. The type of dream that you don't remember happening. The type that fogs the mind as you try to recall it. There are rings on her fingers now. It's a cold feeling, the metal against her skin. The ornaments in her hair are heavy. It's... its fine.

She is glad her husband feels so happy looking at her.

As lovers, they didn't really date. Neither of them found the point of all of it. They were basically roommates+ that slept in the same bed. Amos found out she loved to cuddle him as she slept. It's been so long since she had felt a loving embrace, and he had never felt a hug before.

She taught him a lot of things about romance, not quiet understanding him at times but they managed! She yearned to be held, and so Decarabian did! He was doing such a good job at this! He loved the ways she laughed. He loved her dedication to her crafts. He loved looking at her.

Yet the years went by, and soon Amos wasn't leaving the tower as often. Her friends had lives of their own, and she should have a life of her own. Despite having someone by her side, she never felt so isolated.

Before long, she was the only one left alive from that friend group. Decarabian put his arms around her waist, happy that his beloved was spending more time with him. She seemed sad.. so a hug should do the trick!

They never.. talked about this. They never talked about anything! They just existed with each other after a time, enjoying the other's presence but something was missing.

She felt safe. She felt a strong bond between her and Deca. She felt... happy? Complacent. It was nice being in the tower... but it was as dull as the grey sky.

It was only centuries of this limbo before she would meet a duo that would bring that spark back in her eyes.

So yeah tldr neither of them should have been dating each other in the first place but the norm that people who are close together should be lovers pushed them into a situation neither of them was prepared to tackle. Neither of them communicated their needs and thus suffering was caused. At the end of the day, they do care deeply for each other, and this only made it all much more painful. F in chat

Anyways links to my writings and a couple hcs pals and I have about the two

The Sun Post <- THE MAIN ONE TO READ

Bestie's commentary on it (^^^) that I rotate and I think everyone should see

Gifts

Expressions and Metaphors 

Everything is fine!

Amos means Burden thing again <- This one is a lot more short story -ish

The one Ring to rule court her

The basics in Language

How they got together

You know other men?

Touch

Should have communicated better oof

Average Deca compliment

The reveal

Speedrunning this huh?

[lostcauses-noregrets]

I don't think a lot of people understand why Levi staying strong and remaining like a rock in a world where everything you believe in and the world around you constantly change. I am glad Isayama didn't go for the easy way and give every single character the same type of character arc. I don't think people understand why Levi is such a well written character just because he doesn't go through a "change" like Eren did even though Eren doesn't really change all that much. But there is one criticism against Levi that makes me question it; Levi pre season 4 is a great, well written character with his own believes his own personality and his own lines that he'd not cross no matter what and stuff like that. He is a great individual which makes Eruri an even better ship because both Levi and Erwin are so heavily depend on each other story teliing wise, you need Levi to understand Erwin better and Erwin completes Levi's story, they can't exist without each other but on the other hand they are still separately well written characters. But a lot of people believe that Isayama reduced Levi to a caricature of himself in S4 because of his obsession with his vow and I think wanting to avenge his comrades all his comrades and not just Erwin and wanting to fulfill his last promise is very much in character but I think the main problem is, Levi isn't allowed to much other than his vow, he's completely pushed to the background and he is only allowed to be in the story when it comes to that vow. That makes it look like Isayama was going for a very wattpad-ish romance story where a character is nothing more than his love story in this case his vow. I believe it wasn't Isayama's intention to reduce Levi like that just like I believe he didn't mean for Historia to be just... that. I still don't understand what they hell is going on with her in the last season but whatever. I think Levi's strength and him as a character in general was an obstacle to where Isayama wanted to take his story thus he had to reduce Levi to nothing more than a lover chasing to avenge his boyfriend's death? I also think he failed Hange's character, I think there was more to explore there since Hange had the worst luck out of all survey corps commanders, they were put in an incredibly difficult posiiton and job in a completly different world than what they knew out of nowhere. So I think Isayama wasn't very good to veterans in S4 or what's left of them, they didn't have much place in his story at this point because he was like every shounen writer was focusing on new generation.

I agree with a lot of what you’ve said here Anon; Levi is an amazing character but he doesn’t have a lot to do in the final arcs of the manga other than fulfil his vow, Hange is woefully underwritten, the Vets are sidelined, and who even knows what’s going on with Historia.  However the thing is, SnK is a shounen manga and Isayama is broadly bound by the conventions of that genre, one of which is that the kids save the world. (Though just to make things a bit more interesting, in SnK it’s the kids who destroy the world too.) 

I’ve always felt that Isayama’s real talent as a writer lies in characterisation and world building.  But therein lies the problem, his secondary characters are so well written and developed, that it’s easy to forget that they are just side characters.  And for better or for worse, that’s just what Levi and the rest of the Veterans are - side characters.  Despite the important role that Levi, Erwin and Hange play in moving the plot forward, they’re not the protagonists.  This story belongs to Eren, Mikasa, Armin and the Warriors.  All the other characters are there to play an, admittedly very effective and compelling, supporting role. 

So yes, Levi’s importance does diminish after Erwin’s death, and yes his only real role in the story from that point onwards is to fulfil his vow to Erwin and to embody the spirit of the Survey Corps.  Isayama is actually explicit about this in the Character Guide where he says “Part of me feels like Levi fulfilled his duties by being there for Erwin’s last moments.  He does of course still have the goal of killing the beast Titan, etc., etc.” And it’s there in the manga too.  Like it or not, (and I don’t), the end of Midnight Sun is all about passing the torch on to the next generation. Levi himself even acknowledges the end of his role in chapter 136

Don’t get me wrong, there's nothing I would have loved to see more than the Veterans surviving to stop the Rumbling and save the world, but that would have been a very different story and it’s not the one that Isayama was ever going to write.  Thankfully we have many talented fic writers who are more than happy to write that story, and for that I am eternally grateful 🙏

[sureabel]

i. the violent bear it away - flannery o'connor // ii. "ptolemaea" - ethel cain // iii. jude 1:14-15

( charles michael davis / dog soldier wolf, 140, cis man, he/him ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that ABEL BARNES is a PASTOR ( + PODCASTER ) that works in SECTOR 10. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of ROUGAROU PHYSIOLOGY. That must be why they’re CHARISMATIC and VOLATILE. If you ask me, they remind me of moonlight shining on a room of crosses, a slap on the hand for stealing the cookie out of the cookie jar, the creature every child fears. They are affiliated with NOBODY.

QUICK FACTS:

full name: abel lucas barnes

date of birth: may 29th, 2035

zodiac big three: gemini sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual + romantic orientation: bisexual + biromantic, but celibate now!

ethnicity: 1/2 black, 1/2 filipino

nationality: usamerican

religion: christian ( raised southern baptist, current ideals (when he's preaching! not when he's entirely insane!) are baptist-adjacent )

languages spoken: english (5), french (5), filipino (4), latin (4)

enneagram: 1w2

mbti: isfj

temperament: phlegmatic-melancholic // choleric

alignment: lawful neutral // neutral evill

ability: rougarou physiology

affiliation: n/a

task: mutation breakdown

BACKSTORY

triggers: brief implication of dementia, murder, religious insanity, more murder, more religious insanity

Recounting all 140 years of Abel Barnes's existence ( at least, all 140 fictional years... because we actually do love history in this house, but... ) would be rather difficult. A man who went from a restless child in New Orleans, LA to a man leading evangelicals in Sol City... and to think, it was only one event that caused the change. But that event, the split that that event caused, did not come from nowhere.

See, Abel Barnes's grandmother, Ruthie, played a very integral role in his upbringing. His parents both picked up two jobs upon the birth of his younger brother, thus leaving Ruthie in charge of the boys. It was nothing unremarkable. But Ruthie? Oh, that old broad -- she was unremarkable!

She did not raise Abel gently -- not that she raised him poorly, but she would not let him believe that God would ignore his existence just because he only went to Church on the important holidays ( oh, she certainly tried to force him and his brother to go every Sunday with her, but she ultimately had to accept what their parents demanded... something she had learned the hard way ). The most effective way she found, however, was telling him about the Rougarou.

-> Ruthie was a superstitious woman by nature, so it only made sense that she would weaponize the iconic figure in Cajun folklore.

The Rougarou had been all but cursed after breaking his Lenten vows. Every night, he was turned into a creature -- the body of a man, the head of a wolf. He was nearly invulnerable, and he was very, very hungry. He feasted most often on misbehaving children. And he made sure that their deaths were not quick! He made sure that they suffered! Not that he discriminated, plenty of sinners were targets, but children were his favorite.

Well, this concept terrified Little Abel™... but gradually lost its allure as he aged. By the time he was a teenager, he was doing everything the Rougarou would hate to see and joking with his buddies about how 'ooh, he's gonna get me!' And his absolute favorite? The Rougarou Fest in Houma.

Nothing Ruthie weaponized was working... so she just had to pray he would learn the error of his ways.

He did mellow out as he grew, became a more respectable man. By the time he was 30, he'd married a lovely woman. By the time he was 35, he had a child of his own. By the time he was 38, Ruthie had come to live the rest of her golden years out with him.

He was careful to keep his child away from Ruthie's superstitious and religious ramblings, worse now that she was aging and her brain was slowly deteriorating.

40, however? That was when his life changed forever.

-> The meteor struck the Earth, killing his wife and infecting him.

The head of a wolf, the body of a man. All but invulnerable. Blood-thirsty. Righteous. Complete 180º.

Seeing his child wearing mismatched clothing, he killed him first. Ruthie? She begged. She told him she had spent her entire life in the pursuit of God's love. And that was the exact problem -- how very selfish! Her slaughter... well, he relished in it.

He continued the spree, though it was now focused on friends and strangers who had managed to scrape by, up until the cure was found. He did not like the cure. He did not want the cure. But it was forced upon him...

It just wasn't as strong as it could've been. While he did return to a... slightly saner version of himself, mourning the loss of his son and grandmother and his friends, feeling great guilt over the murders of strangers... something had been permanently rewired.

It was comparable to sundowning. Every morning, Abel awoke as a... fairly sane man who had simply become much more religious than he had been before the meteor ( he would say it was the miracle of surviving it that turned him to God, but that wasn't the truth ). Every night, Abel was that Rougarou, pursuing all sinners he had seen throughout the day. And, as the day went from morning to night, he became progressively worse. Afternoon? The itch was there. Evening? He had begun a podcast inspired by televangelists, one where he went upon raging tangents regarding the Lord.

The physicality matched this. Every morning, Abel awoke with glowing golden eyes and sharp canine teeth. Afternoon? His nails had sharpened, fur was beginning to grow on his hands. Evening? Every tooth was sharp, his ears were standing upon the top of his head, his face and back had become hairier. Night? He had a wolf's head with fur littering his back and torso.

Morning? He awoke with faint memories...

He traveled from settlement to settlement, not leaving until the Rougarou had rampaged throughout and killed all of the worst sinners. Sometimes, that meant destroying entire villages... other times, that meant just a few bodies in his wake.

He reached Sol City some months back. As with all other settlements, he took up his usual mantel as a baptist-adjacent Pastor. But the Rougarou? His eyes have been scanning... and god save The Bearded Lady!

TIMELINE

BORN: New Orleans, largely raised by his religious and superstitious grandmother, Ruthie.

CHILDHOOD: A good kid... mainly caused by the fear his grandmother had instilled in him -- fear of God, fear in superstitions, fear in the Rougarou.

TEENAGE YEARS: Gradually stopped believing in those superstitions and the Rougarou, became a bit more reckless, much to Ruthie's dismay.

YOUNG ADULTHOOD: Started cleaning himself up. Became more respectable.

ADULTHOOD: Had a family (a wife and a child). Ruthie moved in as she gradually became incapable of caring for herself. He kept her far from his child, not wanting the fear she had spilled out onto him to be spilled out onto his child.

DIRECTLY FOLLOWING THE METEOR: His wife was killed by the meteor, meanwhile Abel? Infected by the virus. Rougarou form, baby! Mind did a complete 180. He murdered his child for wearing mismatched clothing. He murdered Ruthie for begging and telling him she had dedicated her life to God. He murdered some of the friends who had made it out. He murdered some strangers.

EARLY POST-CURE: His mind did not entirely recover. He went from roughly agnostic to very Christian, and that was the best of it. By night, he returned to who he had been before the cure -- save, perhaps, for not seeing any nuance in any situation.

POST-CURE: Traveled from settlement to settlement. Delivered sermons in the morning, ranted on his evangelist podcast in the evening, rampaged against all the sinners at night. He would move on only when all of the worst sinners had been wiped out.

HEADCANONS

Every time I imagine this guy talking, I just hear Rodney Barnes's voice. (Totally used the same last name.) (I did not learn about the Rougarou from him, but he does have an episode on it!)

The faint memories he has in the morning typically include nothing but flashes of where he had been. It's the blood on his mouth that tells him he'd done the unthinkable.

-> Of course, he does not always kill in Rougarou form. Sometimes he just attacks! And, y'know, there are even sometimes where all he does is scout out future targets.

more tbd!

CONNECTION IDEAS

Parishioners. When he's not going completely insane, he preaches Baptist-adjacent ideals. A lot lighter on the judgment and hatred, though! We don't need that in a safe space and who really wants to write that?

Friends by day. Besides being a bit fanatic, Abel's... fine in the morning. Tolerable in the afternoon, too.

Enemies by night. I mean... without even thinking about it, he hates everyone who works at The Bearded Lady, as already shared with Doc (though I still need to get back to more messages!). But there are so many sinners in this RP! If Heaven and Hell are real, as Abel believes, I'm pretty sure more characters in this RP would go right to Hell than the ones who'd go to Heaven <3

ElTangoDeRoxanne.mp3. But moooommmm, lust and envy are sins!

idk more to come probs

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter 13 Recap: In the den of tigers, the Gold Star brings deliverance; At Double-Fork Ridge, Boquin detains the monk.

Now at long last on his journey “to seek the source of Chan,” Tang Sanzang’s first stop is at the Temple of the Law Gate. The five hundred monks who live there are quite concerned about the dangers Tripitaka will encounter on the journey west, but he responds by stating that he had “already made an important vow before Buddha in the Temple of Transformation, and he has no alternative but to fulfill it with his whole heart.” The other monks praise Tang Sanzang for his dedication, and they all go to bed. The next morning, Xuanzang makes further vows to “burn incense whenever I come upon a temple…worship Buddha whenever I meet a Buddha, and…sweep a pagoda whenever I reach a pagoda.” With a final prayer to let his journey succeed, Tang Sanzang and his two attendants are back on the road.

Over the next several days these three “master and disciples” and their horse (which is described as the “fourth member of the team”) arrive and depart from the city of Gongzhou and the District of Hezhou, but are then, now in late autumn, faced with the “exceedingly difficult” terrain of a mountain range. As they’re worrying over their slow progress and as to whether they might be going the wrong way, all three humans suddenly tumble into a deep pit. They are understandably terrified, and their situation but becomes worse when “a mob of fifty or sixty ogres appeared, who seized Tripitaka with his companions and hauled them out of the pit.” Brought before a “ferocious Monster King” named General Yin (who’s a tiger yaoguai), the three are on his orders tied up with ropes and are “being prepared to be eaten” when more yaoguai kings, the Bear Mountain Lord and the Steer Hermit, arrive. The three yaoguai kings chat amicably for some time until one of Tripitaka’s attendants, who was bound very tightly, began “to moan pitifully.” The yaoguai kings agree that as these humans had “practically presented themselves at the door” they would do very well for dinner, though they would leave one over for a later meal. And thus does Tang Sanzang experience his “first bitter ordeal since his departure from Chang’an”:

“[General Yin] called his subordinates at once to have the attendants eviscerated and their carcasses carved up; their heads, hearts, and livers were to be presented to the guests, the limbs to the host, and the remaining portions of flesh and bone to the rest of the ogres. The moment the order was given, the ogres pounced on the attendants like tigers preying on sheep: munching and crunching, they devoured them in no time at all.”

Left in a stupor from the horror of it all, Tang Sanzang can do nothing until the yaoguai had retired to their separate abodes, the sun is high in the sky, and an old man suddenly appears and just as suddenly magically snaps the ropes holding the monk captive. Tripitaka thanks the “aged father for saving the life of this poor monk,” and learns that he’s come to trouble at the Double-Fork Ridge, “a place infested with tigers and wolves.” The old man further informs Xuanzang that the yaoguai were the spirits “of strange beasts and wolves,” and that because of “the primal purity of your nature, they cannot devour you.” He then leads Tripitaka out of the cave and back to his horse and the main road. It is only then that the old man, actually the Planet Venus from the West, travels back to Heaven and leaves Tang Sanzang to “his lonely and melancholy journey.”

Though he is ready “to abandon his body and sacrifice his life,” Tripitaka is still “gnawed by hunger and disheartened by the rough road.” To add to his troubles, he’s suddenly accosted by two fierce tigers in front of him and several huge snakes blocking the path behind. Tang Sanzang is about to submit himself to death when suddenly the predators run away. This is all thanks to the sudden appearance of Liu Boqin, a hunter. Also known as Senior Guardian of the Mountain, Liu Boqin picks Xuanzang up from where he had been huddled on top of his exhausted horse, and invites the monk to spend the night at his house. Tang Sanzang gratefully accepts the offer.

As they’re travelling, Liu Boquin suddenly has Tripitaka halt, as the howling of the wind told him that a tiger is approaching. Planning to use this animal to “make a meal of him for you,” Liu Boquin leaves Tang Sanzang rooted in fear to the ground and engages the tiger in a battle so terrifying that it leaves the monk “paralyzed on the grass.” Liu Boqin emerges victorious after battling the tiger for an hour, stabbing the huge beast with his trident through the heart and delighting over how it will make a good meal for the monk. It is only after Tripitaka is within Liu Boqin’s home, has met his wife and mother, and had “several dishes of well-cooked tiger meat” set in front of him that the monk reveals that he’s a vegetarian. The issue of what the monk is going to eat is resolved when Liu Boqin’s mother prepares a meal of elm leaf soup, rice, and dried vegetables from a pan that she scrubbed free of all traces of animal grease.

After the meal and the night spent at Liu Boqin’s home, Tripitaka spends the entirely of the next day performing a Buddhist service for the deliverance of the deceased on behalf of Liu Boqin’s father, but one year dead. That night, the soul of Liu Boqin’s father, “verily a ghost redeemed from perdition…appeared to all the members of his family in a dream.” He does so to inform his family that Tang Sanzang’s recitations of sutras on his behalf had “expiated my sins” and that he is being set to an incarnation in a noble family. The family is delighted by this shared dream and try to offer Xuanzang money as a gesture of gratitude. Tripitaka refuses to accept anything but does ask to be escorted through the mountain range as far as Boqin is able to, which the family accepts. After biscuits made of unrefined flower are made for Tang Sanzang’s journey, he, Liu Boqin, and several houseboys armed with hunting equipment set off.

After traveling for half a day, this group comes upon a mountain “so tall and rugged that it truly seemed to touch the blue sky.” After ascending the mountain halfway “as if he were walking of level ground,” Liu Boqin informs Tripitaka that they must part ways here, even though the monk begs the mountain guardian to escort him a little further. This is impossible for, as Liu Boqin explains, this is “the Mountain of Two Frontiers; the eastern half belongs to our Great Tang domain, but the western half is the territory of the Tartars. The tigers and wolves over there are not my subjects, nor should I cross the border. You must proceed by yourself.” Terrified at the thought, Xuanzang, “tears pouring from his eyes,” clutches at Liu Boqin’s sleeves.

It is precisely at “this tender moment” that from beneath the mountain a “thunderous voice,” so terrifying that it leaves Tripitaka dumbfounded and Liu Boqin trembling, starts crying out “My master has come! My master has come!” Who that voice belongs to is a mystery that will have to be left for the next chapter.

[tavina-writes]

HERE I have thoughts about Huang Yaoshi and Huang Rong and Huang Rong's childhood because I am ALWAYS brainrotting about how like, HYS had SO MUCH trauma re: the death of his wife Feng Heng. But he has never once blamed his daughter OR traumatized her in any way. Huang Rong is quite literally the last (1) shred of his sanity and the only reason he's still alive! (The narrator even tells us this at one point.)

Originally, Huang Rong was the Peach Blossom Island Master Huang Yaoshi's only daughter. Before giving birth to her, her mother had a turn for the worse, which caused her to be physically and mentally exhausted, leading to her death soon after a difficult labor. Huang Yaoshi had a fit afterwards, expelling all his disciples from the island, leaving only the father and the daughter alone there. Huang Yaoshi was called the Eastern Heretic because of his peculiarity of conduct. He often said that the etiquette and customs of the world were all nonsense. His love for his daughter was excessive and he naturally did nothing to control her, thus allowing her to become arrogant and willful. Although she was intelligent, she was not willing to focus her mind on learning martial arts. Her father was actually very proficient in the ying yang five lines, learning these methods from several classics. She was able to learn when still very young but even though her father had already reached a divine level, she was nevertheless unable to go beyond the Peach Blossom Island martial arts basics. One day, she was playing in the island when she came upon her father's enemy imprisoned in the cave. Feeling lonely, she conversed with that person, talking for almost half a day. The person's words were interesting to her so that she often returned, seeking him out only to speak with him, finding relief in that exercise. Afterwards, Huang Yaoshi found out and reproached her severely. Huang Rong had never been beaten or scolded by her father so she reacted with anger and self-pity. Her cunning and unreasonable temperament manifested itself suddenly and she took the boat to escape Peach Blossom Island, thinking that no one cared for her there. Thus, she cut all wish for it and disguised herself as a poor, miserable youth, going in all directions, dissolute, though in her heart she was still with her father. She thought angrily, Since you don't love me, then I will make the world feel most pitiful for a young beggar!" However, she did not expect to meet Guo Jing in Zhangjiakou. At first, she went to the wine shop with him to spend his money and cause a disturbance, intending to lay on him her resentment towards her father. Who would have thought that he would be so dumb with no idea at all, talking with her as though they were old friends and even giving her his horse, showing his concern? She was bitter and lonely, thinking about how she deceived him but he continued to treat her honestly. She was touched. Since then, the two of them became good friends.

When we DO see HYS on page for the first time Huang Rong's internal thoughts go "oh no, I haven't seen dad in a few months but he looks like he aged a decade worrying for me 😭." NOW, HYS had been mad for like maybe (2) days that Rong'er ran away, but then he'd been searching for her for the entire rest of the time. (This also builds on my theory that this man is good at everything in the world except asking for directions bc Rong'er had been running around in the same region as their home (Jiangnan) with a giant painted sign "HI I AM HUANG YAOSHI'S SPOILED CONWOMAN DAUGHTER" for months on end as well.)

At a completely different point in this book, the narrator tells us that HYS built a suicide boat to sink himself and his wife's jade coffin to the bottom of the ocean and he repainted this boat every year, but could neither bear to leave Rong'er to be raised by servants OR take her onto the boat with her parents so he kept putting off his suicide boating and vowed to go boating only after Rong'er was grown up and married and didn't need a dad anymore. (At one point during the novel he is lied to and told that Rong'er died at sea and this man has a full on hysterical mental breakdown while screaming at the sky.)

There are SO MANY lines in this book where it's like "because he was looking at his beloved daughter, he could not help but be happy anyway!" and "oh the huangs are hugging again" and "Guo Jing (erroneously) thinks that Rong'er's dad must be the best guy on the planet bc Rong'er is so wonderful."

(also lolsob uh, in HSDS we learn that he finally DID go suicide boating after hearing that his daughter's entire family died at Xiangyang. Guo Xiang comes to her grandfather's house on Peach Blossom Island and there's a line of "and the docks were empty, all of the boats had gone.")

[potroasttheghostdogpontificates]

The "there's nothing wrong with Biden" camp really needs to quit asking me to source my disataste for the guy, because every time I do, I learn something else about him that I like even less.

I learned when it happened that Biden scapegoated southern migrants in his final State of the Union of his first term, despite previously and currently running against the guy who's entire campaign started with calling hispanic people criminals. Despite his entire electoral strategy being "I know I suck but I'm not this guy", his current plan of action is to be as much like that guy as he possibly can. That's bad enough. Calling mexican people (or, let's face it, every brown-skinned person in the US who doesn't look like any other racialized people, because they get the same shit even if they aren't mexican) "dangerous illegals" and promising to shut down the southern border if Congress lets him, after working on Trump's border wall for him is bad enough for the genocide guy. To know that there was a widow for a racially motivated attack, brought there to serve as a reminder for the increase in racialized violence against this community in the wake of the president who's entire major foci of racism was targeted to this community, present in the audience as he said this, is even worse. To then learn that he brushed it off when pressed with a "well he shouldn't have been here anyway" just pisses me off further.

I knew Biden didn't close thr migrant concentration camps. Bad enough. I was demanded a source. When I provided one from "russian- biased" Al Jazeera, and thus it couldn't be trusted by liberals, I found Reuters. Then I learned he sold them to private prisons, so that he could claim he was closing private prisons because he promised it on the campaign trail. Literally scrubbed the name, let the profiteers keep profiting, and labelled it closed. That is Trump filing off the serial numbers levels of bullshit and he did it.

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/biden-vowed-reform-immigration-detention-instead-private-prisons-benefited-2023-08-07/

As a trans-enby of color, I don't think it's acceptable to shelter a racist just because he gave a tepid shrug in regards to whether or not I should be consumed for protein. That isn't enough to justify the harm this man has explicitly sent the way of racialized peoples. Ues, for the sake of argument here, I am ignoring what his policing policies have done for black people and what his zionism has done for arab people. He's gonna flip on the LGBTQ community, I have zero doubt at this point. He did it to hispanic peoples, and he campaigned on standing up for them. Now he's campaigning on.. well he's camapigning on nothing really. But the queer community, and I suppose the asian community, is about all that's left for him to flip on now isn't it?

I am appalled that neoliberalism has shit the bed this badly and infuriated that then its adherents have the audacity to try and weaponize part of my identity to justify the bastard explicitly trying to kill another part of my identity as any way acceptable. And no, "other guy is gonna be worse" isn't an excuse anymore either. You chose this man. You didn't have to. But you were too cowardly to challenge the status quo and your perceived comfort, because you didn't realize how bad it truly was out here for the people whom neoliberalism has worked tirelessly to make invisible to you. You could've voted for someone else in the primaries. You could have given us someone else. You could have motivated your white friends to actually engage with the political process even a little bit and move them into voting for what they keep claiming to want (even if they don't vote that way). You chose not to. You chose instead, to bully people who have hard-line prinicples on human rights they won't cross just because some ancient white guy feels entitled to playing big boy power-broker. I said it when I voted for the bastard in 2020 that "it doesn't even feel like he wants thos position. It feels like he's campaiging because he expects to get it, like some office suckup wandering late onto a meeting because they figure the promotion is a lock for them." Political fatalism masquerading as "maturity".

Vote for this man or don't. I do not care at this point. If you do, I do not consider you an ally to be trusted. You're in a comfy enough position to feel that there's "no good reason" for marginalized peoples to reject this man, when other guy is "so much worse"? Go on babe enjoy your time, just know you're showing a true face you might not be aware of. Biden feels entitled to power even if he has to kill thousands of children and be a smug prick when called out on it to do so, and the liberals gave it to him, showing their ass the entire time. Revealing their actual contempt for progress and human-rights. Embarassing.