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skyward-floored · 1 year

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Part four to the mess that is accidental domestication, Warriors and Time edition! This was really fun to write but also it’s soooooo long >_< oh well.

Warning for some nonconsensual drugging, but it’s not too bad? I don’t think it’s too bad but anyway there’s your warning.

Ao3 link

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Being separated from the group always made Warriors nervous.

Not that he’d admit it of course. But he was used to fighting and traveling alongside others, and not knowing the whereabouts of everyone except for himself and Time made him ill at ease. Especially since Time was currently slouched against his shoulder, mumbling something about bombchus and how the items were cuter than the actual creatures.

Warriors sighed, pressing a weary hand to the bridge of his nose.

Having realized they were alone after exiting a portal, him and Time had made their way to a nearby town, seeing no sign of the others while they traveled. They stopped for some info at the bar that night, hoping someone had seen a large group of young men go by recently, but had been met with no useful tips, and several people eyeing them suspiciously.

And drugged drinks.

Which Warriors has realized almost immediately after taking a sip.

But Time had gotten his drink first, spiced so heavily the flavor wasn’t noticeable, and Warriors had been trying to get information out of the bartender and wasn’t paying much attention to the other hero.

Neither of them was aware of the tasteless poison he was consuming, and Time had already drunk more than half his glass by the time Warriors sipped his own and realized what was going on. He’d quickly paid and tried to quietly drag Time outside, the older hero already swaying and cursing himself for not noticing, but their escape was noticed almost immediately.

Apparently they’d stumbled straight into a thieves town. And the residents had decided that between Time’s armor and Warriors’ scarf, the two men seemed like good pickings to make some pretty nice money.

Which was why Warriors was now hiding with Time behind a bush, listening to the townspeople chasing them shout in the distance.

Time let out a quiet groan, and Warriors gave his arm a squeeze, trying to get a good look at his face in the darkened forest. He couldn’t make out much in the dim light, but Time’s head felt hot where it was resting on his arm, an occasional tremble wracking through him.

“How are you feeling old man,” Warriors asked under his breath, and Time merely hummed quietly in reply.

The captain gave his shoulder a squeeze, then poked his head above the bush they were hiding behind. His frown deepened at the lantern lights that were bobbing in their direction, and he sank back down, trying to think through the mess they were in.

They were being chased by nearly the entire population of a town of bandits, his only ally was half-awake and getting less coherent by the minute, and he had no clue which direction the other heroes or any help might be in.

So, business as usual.

“Don’t go in the bushes, th’ dekus ‘ll get you...” Time suddenly mumbled, and Warriors gave him a concerned look. He hadn’t been speaking much sense for the past several minutes, and only seemed to be getting worse, muttering increasingly indecipherable sentences with sweat trickling down his brow.

How long until he couldn’t keep going?

Time suddenly let out a loud laugh, breaking his thoughts, and Warriors slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Time shh, are you trying to get us caught?” he hissed, and Time blinked at him, eye looking oddly milky from what the captain could see of it.

“M’ not getting us caught,” he huffed once Warriors removed his hand. Then he let out a high-pitched giggle, and Warriors stared at him incredulously. Time never... giggled. That drug was hitting him hard, and fast, it must have been some powerful stuff.

Time’s head lolled a bit, and he blinked up at Warriors, a goofy smile on his face.

“The cuccoos never listen anyway,” he assured, flopping a hand up and patting his cheek. “They just gliiiide away. Stop worryin’ about it.”

“I’m not just worried about them, I’m worried about you,” Warriors said sharply, dismay at the situation abruptly intensifying. He didn’t know if Time had been just drugged or poisoned or what, but no matter what it was he couldn’t do anything about it right now and Time just kept getting worse and he didn’t even know if he was understanding him anymore—

Warriors shook off his thoughts with a heavy sigh, and Time stared at him for a second before patting him on the arm.

“M’ sorry cap’n... I’ll call the frogs, they’ll help us,” he whispered comfortingly, then took in a deep breath and positively bellowed. “FROGS WE NEED YOU—”

Warriors slapped his hand over his mouth again.

“Don’t call the frogs, okay? Forget the frogs,” he whispered frantically, trying to get his feelings back in the box where they usually rested in situations like this. The sight of Time, normally so coolheaded but currently so confused, was rattling him more than he cared to think about.

Not to mention the shouts that were growing much too close for comfort.

“We need to keep moving, can you walk at all?” he asked Time in a voice he fought to keep steady, and the older hero hummed.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at his boots. “I don’t want t’ squish a bug... he’d be sad. Can’ I stay?”

“No, listen Time we can’t stay here,” Warriors whispered harshly, the voices and lanterns much too close now. “There are men chasing us who want to kill us. We need to stay away from them, which means we need to move. Come on soldier!”

Time still looked uncertain, an almost childish frown on his face as he looked at the grass.

Warriors sighed again. “You’re not going to squish any bugs, okay?”

Time hesitated, then suddenly lurched upright, almost falling back down until Warriors steadied him.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled.

Warriors breathed out a relieved sigh, and began to pull Time steadily through the woods, wincing whenever their armor clanked or the leaves crunched under their feet. He figured they’d focus on outmaneuvering the bandits, putting distance between their pursuers and them, and hopefully find a place to properly hide so he could try to help Time.

Fighting would be their absolute last resort.

They’d gone maybe half a mile before Time’s steps truly began to lag, his weight growing heavier where Warriors was supporting him. The captain pursed his lips and continued to pull him along, despite how shaky the older hero was getting.

“Come on old man,” he muttered, and continued to walk, trying to increase his pace.

Time suddenly sagged in Warriors’ grip, so abruptly that the captain nearly had to lunge forward to stop him from falling on his face.

“Time, hey, are you with me?” he whispered, and Time groaned, putting a hand to his forehead as he kneeled on the ground. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, and he abruptly blinked up at Warriors, staring at him with both eyes wide.

Then they both slid shut.

“Oh no old man, don’t give out on me,” Warriors whispered frantically, shaking Time’s shoulders. “Stay awake, focus. I’m not strong enough to carry you far, you need to stay awake.”

The older hero only groaned a little and looked over Warriors’ shoulder at something, gaze unfocused.

“‘lfie...” he slurred, eyes half-lidded.

Warriors bit his lip and scanned the forest around them, ignoring the persistent shouts that were once again drawing too close for comfort. He spotted a small overhang of rocks that would provide a bit of a hiding spot, and half-supported half-dragged Time over to them, nearly collapsing once they were underneath.

“‘lfie,” Time slurred again, voice more insistent, and Warriors shushed him as he turned to his pouch, digging around for something to help counteract Time’s condition.

“Just hang tight old man, I think I might still have half a potion in here,” Warriors murmured, almost more to himself then Time. He’d been hoping to stock up at the next town, but that obviously was off the agenda.

His hand finally closed around a bottle after rummaging for several moments, and Warriors turned back towards Time, a hint of a smile on his face.

Which immediately fell away as he saw Time stumbling out back into the woods.

“Time!” Warriors whisper-shouted, and was about to run out after him until a voice spoke something from right next to the outcropping he was hiding in. Warriors froze, listening to the voice that was quickly joined by several more, and stubbornly fought back the lurch of panic in his gut.

The bandits had caught up.

And if he went out and tried to drag Time back in here, there was no way they wouldn’t see him.

“Time! Come back!” Warriors hissed in a barely legible voice, but the old man continued to stumble through the trees, towards something Warriors couldn’t make out in the dim light. All the captain could do was stay where he was and pray Time wouldn’t be spotted.

Time was oddly stealthy as he lurched towards his goal, and Warriors bit his lip as he watched a bandit emerge through the trees, lantern held high. He put a hand on his sword as the man drew closer to Time, prepared to expose himself if he had to, but dearly praying it wouldn’t be necessary.

He was good, but he was also man enough to admit he wouldn’t be able to take on an entire village of bandits alone.

Maybe he could sneak up on the man and take him out without alerting the others? It would be next to impossible not to be seen though, with the amount of light bouncing through the trees. Perhaps he could stay low and avoid the lantern light. Or maybe loop around and stay out of sight?

A sudden growl shattered his thoughts, and both Warriors and the bandit stared towards it, right at where Time was slumped dizzily against a tree. Warriors felt cold determination settle in his chest as the bandit shone his lantern straight at Time, a leering grin visible in the light as Warriors unsheathed his sword.

But the lantern light also caught on a set of bright, wolfish eyes glinting in the shadows behind Time, and another growl reverberated through the trees.

Time grinned.

“Get ‘im Wolfie.”

And with a loud snarl, a wolf jumped at the bandit, the man shrieking in shock and fear. Sleek fur shone in the light of the man’s lantern, the orange glow shining off of sharp fangs, and the man yelled for help from his companions.

Thank the goddesses for Wolfie, Warriors thought as he leapt out of his hiding spot and bolted for Time, grabbing his arm and trying to hoist him back up from where he’d slid down the trunk.

“Come on old man, he’s only going to be able to give us so much time to get away,” Warriors grunted, trying to get Time on his feet. “The noise will draw the others, we need to move.”

Time only grinned, still swaying. “Wolfie! Get th’ bad... th’ bad guys! Good boy! Steak f-for you!”

Warriors slung his arm across his shoulder again, noting the bandit running in the opposite direction and yelling all the while. Wolfie stood panting next to the discarded lantern, but Warriors didn’t stick around to wait for him to catch up.

He was just glad Wild’s... companion, was on their side.

He’d call him a pet, but the first (and last) time he’d said it, Wild had smacked him and Time and Four both had let out strange sounding snorts.

“Wolfie’s the best,” Time sighed, head lolling on his shoulder as they stumbled through the woods, shouts loud behind them. Warriors looked over at him, and Time smiled widely. “So fluffy. M’ proud of Twilight... ‘s a good descendant. Love him.”

Warriors didn’t waste breath on replying, though he did file the descendant part of Time’s rambling back for a later conversation.

A loud shout rang from close by, and Warriors yanked Time to a stop as lantern light shone in their faces, his heart falling as too many men to fight past suddenly encircled them. Warriors carefully deposited Time against a tree behind him, and looked warily around at the eager crowd.

“Well well, cornered like rats,” a woman said eagerly, eyeballing the armor Time wore with greed in her eyes.

“I don’t know who you lot think ye are, but a single mangy mutt ain’t enough ta’ scare us off,” a large man sneered, and Warriors carefully maneuvered his sword in between him and Time. “You two are loaded, and we’re more than eager ta’ help you lighten the load a bit.”

“And if I give you everything we have, you’ll let us go?” Warriors asked with steel in his voice.

Laughter rolled through the group, and the bartender Warriors had earlier been trying to get information from grinned maliciously at him.

“Sorry lad. Can’t have you spreading the word about our little town here, bad for business.”

“What did you put in my companion’s drink?” Warriors said in a dangerous voice, and more snickers went through the crowd of bandits.

“Just a little something to daze him s’we can take all that armor and he won’t even care. An’ kill him too, he won’t even realize!” one laughed, and Warriors felt his blood run cold. “That’s the best bit, they don’t even realize you’ve stabbed ‘em ‘til they’re dead.”

The woman who’d spoken first inched closer, and twirled a dagger between her fingers.

“If you give us all you got without a fight, we’ll make it quick for you, boy,” she said, something almost sympathetic in her eyes.

Warriors merely gritted his teeth and got into a defensive position, tightly clutching his sword.

The bandits jeered, and began to close in, torchlight flashing off the metal of their raised weapons. The number of them was just too much for Warriors to believe he’d truly get out of this, especially with Time to protect, but he’d fight until his dying breath if that’s what it took.

Maybe he could at least provide an opening for Time to get away.

Warriors spared a single glance out at the woods as their enemies approached, but it appeared nobody was coming to help them, the trees silent and dark.

Hang it all, where did Wolfie go?

As if on cue, a howl rang through the trees, making the bandits pause in their approach. One scoffed and continued forward, and the rest followed, only to be stopped again as a second howl rent the night, the first joining it in an eerie harmony.

Warriors raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sound, Wolfie has friends it seems, and the men exchanged nervous glances when a third howl joined.

“You lads afraid of a few beasts?” the bartender scoffed, and began to approach Warriors, leveling a large broadsword. “Not a courageous man among you.”

Warriors raised his sword as the weapon swung down, and suddenly an entire pack of wolves leapt from the bushes at the bandits.

Warriors didn’t even have to parry the blade as it swung at him, a wolf leaping up and closing its jaws around the barkeeper’s arm, the weapon falling to the ground.

The man yelled in pain, and more screams went up from the bandits as the wolves lunged for weak spots and nipped at their heels. Their yellow eyes glowed in the lantern light, and Warriors watched in astonishment as the wolves swarmed the bandits, but didn’t even touch him or Time.

The bandits broke rank only moments later, even the barkeeper turning tail and fleeing back in the direction of the village. Several wolves chased after them, tails wagging almost excitedly, but a few stayed, and looked towards Warriors and Time.

The captain swallowed as several glowing pairs of eyes stared at him (Wolfie wasn’t among them, had he gone with the others to chase the bandits?), but despite the blood on several muzzles, he didn’t feel in any danger.

Oddly enough, he felt... safe.

“Thank you?” he offered to the closest wolf, a large brown and white beast. It made a small chuffing noise and licked his outstretched hand, then turned away and began to trot into the woods, tail swishing behind it.

The other wolves followed, melting back into the shadows, and Warriors suddenly found himself alone, except for Time still leaning dazedly against the tree.

Warriors sheathed his sword with a tired exhale, wiping some sweat off his brow.

That was one of the strangest battles I’ve ever been a part of.

“I wanted to pet one,” Time suddenly spoke up in an incredibly sad voice, and Warriors turned back to him, sighing as he watched a few tears begin to gather in his eyes.

“You can pet Wolfie when we find the others,” Warriors said as he got to his side and patted his shoulder, and Time sniffled, then nodded.

“‘Kay,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his eye. Warriors lowered himself onto the ground with a tired sigh, leaning his head against the tree, and Time’s head flopped unceremoniously onto his shoulder.

“Gonna take a nap,” Time murmured, and Warriors nodded, pulling up his scarf and settling it over Time’s shoulders.

“Go ahead old man. I think we’re safe enough here,” he said softly. “You can rest.”

The bandits certainly wouldn’t be in a hurry to try and pursue them again after the wolves’ attack, and based on what the man had said, it looked like the drug Time had consumed merely needed to run its course. As long as Warriors kept an eye out while Time rested, it should be okay.

Here seemed as good of a spot to rest for a while as any.

A rustling noise caught Warriors’ attention, and he watched as a wolf poked its head out of the bushes, the same brown and white wolf that had licked his hand. It trotted over to them, then flopped onto the ground next to Time, resting its head on its paws.

Time’s eyes cracked open, and he extended a hand before Warriors could stop him, scratching the wolf behind its ears. It thumped its tail once, but kept its eyes open, staying at attention, and Warriors looked at it in wonder.

Was the wolf keeping watch for them?

It angled its ears towards him as Time’s hand withdrew, and Warriors blinked, then inwardly shrugged. If one of the wolves that had saved them wanted to keep watch, he’d let them. He trusted Wolfie, and he supposed he trusted any friends of his as well.

Though he had to admit this was one of the oddest situations he’d ever found himself in.

Time’s breathing evened out against his shoulder, and Warriors closed his eyes, feeling completely safe as a howl echoed off in the distance.

(...)

It was only few hours later when the other heroes found their way into the clearing where Time and Warriors were sleeping, the wolf having left in the night.

Time was still out of it despite the rest, and dozed most of the walk to the rest of the heroes’ camp, falling back asleep immediately after arriving. Warriors told the others what had happened while he slept, and they made the decision to stay where they were until Time recovered, then try and deal more soundly with the bandits.

Twilight and Wild both had odd looks on their faces at the mention of Wolfie and his friends helping them, but they didn’t get a chance to say anything, as Time had woken up again. The older hero had quietly eaten something after he’d first awoken, but was now staring around at all of them with a dazed expression, his visible pupil oddly dilated.

“Is he still out of it?” Wind asked in a worried voice, and Warriors shrugged helplessly, leaning close to Time.

“Hey old man, how’re you feeling?” he asked carefully, and Time stared at him for several moments without blinking. Then his gaze flicked to Wind, and he snorted, shoulders shaking as he began to snicker to himself. “...Time?”

“Sailor, sailor you...” Time put a hand over his mouth, still snickering. “You haven’t noticed...”

“Haven’t noticed what?” Wind asked confusedly, and Time snickered even harder.

“You— you have a lobster on your shirt!”

Time fell over, clutching his sides as he laughed, and the other heroes stared at their oldest lying in the grass, laughing his head off at the design on Wind’s tunic.

“Er, Time, why don’t you come lie down again,” Twilight offered, and Time stopped laughing and stared directly at him.

“Five three two one four.”

Twilight blinked, and Time continued to stare, and the others exchanged bemused looks.

“What does that mean?” Hyrule asked, and Time sat up much straighter, looking around at them all with a serious expression.

“Five three two one four,” Time rattled off again, eyes still unfocused. “Twenty-three is number one, but two is when They appear, Four is a smithy and four giants are coming, but there’s only three days until the milk needs to be delivered and he’s always one second too fast no matter how the Keaton runs—”

“I think he’s still out of it,” Legend said in a deadpan as Time continued to spout nonsense.

“Wow, you think?” Warriors said sarcastically as he carefully sat Time up. “At least his fevers gone down, even if he’s... not making much sense.”

“Are we sure this is just going to wear off?” Sky asked uncertainly, watching Time babble something about seahorses and Zora eggs.

“I’ve seen something similar before, I believe it will,” Warriors said. “It’ll just take some time.”

“Six medallions, all for Malon, all aglow in the light of dawn,” Time sang drunkenly, head flopping onto Warriors’ arms. “Epona needs the mask but It’s my turn to wear it—”

“Ooookay, anybody else think it’s time he went back to bed?” Wild said, sounding equally amused and concerned. “Maybe he can try and just sleep the rest of this off?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Twilight replied, lowering himself to Time’s side. “Come on old man, you could use some more rest.”

Time blinked at him, then whipped his hand out and snagged Twilight’s arm, grinning as he gave it a squeeze.

“Tell Wolfie we appreciate him and thanks,” Time said earnestly, his hands shaking a bit as he patted Twilight’s cheek. His voice turned suddenly serious. “He’s my favorite. He should bite the moon.”

Twilight blinked. “Uh...”

Then Time abruptly slumped against Warriors’ shoulder again, a quiet snore escaping his lips. Several amused snickers went up from the heroes, and Twilight and Warriors both sighed in relief.

“This stuff better wear off soon,” Twilight said with an exasperated look, and Warriors nodded.

“I still don’t know how you managed to get away from all those bandits with him acting like this,” Sky said in disbelief, watching as the captain pulled a blanket up to Time’s chin.

Warriors sighed, and watched Time sleep for a moment, his face twitching slightly. A part of him couldn’t quite believe it either, especially seeing how Time was acting now.

“We wouldn’t have if Wolfie hadn’t managed to find all those wolves to help us,” he finally hummed, brushing some hair out of Time’s face. “I don’t think we’d have made it otherwise.”

Twilight hesitated. “About that, I... I don’t think Wolfie did.”

“...What do you mean?”

Twilight and Wild exchanged looks, and the champion’s voice was careful when he spoke.

“Wolfie was with me and Twilight last night captain, he couldn’t have been with you and Time,” Wild explained, scratching the back of his head. “We were nowhere near you, trust me, we would’ve come and helped.”

Warriors blinked, and looked over at Time sleeping on his shoulder.

“So what you’re saying is, a random pack of wolves just decided to help us?” he asked in disbelief, and Wild shrugged.

“I mean, that’s what it looks like?”

The heroes all mulled that over, going quiet for a moment as Time continued to quietly snore.

“That means almost all of us have either been saved or safely interacted with a wolf that wasn’t Wolfie now,” Four spoke up in a wondering voice.

“That’s kinda freaky,” Legend muttered, his chin resting on his hand from where he was seated across camp. “Why would they randomly help us?”

“You think it has something to do with us being the heroes?” Wind piped up. “Wolfie hangs around us, right? Maybe someone is helping us by sending more wolves!”

“What, like the goddesses?” Legend snorted, and Wind huffed.

“Well it was just an idea,” the sailor pouted, and Warriors ruffled his hair.

“Well whatever the reason is, I’m glad they decided to help us,” Warriors declared, and Time let out a loud snore. The captain chuckled, and leaned back against the log he was seated against. “I owe them our lives.”

A distant howl echoed from somewhere in the forest, and the heroes went silent again, Twilight’s ears twitching as another howl answered.

“I guess we might not ever know why they helped,” Wild murmured.

Twilight looked up at the sky, his ears still twitching.

“I guess not.”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #lu time #linked universe fanfic #all the links #writing from the floor #accidental domestication #tw drug use #???#some violence but not much #anyways hope y’all enjoy #this was fun to write :)

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birgittesilverbae · 1 year

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endure thou therefore hardship

cw: mention of domestic abuse

i. who hath chosen him

You can't remember a time when you could stand tall, before you had been buckled beneath the weight of a load too large for your young shoulders. Your mere presence to blame for a family unit shattering, for the departure of a woman who looks upon you and feels nothing. Your own actions to blame for the bruises that long blanket your ribs and your back and every inch of your skin that can be covered by clothing. Your disinterest to blame for the whispers that spread behind you in the halls of a Department of Defense school you've never quite felt at home in. You're to blame, you're to blame, you're to blame.

The litany of blame only lightens when you step into the church on base, tucked into the back of the installation. You while away your evenings there alongside the chaplain, growing tall enough that your feet no longer dangle above the floor when you settle into one of the folding chairs that stand in for pews. Alan, the latest in a long line of chaplains, is always slow to hide his grin when you carry the chairs in ungainly stacks and rest them in neat ranks against the back of the hall. He sits with you as you struggle gamely through biology and calculus, chemistry and history. There's a keenness to his eyes, an interest in his gaze, that makes you feel accepted here, in this quiet space where you can shelter from the whirlwind of rage that haunts your home.

His quiet, steady voice – so much at odds with the barks of every teacher who seemingly aspires to become a drill sergeant – directs you to prayer, to supplication, to stain your lips with the crimson of His blood, and you find peace in those moments in which you can finally hear yourself think. You are so used to living with eyes downturned that it doesn't feel a burden to lower your head in prayer. It feels a relief to know that you are not alone, even in your isolation.

Your backpack is light, containing only a binder with an essay you've left almost to the last minute, when you duck your head into Alan's office to give your greetings. He is not alone, and confusion spikes up and down your spine when he gestures towards you and introduces you to a full-on nun. Wimple and all. You've grown too used to Alan in his fatigues or his dress uniform, can't remember the last time you'd seen him in his robes of office – the Easter services, maybe – and thus the contrast between the pair of them is all the more stark. Alan with the top buttons of his fatigues undone in concession to the heat while this black-robed crow perches opposite him without even a bead of sweat on her face.

The confusion only grows, as confusion so often does for you, with the continuance of conversation. An offer of something that's never quite stated outright, the way your fingers trace the margin of a bruise but never press at its centre. An opportunity to take a combat-oriented role in… something. An affiliation to the Church, the proper noun always evident in the stating of it.

You've drifted from Mainline Protestant to Evangelical to Catholic with the rotation of chaplains through the base, none of them striking any particular chord with you beyond the one strummed by the offering of religion as refuge. Face to face with a steely-eyed nun of the Catholic capital-c Church, you feel a sudden surge of belief that this is where you are meant to be. That all your burdens have brought you to this moment, to this offering of escape from the only path you'd felt left open to you.

(You've never had the grades for university, and you've heard often enough that art is not a viable option. But you have a body, and what better use for it than to lay it on the line for a country you've experienced only in brief snapshots of time, a week long vacation here, a funeral there. If that's all you're good for, then it will be no trial for you to pile more dirt upon the root of that disinterest in boys you've already so easily buried.)

You have a body, and you are being offered another use for it.

You grab hold with both hands and hang on tight.

#warrior nun #mywn #myfic #shannon masters #cw domestic violence #dicking around with 2nd person as a writing exercise and I am not enjoying it #babea au #technically #just haven't got around to there yet lmao

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wc-confessions · 1 year

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I'll never be an Appledusk fan or whatever, he's just a douchebag, but I really hate the sentiment that he deserved to die for cheating. Thinking it's morally right to kill/harm someone for cheating is something that's shockingly common and is EXTREMELY dangerous. Not only for people cheating but for people who aren't but are suspected of it. It's really inappropriate imo to see other adult fans agree because of how often it can lead to DV and death, y'all should know better. Let's be mindful people, cheating is something that hurts like a SOB and can have some truly awful consequences but please don't excuse violence that is something that happens a lot in real life.

/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

#anonymous #warrior cats #confession #appledusk #tw domestic violence #tw cheating #mapleshades vengeance

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justwankypl-blog · 1 year

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Warrior Nun (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva Characters: Ava Silva, Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun), J.C. (Warrior Nun), Sister Camila (Warrior Nun), Mother Superion (Warrior Nun), Shotgun Mary (Warrior Nun) Summary:

After being broken and bruised and running for her life, Ava runs into Beatrice.

Beatrice was hell-bent to find the man behind all the scars Ava hid. Something ignited in her at seeing Ava's broken body, and she knew right then she'd never let Ava get hit again. She held the gun straight out, with steady hands, pointed at J.C., Beatrice's eye flickered to Ava's and said, "Ava, wait in the truck."

Warning: this is a heavy story with a deep subject and lots of angst, but there will be plenty of the good stuff too (Fluff, smut, comdey)

#avatrice #fanfic #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun #lesbian #bisexual #fanfiction #chapter 2 #halo bearer #sister warriors #nuns #domestic violence #savior #pick me up #wait in the truck

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cordeliawhohung · 3 months

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Of Sea Foam and Iron [2]

general masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

Hephaestus!ghost x Aphrodite!reader x Ares!soap

what great news to arrive home to.

wc: 4.4k

warnings: historical au with lots of inaccuracies, mythology!au, blood/gore/violence, arranged marriage, nudity, fear of sex, ancient expectations of women

The churning you felt in your stomach was different from the sensation that plagued you the first time you had seen a man disemboweled.

Fear still seized your diaphragm with an iron grip, yet something else lurked underneath it. Confusion. Our wife? As far as you had been made aware, the only man you had been married to was Simon, yet it seemed he had already found a lover well before you were given to him.

What perplexed you even further was the fact that John not only seemed to understand Simon's claim, he seemed ecstatic. His minor apprehension at your existence melted away into something friendly, adoring even. He no longer looked at you questioningly, which had felt almost like an insult in your own home, and rather he greeted you with a chuffed smile. Your arms crossed over your chest as your mind couldn’t make sense of the odd feeling that ignited along your skin, but when you looked to Simon for answers, you found none.

“What great news to arrive home to,” John said in complete awe.

He took a few steps closer to you, and despite your body urging you to back away, you had been completely frozen in place. Perhaps this is why he was such a good warrior. All it took was a simple look from him and you grew as still as stone; if he had that same effect on the enemy, they would be stuck with his sword before they even saw the glint of his blade. But John seemed to have no such ill intent, and instead of a dagger, he reached an empty and kind hand out to you where he cautiously pulled your arms away from your body.

You had no choice but to follow his lead as he took your hands into his. Much like Simon’s they were rough with work and calluses that would never soften, and his touch sent a tingle along your skin as his thumbs rubbed along your knuckles. Those ocean-blue eyes hadn’t left you for even a moment, and you found your gaze equally captivated by the intimidating presence in front of you being so soft and vulnerable. It was like watching a wolf extend a hand in friendship; certainly he attempted to trick you.

“What is your name, my love?” he asked, still unable to remove the smile from his lips.

Your answer flowed from your lips before you were able to stop it, and the syllables of your name felt odd on your tongue. It had been so long since you had spoken it that it was like you had given it away the day you were married to leave it behind with the parts of you that died that day. But when John repeated it back to you, he smiled as if it was the sweetest word he had ever tasted. He gave your hands a firm squeeze before prompting you back inside of the house, leading you by his own hands.

“Come,” he urged, “we have much to discuss.”

Dazed, you had no choice but to follow him into the dining room, and Simon tagged along hot on your heels. John’s eyes had caught sight of the food still set out from lunch earlier, and you could practically hear his stomach growl. It all felt oddly domestic watching a man as powerful and intimidating as John MacTavish sit at the dining table, and even more so after Simon took a seat next to him. They looked at you expectantly, and you realized you had no choice but to take your own seat. While your husband and John filled their plates, you found that you couldn’t even stomach the thought of eating at that moment, and instead you kept your hands firmly folded in your lap.

“So. How long have we found ourselves in this arrangement?” John questioned with his mouth half full.

“About a month,” Simon replied. You were not ignorant to the way his dark eyes flickered to you upon his answer. “I would have rather waited for your return, but her father was insistent.”

John chuckled something deep and hoarse. The three of you had sat at that table to eat for only a few minutes, and nearly all the food on his plate had been consumed. Gluttony wasn’t a good look on anyone, but your attention was captured by the rigid lines of the muscles in his arms and the deep circles underneath his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t gluttony as much as starvation. You wondered how much food Ares’s favorite dog needed to eat in order to survive, and if he had ever gotten a good meal during his recent campaign.

“It’s for the best, anyway,” John said after swallowing his food. “A ceremony as sacred as matrimony would have been wasted on a soldier like me. Not that I would be permitted to be there, anyway. Hands bloody and rotten from fighting. Would have hated to soil our wife the moment we were bound to her.”

“We?”

It was the first word you managed to muster — slightly in frustration at the fact they spoke about you as if you had not sat right next to them — yet you wished you had not spoken at all. Having the undivided attention of Simon, with his dark gaze and rugged face, along with John made your throat feel tight. Yet they persisted, keeping their eyes on you as if coaxing you to explain your confusion further. Patient. As if they stared at a skittish animal instead of a grown woman.

“Why… do you keep talking as if I’m married to both of you?” you asked cautiously.

“Because you are, in a manner of speaking,” Simon answered. “It was the deal that was made with your father.”

A cotton-like dryness enveloped your throat, making it difficult to swallow the words he spoke. The deal. He almost made it sound like the marriage had not been a proper one at all with terminology like that, and yet it still sounded correct. There had been no celebration of your matrimony, no going to a temple to make an offering to the gods, no feast in which to honor the intertwining of your lives. There had only been the lifting of your veil, and the promise to keep you safe.

Still, he had to be joking. Polygamy was illegal, and you were certain that extended even to the great John MacTavish himself. Then again, perhaps there was some work around. You had only ever been officially married to Simon, not John, and if your husband wanted to share you with another, you weren’t quite sure if you could deny that demand.

“What deal?” you questioned.

There was a slight pause that settled over the table, either in hesitation or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You quickly glanced at John, who kept himself busy with the food on his plate. Though this was certainly his first time hearing this information, he didn’t appear nearly as confused as you felt. Perhaps it was the soldier in him. Perhaps it was because none of this truly affected him either way; not as a man.

“Your father would have never married you to me if I was the only man on the end of the bargain,” he finally answered. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and in the back of your mind you could hear your late mother gripe about how improper it was. “Johnny is the real reason you’re here. He wanted someone strong, and as I’m sure you know, he’s plenty strong.”

“Oh, don’t let him fool you,” John interrupted. He leaned towards you as he spoke as if he was telling a secret to a good friend, someone he had known his whole life. Maybe that was the charisma that made people not only respect him, but genuinely like him. “You’ve seen the way he works, haven’t you? How he shapes hunks of iron to turn it into something useful. I’ve found no stronger man than him.”

“No father wants to marry their daughter to a cripple,” he retorted with a sharp bite to his words. Simon must not have used that tone frequently, because even John appeared surprised. “But he would have been stupid to turn away the opportunity of marrying her to you, even if it meant being bound to me.”

An obvious question burned the tip of your tongue, but you did your best to hold it in. It was a vile thought, something that you were certain could slice through even the toughest of skin, and you weren’t exactly keen on angering your husband and… your other — supposed — husband. But Simon’s eyes bore right through you, and he appeared as if he would rip the words from your mouth if you didn’t gather the courage to say it yourself. So you swallowed the bile as best as you could while you carefully phrased your next question.

“Then why marry me to you at all? Why not wait for John to return home?” you asked.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

It was John who answered you, and his response came so quick you almost didn’t understand him at first. He spoke with such conviction, you knew it had to be the truth. Still, your brows drew together as you glanced back and forth between the two men before you. There was a type of tension between all of you that you hadn’t felt since your wedding night with Simon, and you didn’t like the taste of it.

“Why not?” you questioned.

His next answer didn’t come as quick as his previous one, but it wasn’t for the lack of words. He drank in the silence of the table as his attention returned to Simon. The two looked at one another for what felt like an eternity, yet the blink of an eye at the same time. John quickly wiped his palms off on his chition before he reached a hand for Simon’s, who cautiously returned the gesture. Though he kept his eyes on Simon, when he spoke it felt like he wasn’t the only one he talked to.

“Because what’s mine is yours.”

That certainly was not the homecoming you knew John deserved as a highly acclaimed warrior, but it was the one he was stuck with. A confused and morose wife who greeted him with nothing but infuriating questions. But didn’t you have the right to be angry? For the last month you had shared a bed with your husband, partook in meals with him, just to be under the impression he wanted nothing to do with you. Suddenly his lover returns home, and then you learn his intention had been to share you all along? That your father had been in on that ruse and you were none the wiser?

What were you to do for the rest of the day besides mope around the house? Not like you had done anything else since you had been given away. Like the caged bird you were, you sat at your perch near one of the windows on the second story as you watched the city bustle around below. Simon’s hammer could be heard pounding away at his forge accompanied by a quiet murmur. While you rotted away inside the house with your festering frustration, your husband — or husbands — caught up on lost time. Or perhaps they discussed what to do with such an unruly wife. Not even your beauty could excuse your sour behavior.

You were long past caring about any sort of punishment. As far as you were concerned, living in that prison of a home was punishment enough for the crime of simply existing. No matter what, it seemed as if you were destined to suffer. If you lived your life as an unmarried woman, you would have been chased after by countless men either to steal you away or ravage you. But as a married woman, you were forever locked away like a criminal. Both options were lives hardly worth living.

It would have been better to be sacrificed and return the god’s gifts back to them. Spilled blood was certainly more comforting than Simon had been, and John MacTavish intimidated you despite his apparent kind nature. You knew better than to trust a dog that still had flesh in its teeth.

When night came, a breeze accompanied it that smelled so much like the ocean you swore you could taste it on your lips. Torches ignited in sparkling waves across the city, and you watched as people took shelter in their homes to escape the darkness that swallowed buildings whole. You had never really been afraid of the dark. Not when it brought out the most dazzling creations in the sky with comforting stars and a moon so bright there was hardly a need for torches at all. It was all so consoling you swore you could have fallen asleep in that windowsill without a care in the world.

“My love?”

John’s voice and his hand on your back was such a surprise to you, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Your body twisted to see him, and you were met with an amused smirk. Your first instinct was to scold him for giving you such a fright, but you opted to give him what felt like a confused glare instead.

“You’re very flighty. Like a bird,” he commented.

Huffing, you attempted to regain what little of your composure you were able to as you stared up at him. He wasn’t quite as tall as Simon, though you were certain that would be a near impossible feat anyway, but his broad stature was certainly something to be reckoned with. You knew you shouldn’t say anything snarky, yet that entertained expression on his face made your shame boil painfully underneath your skin.

“You’re just like Simon,” you breathed. “Both of you are too quiet for your own good.”

“Maybe you’re just tired. Fatigue can wreak havoc on your senses,” he countered, though his look screamed that you were right. “Come, we’re settling in for bed.”

You wanted to deny his request, but you would have no true reason to. None that he would accept, anyway. Would you just continue to stare wistfully out the window like a poet or philosopher, only to crawl into bed later and disturb the two large men you would find underneath the covers? No, you didn’t want any more trouble than you had already caused. They already had reason enough to beat you, or worse, and you didn’t want to give them another.

By the time John led you to your shared chambers, Simon was already naked and standing next to his side of the bed. Strange that he had shamelessly bared his body to you for the last month while keeping the true nature of your marriage to him secret, and it would be a lie to say that you weren’t a bit peeved at that knowledge. Still, oddly enough you had gotten so used to the image of his bare body that you no longer felt embarrassed to look at him in such a state. His eyes studied you carefully, like they always did, but with slight apprehension. As if he prepared for you to chastise him; as if he thought he deserved it.

“Go on, little dove,” John urged.

You quickly glanced back at him, and then to the bed, and your stomach dropped when you realized how the sleeping arrangements were about to change. Whereas you and Simon would sleep on opposite sides of the bed, well away from one another, you were certain you wouldn’t be able to get as much space with John in the midst of it all. Even worse, he gestured to the center, as if he wanted to trap you between them. A sickening dread gripped your chest, and you tried to soothe yourself long enough in order to form the words that plagued your mind.

“I’d feel more comfortable sleeping on the edge,” you admitted.

John laughed as if you told him a joke, and you couldn’t help but feel a little patronized, even with his euphonious tone. “Sorry, love. This side is my spot, I’m afraid.”

He gestured to the area directly next to the bed, and you caught sight of the short sword he had worn earlier, the one you were certain he was going to gut Simon with when he first arrived. You could see the dents in the blade and the raw wood on the handle, discolored from his grip. That weapon was one that he used often, and kept close. Something he had clearly used to take the lives of countless men.

“This side is closer to the door, and the other side is Simon’s. He has a hard time getting around, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he explained further.

Gods. His reasoning was sound, but you still didn’t like it. The thought of being stuck between two men who only felt contempt for you made the bile in your stomach boil. A roaring fear plagued your thoughts as you imagined crawling into that bed. Perhaps the only reason Simon had not taken you the night you were married was because he wanted to wait for John to return. Being trapped between them on the bed would make it impossible for you to fight against them, should they get the urge to have their way with you in the night. You had managed to convince yourself that you would be able to lay there and take it if it were just Simon, but with John? That was just dehumanizing.

Impatient, Simon crawled into his side of the bed where he covered himself with the plethora of blankets. He laid on his back, exhausted from his long day of work, and he looked at you with a heavy sigh. You prevented him from his rest, that much was obvious, and his silent frustration only poked you further.

Seeing as how you had no other option, you timidly scurried into bed next to Simon. There was a special shame that sizzled in your chest as you attempted to get comfortable, and it only got worse as John began to undress himself. Similar to Simon, his body bore countless scars and even some new minor wounds, and there was a heavy ruggedness to it from war. Sinewy muscles, tanned skin; he was the very paragon of vigor. Still, the very moment that his chiton began to fall past his hips, you turned away in favor of facing Simon instead.

At least he was familiar.

Once John extinguished the oil lamp and the room plunged into darkness, you felt the bed shake as he climbed in behind you. Every movement had your muscles constrict like you expected him to scoop you up into his arms, or worse. Though you were not allowed out of the house very often, even before your marriage, you knew the rumors of soldiers and their insatiable lust. So much time spent on the battlefield with adrenaline running high always had a way of turning men into ravenous beasts.

If he did have plans to take you or toy with you in the night, John kept those intentions hidden as he settled into the mattress with a heavy sigh. The bed was large enough that the three of you could lay side by side without touching one another, and you found yourself eternally grateful for it. Though, it suddenly made sense as to why it was so large in the first place; not because Simon was a beast of a man, but because two men shared the bed with one another.

And then there was you, their third.

Sleep did not come easy for you that night. A symphony of breaths filled the still air, and a blazing heat threatened to suffocate you underneath the blankets. You did not dare move as you were terrified to rouse the men from their sleep, and your body began to ache from staying on your side for too long. You felt as if you were a mouse in the den of a lion, forced to stay quiet and still lest you be devoured. But anxiety could not hold you forever, and eventually sleep curled its roots deep into your mind, silencing your rampant thoughts.

Even still, your trepidation followed you into your slumber. That night, you dreamt your feet were comfortably buried into the warm sand that lined the shore of your city. You could wiggle your toes and feel the grains mingle between them playfully. Innumerable boats gently bobbed along the shoreline as fishermen reeled in catches of life to be later sold in markets. Brackish wind pulled at your hair and clothes, urging you towards the singing waves in front of you that danced along the coast. With the sun high in the sky, its rays illuminated the water before you with dazzling, hypnotic beauty; giving you no other choice but to give into your desires.

Your feet began to move on their own accord, trudging through the sand towards the beckoning water. It felt like you were called home by your mother, like someone tried to coax you into a warm embrace. Salty mist cooled your face, yet the closer you got to the water, the further it seemed to recede. No matter how close your feet came to kissing the waves, or how strong the taste of the water grew, it was always just beyond your reach.

As the waves retreated, it revealed the horrors that lurked underneath their pristine beauty. Rotten fish, shattered bones, decaying iron; remnants of an old battlefield laid at your feet with bodies strewn carelessly, left to spoil where they fell. Its acrid scent assaulted your nose, and you found yourself coughing on the foul smell as you attempted to push further, to no avail.

Something sharp caught your foot, and you found yourself on your hands and knees in the sopping wet sand. Though you didn’t dare to turn and look at the wound, you could feel the warm blood seep out of the gash in your skin, and you cried pitifully at the pain. All you wanted was to return to the sea, to feel the grace of its waves welcome you into its grasp. Instead, your tears streamed into the blood stained sand in front of you where the salt of humans mixed with the salt of nature.

Among the chaos and the pain, something began to grow in front of you. Delicate green stems unfurled from the mud, and you watched as flowers began to bloom faster than any you had ever seen before. Buds began to form on the end of the stems, and they soon blossomed into a beautiful array of colors. Delicate petals fluttered in the breeze, and their floral scent gave you slight reprieve from the rot that surrounded you. Anemones. Their dark centers made their bright yellows, pinks, and blues pop brightly against the dull sand behind them, and yet even with all that beauty, you couldn’t stop crying. All you could do was lay there and bleed.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pale light of dawn that peeked through the shutters, illuminating the room with a dull glow. Birds quietly chirped in the distance as they woke from their slumber, and if you had been alone you would have stretched your arms out and basked in their melody.

But you were not alone.

Throughout the night, both John and Simon grew closer to you, so much so that their combined heat nearly cooked you from the inside out. As you became more aware of your predicament, you felt your heart almost cease its beating. Simon’s bare chest obscured most of your vision, and you felt his chin rest on the top of your head. His body was not quite pressed against your front, but he was still close enough that you had nowhere to move.

As for John, his body shamelessly pressed against your back. His legs fit snugly against the curve of your own, and his breath tickled the back of your neck with each exhale. To make matters worse, his hand rested on your waist as if it had known no other home, but it wasn’t just him. Simon’s fingers intertwined with John’s where they both held you close, keeping you secure, keeping you safe.

The thundering of your heart in your chest rattled so fiercely you feared it might wake them, yet they did not stir. If anything, they only moved closer, as if their incognizant minds could sense your apprehension and attempted to comfort you. By some miracle, it worked. It had been ages since you last felt the warmth of someone's touch, as not even your own father would offer you such solace. Your senses began to calm as the pounding in your chest subsided, and your body seemed to grow heavy with sleep once more.

Despite their nature, with their rough hands and scarred skin, they were so tender. They held you with care as if you would crumble otherwise, and something within you screamed that you didn’t deserve it. You had been nothing but cold and judgemental towards the both of them with the notion that you deserved better than what you were given, yet they still granted you patience.

Any other man would have put you in your place, or rather put you to work. If your tongue could not be stilled, then the least you could do was provide someone with an heir. There were many women who had been put on display in your city for insubordination. Some were paraded around like animals or freakish beasts to gawk at, while others were thrown to the icy depths of the ocean off the city’s highest cliff. You feared John and Simon would be like any other man, yet for some reason they weren’t.

But there was no time for you to dwell on such dejected thoughts. Not when you were so warmly wrapped in their embrace. For the first time in your life, you found your eyes drawing closed in the arms of another. You couldn’t remember the last time you had ever felt so loved, and you realized that maybe their intentions were more pure than you had feared. Maybe all they truly wanted was to cherish you, and you found yourself silently praying that you could stay like that forever, if not, just a bit longer.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #f!reader

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 8 months

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PROPAGANDA

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

ALEX DEWITT (DC COMICS)

1.) The term “fridging” is literally based on Alex and what happened to her. She was killed off violently by a bad guy trying to get at her boyfriend only a couple issues after she was introduced (making it obvious they only brought her in to kill her off for shock value). Her death did very little to the narrative other than hurt her boyfriend Kyle and was done in an exceedingly horrifying and violent way. (Bad guy came to the door with flowers and threatening note, broke in and attacked her, choking her to death, before [off panel] chopping her body up and sticking it in the refrigerator as a “surprise” for her boyfriend. This obviously is really fucked up and she deserves better and should win this actually (a vote for Alex is a vote for all fridging victims [in spirit])

2.) It doesn’t get much worse than being the character whose death originated the “fridging” trope. In Green Lantern Vol. 3 #54, Kyle Rayner comes home to find that Alexandra, his girlfriend, has been killed by the villain Major Force and stuffed into the refrigerator.

Alexandra DeWitt is the character whose misogynistic treatment coined the term where a character, usually female, is killed off purely to make the main character, usually male, feel bad. Even if there are other characters who have been subjected to similar levels of misogyny, Alexandra DeWitt’s treatment has been essentially immortalized.

3.) I know she’s not going to win but shout out to my home girl, literally the trope namer for women shoved in fridges. All anyone ever knows about her is that she was Kyle’s girlfriend and got murdered for his character development, even though she had plenty of potential to be her own character.

#polls #round 5 #week 9 #new #cw domestic abuse #this was supposed to post at 12 EST but tumblr ate it from my queue for some insane reason #warcat poll

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vintagetvstars · 19 days

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Itatí Cantoral Vs. Lucy Lawless

Propaganda

Itatí Cantoral - (María la del Barrio) - People might not know her name or have seen her show, but they’ve seen the memes.

Lucy Lawless - (Xena: Warrior Princess) - Lucy Lawless as Xena walks, runs, fights, kicks, rides, etc. with 100% confidence at all times and it’s amazing to see every time. The show, since it aired in the 90s, was limited in how explicit they could make the Xena/Gabrielle relationship, and by limited, I mean they used every piece of subtext available to show how in love those two women were and still get the show on the air.

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Itatí Cantoral:

Everyone’s been asking what this is about, so:

Soraya is the lady and she is the villain of the show, she used the guy, who is obviously younger to get revenge on her enemy who is his mom and dad. The girl in the wheelchair is her stepdaughter, who’s father she had killed to take their money and she hates her obviously. She hates all of them, especially after that kiss and vows to kill them all.

TW: domestic violence, abuse, blood, murder, stabbing

Lucy Lawless:

#vintage tv stars poll #tv ladies 4 #itati cantoral #lucy lawless

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tattoorue · 2 years

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#domestic violence warrior #domestic violence survivor #I’m free #I found my wings #goodbye earl #I love my new life #never again #stop domestic violence #find your voice #use your voice #I lived to tell #my story #if I can do it so can you #end domestic violence #speak up

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bonefall · 3 months

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Clear Sky is a Monster.

Of all the characters in Warrior Cats, I think Clear Sky was the most heavily mishandled.

At every turn, the narrative begs you to sympathize with him, to "understand" the "misunderstood." To this end, his brother Gray Wing is used to "keep faith" in his inherent goodness, his abused son, Thunder, is forced to go back to him over and over, and his second dead wife is completely lobotomized in death to absolve him of all sin.

Because of this, of all this set-up for the "redemption" arc they're trying to tell in the last three books, DOTC is Clear Sky's story. Everything primarily exists to benefit and serve his arc. Thunder and Gray Wing might have POVs, but HE is the character who truly drives the plot. So in order to HAVE conflict for that back half, two evil foreign cats, Slash and One Eye, are summoned to act as contrast.

Their narrative purpose is to display "true evil" to make Clear Sky look less bad in comparison. Unfortunately, Clear Sky is the most malignant, deadly character who has ever blighted Warrior Cats.

The "pure evil" examples they summon aren't effective contrasts because they're flat. Clear Sky is what real abusers look like.

His rhetoric is what it sounds like when a cult leader is trying to keep control over a group. He lies when it benefits him, justifies his actions with his tragic backstory to assuage his guilt and manipulate others, and violently lashes out when his feelings are hurt before blaming his victim for making him angry.

He only made "some mistakes" in that SOME of his actions were accidents-- the vast majority of them were malicious, self-absorbed, intentional choices to punish, hurt, and kill others.

I've spoken about Bumble. I've tallied his body count next to Tigerstar. I've talked about how his infant son's death was his fault in sequel books, and called attention to the infected wound face shoving scene that no one talks about. I can't fit every detail into a single post-- because he's so rancid that I would practically be posting entire books.

So what I want to do here is tackle the heart of Clear Sky. Everything he does, everything he's motivated by, is absolute and utter control over other people. He leverages his "trauma" to evoke empathy from his targets to make them easier to manipulate. He's a dirty liar. He breaks down to physical violence when all other tactics stop working.

He's one of the most severe and realistic abusers I've ever read about outside of very adult literature-- and when I read the reasons why he's attracted to Star Flower, my stomach immediately lurched.

The Killing of Misty

Starvation Rhetoric and the Memory of Fluttering Bird

Aside; a question

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation

Exoneration arc

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

I think that index is an evocative content warning. But to say it again; this post contains child and domestic abuse, physical assault, public humiliation, incestuous grooming implications, and a lot of murder.

I need to start with the death of Misty. I see a few people saying that Clear Sky killed her for "being on his land" or trespassing, but this is actually a misstatement that I feel is important to correct.

Misty and her children were on their own land. It was her house. Clear Sky killed her to take it.

This is one of the most important details to remember about Clear Sky, that this is the consistent end point of his obsessive need for power and control. By harassment, by violence, or by death, he will brutalize anyone who does not give him what he wants, or who makes him feel bad, and find some way to justify it.

This territory expansion was for no logical reason. There was plenty of food and plenty of land. Any aggression that's happening on this territory is in response to how he's been stealing land and mauling people.

When it's found out she was fighting to defend her children, Clear Sky's immediate response is to slaughter them too.

Petal doesn't have milk either. It wasn't about the logistics. He wanted to kill the kids, because looking at them made him feel bad, and she just managed to stop him.

Starvation Rhetoric and the Image of Fluttering Bird

It is often said that Clear Sky is doing this because he's "traumatized" from how his little sister, Fluttering Bird, starved to death in the mountains. That the emotion came from wanting to feed people. That's incorrect. It wasn't about food. Fluttering Bird's death, and all the "starvation" he's faced, are used as manipulation tactics to guilt, influence, and control other characters, particularly when he might meet resistance or be held accountable for something.

It was always, ALWAYS, about control.

He does not care about actually helping people; "Starvation Rhetoric" through Fluttering Bird is an image he can invoke to justify the actions that are as bloody and cruel as the one this post starts off with. Either in his own mind, or in the minds of the cats he's manipulating.

He does this to Falling Feather, before slicing her face open in anger when she doesn't buy it. He does it to Rainswept Flower, before he strangles her to death. And he does it in the chapter just before Misty's murder, both to his Clan and then to Thunder,

Clear Sky climbed up in front of an entire crowd and gave a grand speech about hunger and "adjusting" the borders around territory he plans to conquer. When he gets to "forgiveness" he feigns pain to make his point because he is performing. If the sentiment is not a total lie, then at bare minimum, he is intentionally playing this up for the crowd.

He is rallying the Clan to support his violence against the cats whose land he wants to steal, and selling it with his life's hardships.

The audience is clearly well-trained, because several cats recognize the cue, particularly Frost who is praised for loudly comforting him. This signals "loyalty" because showing your sympathy towards his "suffering" is how this type of emotional manipulation works. It creates a persecuted, righteous in-group.

He's also apparently used this tactic before, since this entire crowd knows what "I Would Never Forgive Myself " means.

He's made sycophants out of his followers. Like a cult leader.

His abused son, however, hasn't been fully indoctrinated yet. Seeing Thunder uncomfortable with the idea of expanding the borders for no reason, Clear Sky calls him over for a personal propaganda session.

Clear Sky begins the exchange by calling this a "duty" and a "great honor." Immediately framing what he plans to do as righteous.

He puts on the act when Thunder shows resistance, dramatically pausing to let the guilt trip sink in.

"Thunder waited, realizing that he said the wrong thing."

And then Clear Sky launches into infantilizing Thunder, talking down to him like a child who's too inexperienced to see the "signs of starvation," acting like he's being "patient" in "explaining" it.

And then we get it. "I know what starvation looks like (so stop trusting your own eyes) because I have been through more than you (so shut up and do what I tell you), and I'm being a HERO for what I'm about to do (so opposing me would make you a bad person)."

Thanks to these crocodile tears, looking "moved," the act works. The victim is immediately wracked by guilt because the abuser seems genuinely emotional.

He even lovebombs him over the corpse of Misty in the next chapter, making Thunder feel threatened.

Thunder doesn't have the words to describe what is happening to him, but he knows that this sudden snap to praise isn't natural. That something is very wrong.

A Question.

Before I move on to show that this IS an act, and that he is lying about how important avoiding starvation is to him, I will ask a question. Please think about it, because I promise I mean it genuinely;

Why does it matter if Clear Sky actually believes this or not?

The victims are just as dead either way, yes? Thunder is just as abused and guilt tripped. The entire Clan has been driven towards violence while coddling and cooing at their Supreme Leader. Clear Sky is slowly annexing the entire forest. If you have ever accepted that he had "good intentions" as an excuse for the harm he did, or that abuse and murder was what he imagined was "the right thing," or that his trauma justifies the way he leverages his own pain to make cats do what he wants... why do you think that?

Why does that make it morally better, as the narrative concludes? Would you accept the same for every other WC villain or antagonist? Tigerstar? Slash? Tom the Wifebeater? Brokenstar? Rainflower?

How could you tell the difference, if you couldn't read their actual thoughts on the page? ...are there any other "good intentions" you've accepted, somewhere else?

Don't share that answer with me. It's a question for you. Sit with it.

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation.

...but, regardless, Clear Sky is not deluded about starvation. It's a justification for his obsessive need for control, and always has been. There was no shortage before stealing Misty's land and kits, he is fully aware that there's more prey than they can eat.

He punishes Falling Feather with hunger and harassment for thought crime, by briefly thinking of leaving. But first, he invokes Fluttering Bird at her like he did before, flying into a screeching fit of rage when she doesn't buy it,

"I'm sorry I hurt you... BUT" is THE wifebeater phrase. THE stereotypical line of a domestic abuser. "I'm sorry I hit you... but it's your fault for making me so angry."

She went through the same exact starvation he did, calls out that he's just framing his greed as being for the collective benefit of his subjects, and is assaulted for that.

When we're in his head, we see his REAL concerns are not about hunger. He invoked Fluttering Bird to try and make her shut up and bow down to him; what he's focused on is her "gossiping" and "whining" about the open wound he left on her face. He's still furious at Fircone and Nettle for how Thunder QUESTIONED him. So he will "strengthen their commitment."

When "starvation" DOES enter his thoughts, it is to assuage his own guilt and JUSTIFY what he already did. What he already WANTS to do. It's post-hoc.

He had to suppress his own guilt at how his greed and ambition made these children into orphans, completely unable to admit that he's ever been wrong or has a change to make, so he invokes the starvation rhetoric at himself to excuse it. So he feels less bad.

Everything, EVERYTHING, in this confrontation is about his pleasure at being able to torment his subordinates. To continue the abuse when the initial confrontation is over. If it isn't pride in his power and control over them, it's plain sadism.

He invokes starvation in front of the crowd, again, after being pleasured at the guilt in her eyes, hoping that everyone sees her writhing with shame and embarrassment. Fear wasn't at the root of why he assaulted Falling Feather; rage was, and now he feels better that he got to humiliate the person who offended him.

Starvation Rhetoric is a manipulation tactic.

It goes RIGHT BACK to his twisted idea of "loyalty." Obedience.

A cat who's actually, primarily concerned about starvation wouldn't encourage other cats to steal her food if they feel like it. He wouldn't be using it as a weapon to retaliate against her because she hurt his feelings.

This is paired with the fact he restricts and monitors the diet of his cats. They eat when he allows it, and only what he gives them, in spite of there being piles of dead animals rotting, going to waste.

We then find he personally doles out food from these piles, plucking carcasses off them and flinging them at his cats, one by one. Probably so he can watch how grateful they are to him and make sure they stay a little hungry-- and definitely because it means he can control WHO gets to eat at all.

If Clear Sky chucked a mouse at Falling Feather and someone took it? She would have gone hungry. For not groveling to him. Like when he decides to starve her brother; a hostage who he promised to feed and care for.

He's a dishonest snake. He lied about abandoning baby Thunder, calling it a "test of strength," he lied about Bumble's death, he lied about keeping Jackdaw's Cry fed.

And he lied about starvation to Thunder, because he was just making up an excuse to steal more land.

He wasn't "seeing the signs" of starvation when he moved to "adjust" his borders. Even FURTHER into this so-called "delusional slip" into tyranny, he's freely admitting that it takes months for a person to starve when it benefits his sadistic need to punish undeserving cats.

"Dumb moor cats, always expecting more than they DESERVE."

Not need. DESERVE. It's not a delusion about starvation and it never was. STARVATION is how he CONTROLS SkyClan, and once again he's angry that his pleasure has been sullied.

The massacre at Fourtrees was started over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat after being starved, on land that Clear Sky has decided RIGHT NOW that he also owns, because it mades him think about being disobeyed.

The bat is forgotten as Clear Sky pivots into a tantrum, wanting to make his family HURT for being 'disloyal' and 'ungrateful.' For leaving him. He LIKES seeing people grovel, cower, and beg, getting PLEASURE from watching how he can hurt and command other cats, and if you don't give him what he wants he will kill you.

Which, make no mistake, is what the "First Battle" actually is. Clear Sky attempting to murder those who don't worship him or swear their undying fealty to him and his twisted dictatorship. Particularly his own son, the most prominent victim of his emotional abuse.

It's not about the bat. It was never even about food or starvation. It's about retaliation for any perceived lack of control.

Once again he breaks out starvation rhetoric to try and manipulate someone, and when Rainswept Flower doesn't buy it just like Falling Feather didn't, he murders her in another fit of entitled rage.

Exoneration arc.

At the end of this battle that was entirely his own fault, we're introduced to the hollowed-out ghost of Storm. She has been flushed of all personality, so that she can be the perfect narrative mouthpiece.

She accepts yet another Fluttering Bird Invocation in spite of how we saw it's not sincere. He was lying the entire time and using starvation rhetoric as a manipulation tactic to get control over his victims.

And that's it.

That's the consequence. Storm's a little mad at him until he says "Buttering Flird" and she swoons.

He doesn't have to be ""afraid"" anymore because the cats just invented an afterlife to believe in. He keeps all of his power and influence and gets off scot-free, because "guilt" (which we SAW him repressing anyway) is supposed to be the best consequence for murder, abuse, and tyranny.

The husk of Storm even materializes again at the end of book 5 to say it outright; he "never drove anyone away." Not even after Book 4 where it's also his fault One Eye took over his Clan for 5 minutes. It was just destiny.

His "redemption arc" is just an exoneration arc. The narrative doesn't think he really did anything wrong.

EVERYTHING about Clear Sky has ALWAYS been about making grabs at power, but since the narrative didn't see a problem with him extorting his personal tragedy and the death of a child, his own sister, he continues doing it. As if these behaviors are normal personality 'traits'.

Even when that sister COMES OUT OF HEAVEN TO YELL AT HIM DIRECTLY,

He finds a way to COMPLETELY miss the point, so he can interpret her words in a bizarrely specific way that will conveniently end with him being the supreme dictator of the entire forest. Just like he ALWAYS does.

It's the entire 5th book. Clear Sky trying to convince everyone, including himself, that it's Fluttering Bird who wants him to grab at power, NOT himself and his own ambition, that THIS time, he promises, for realsies, it's actually about keeping everyone safe.

But just like ALWAYS, because he does not change, when this tried and true tactic manages to work on Thunder, during ANOTHER exchange where he's dramatically pausing and using the cold shoulder to make his pitiable act land harder,

He lapses right back into bullying his child, creating situations where Thunder will have difficulty or be put in pain, so that he can have an excuse to mock and belittle him.

And this all comes to a head when Clear Sky takes romantic interest in Star Flower, his abused son's previous romantic interest.

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

Direct parallels are drawn between Thunder and Star Flower. Star Flower contrasts her loyalty to her father to Thunder's "disloyalty" to his own, in an appeal to Clear Sky.

Clear Sky brushes it off for now, citing that he cannot accept her because of who her father was.

But then, Thunder makes the connection between himself and her, because he knows what it is like to be a victim of parental abuse and correctly clocks that they have this in common,

On his vouch, Clear Sky accepts her into the group. She starts trying to offer himself to him; hunting twice as hard as the others, self-imposing harsh conditions like taking a wet sleeping spot. In their second interaction, Clear Sky begins to take interest in her.

Thunder himself points out that Star Flower is seeking an abusive tyrant to replace her own father, which reads like he's deflecting the stress of how his father is abusing him to deny a connection he already made. As if Thunder sees so much of himself in Star Flower that it makes him (rightly) feel sick that his father is romantically invested in her;

Thunder then goes on to follow his own advice and form his own Clan, because Clear Sky IS like One Eye... while Star Flower remains here. At Clear Sky's side. Because she feels like this is what she "deserves," that she "understands" him, truly believing that her crime (warning her father that Clear Sky brought an ambush in case he lost the 1 on 1 death match he requested, which he did) are on the same level as his abuse and murders.

Clear Sky is attracted to Star Flower because, in his own words;

She is young.

She will not betray him.

She won't question him,

and she obeys him.

We've seen what "betrayal" is to Clear Sky-- not taking his excuses or his beatings. To "disobey" is betrayal. To "question" is disobedience.

These are ALL things he's tried to drill into Thunder. We saw him happily exploit their difference in age to tell him he can't have an opinion. He constructed humiliating games in retaliation for ever being questioned. He tried to murder Thunder and his friends for their "betrayal." Even now, being disobeyed causes explosive reactions.

He was previously grooming the things he now identifies as attractive in a young woman into his child.

If your body becomes too useless to serve him, like Frost and Jagged Peak, you're thrown out. If you don't unquestioningly follow his bloody commands, like Falling Feather or Thunder, you're subjected to abuse and public humiliation. If you're in his way, like Misty or Rainswept Flower were, you die.

If you meet all of his expectations...

You will be in a horrific position where you will never have agency over your own life ever again. Every move, every word, will have to be carefully crafted so that he feels like you're "loyal" to him by the arbitrary standard he feels that day. Never step out of line, never doubt his decisions, never live for anyone except him and the children you will give him, not even for a moment, because then you will not be "worthy" of his grace.

Star Flower would be in serious danger if this series wasn't written by abuse apologists. They accidentally wrote a perfect reflection of how child abuse victims often find themselves in unsafe and toxic romantic relationships with large age gaps which mirror what they went through as kids; but this team doesn't clock it, playing this relationship as wholesome and genuine.

He finally has someone who ""understands"" him. Because they think the character they wrote is misunderstood.

but reality is plain to see.

Clear Sky is a monster. The most realistic monster in all of WC-- far, far closer to real life predators and domestic abusers than the "born evil" rogues like Slash and One Eye. The Erins seem to believe that what separates Clear Sky from One Eye is "fundamental" good and "fundamental" evil, when the truth is that they'd be separated by very, very little.

If they had realistic motivations, they would be exactly like the character their existence is meant to excuse.

Slash and One Eye HAD to be kept flat and one-dimensional. If the book was more earnest, the only difference between Clear Sky and One Eye would have been that One Eye is stronger. So strong that Clear Sky needed to manipulate the other groups into helping him.

While anyone can change, not everyone will, and Clear Sky has no reason to. He sees no consequences. He has everything he wants; power, a pretty and obedient young mate, and unchecked authority over a brainwashed forest cult. There is always a victim on a leash, a naive enabler, or a bunch of desperate and gullible marks somewhere in his proximity to bully into doing his dirtywork

Whether his "intentions" were sincere or not (evidence points towards not) at its root it was always about control. Power is something he perpetually keeps, and continues to violently use.

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fantastic-nonsense · 5 months

Note

I wouldn't mind the heavy focus on warrior Amazons so much if they were allowed to be competent instead of just being used as red shirt cannon fodder. But it seems DC only hypes up the Amazons as deadly fighters so other characters can look more impressive when they take them down.

Oh and Happy New Year.

Happy New Year! Forgive me if I use your ask to talk about a piece of the Wonder Woman mythos I've wanted to discuss for some time, because your complaints offered me the perfect segue to write a nice, in-depth meta on it and I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Honestly, I think a lot of people (both creatives and readers) either don't know, forget, or fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the Amazons' warrior status. So they often get reduced to "deadly warriors who strike first," "supposedly deadly but generally incompetent warriors when outside of their own books," or "militant man-haters" by a lot of people. None of which are true.

The Amazons are incredibly competent warriors and have been since Marston's first portrayal of them in the 1940s, so I don't inherently mind them being shown as such. However, where people get bogged down is insisting that they be shown as deadly and trigger-happy offensive fighters who are happy to strike first and hard, which fundamentally goes against the philosophy and thematic messaging built into Amazonian lore.

DC's Amazonia, lore-wise, is traditionally framed as an Aphrodite vs. Ares "peace and love vs. violence and war" story. In Marston's original rendition of the Amazon's backstory Aphrodite is not only their patron goddess but also their sole creator; it was only after Crisis on Infinite Earths and George Perez's long-overdue lore expansions that the rest of the goddesses became co-creators and co-patrons of the Amazons. Regardless, Ares and his domain are consistently invoked as what the Amazons don't want to be like or engage in. That behavior is the antithesis of what Amazons are supposed to be. This lore informs literally everything about how the Amazons view both their combat abilities and their duty to the goddesses.

The contemporary Amazons are, for the most part, women who died in terrible and traumatic ways at the hands of men (usually through domestic violence, murder, or as conquests of war). When the goddesses created the Amazons by reincarnating these women via the Well of Souls, they specifically charged them to become their champions. And what did these goddesses want? They explicitly wanted justice and protection for women in a violently patriarchial world. The Amazons being warriors is thus specifically tied to an understanding of necessary self-defense and protection (both of themselves and other women), not offense.

Which of course is what lands the Amazons on Themyscira in the first place: invoking the goddesses' ire by not obeying these commands after their rebellion against their enslavement by Heracles and his men crosses the line from the necessary battle to achieve their liberation into wanton violence and revenge:

"The battered Hippolyta prayed to her goddesses and found the courage and inspiration to free herself. Athena had reminded Hippolyta of the Amazons' purpose and mission—but not all of the Amazons remembered. Or cared. They yearned for vengeance. For retribution against those who violated them...and under Antiope, many found it." -Wonder Woman: Our Worlds at War (2001)

And as Hippolyta and Menalippe tell Antiope:

"No, Antiope. Never vengeance; never again!" /// "That is Ares' way, Antiope. We achieve no glory by embracing the Dark God's power!" -Wonder Woman (1987) #1

The Amazon way is promoting a society based on love, equality, truth, and peaceful conflict resolution, not vengeance and violent combat. It's a philosophy that defines Diana's mission in Man's World as an ambassador, teacher, and living example of her peoples' way of life:

Enraptured, they listen to her dissertation on equality between the sexes, tolerance, peaceful coexistence. Social Philosophy 101, Amazon Style. -Wonder Woman (1987) #170

Diana's gods-given mission was to spread the Amazonian ideals of conciliation—to give those living in the World of Man the proper tools to peacefully coexist with each other. It was her life's purpose to teach the possibilities of respect and love by being a living example of an upbringing founded in those ideals.

Truth-seeking, diplomacy, and peace are the Amazonian way of dealing with conflict, not violence. And when you are forced to engage in combat (and you should be prepared for that eventuality because sometimes it will happen), your goal should be self-defense and de-escalation, not offense and prolonging the conflict longer than necessary.

This is also, as an aside, why Diana (and specifically Diana in her capacity as Wonder Woman) does not usually carry offensive weapons like a sword and why her primary "weapons" are the Lasso of Truth and protective bracelets. She's the official representative of her peoples' culture and personally deeply believes in that cultural philosophy. Other Amazons have different views on the matter, including her mother, but Diana grew up completely separated from the World of Man and fully immersed in that belief system, which deeply informs how she views her mission as Wonder Woman.

Personally, I think many (but not all) of the problems re: depicting the Amazons in the modern era come from various writers attempting to solve contradictions that don't exist. They see "kickass trained warriors living peacefully on an island" and see that as a contradiction they have to solve: why do they train if they're pacifists? Why do they fight if they're peaceful? In reality, it's not a contradiction: their status as warriors and champions is specifically tied to self-defense and protection (both of themselves and others), but given the choice they don't want to have to take up arms to protect people because that goes against their fundamental cultural philosophy. Outsiders and meddlesome gods are the ones who force them to do that! What they want is for everyone to be treated with love, respect, and understanding so they don't have to!

And there's a lot of problematic elements built into the concept's execution, but this is the core thesis behind the split between Hippolyta's Themyscirans and Antiope's Bana-Mighdall. The Themysciran Amazons have had their fill of violence and war; they just want to live in peace. But a) they were specifically tasked with guarding Doom's Doorway when they were taken to the island, a duty which necessitates perfect combat readiness, and b) their history is littered with examples of people refusing to leave them alone. So they train, in case someone decides to take shots at them, but otherwise live in peaceful isolation. Meanwhile, the Banas looked at that same shared history and went "we need to take the fight to the outside world. Offense is the best defense, and the only way to protect ourselves and the other women of the world is to actively seek vengeance for the violence women face." So they chose to actively intervene in Man's World, fighting constant battles and exacting revenge for any women mistreated at the hands of men.

...which is also why Artemis was such a necessary and interesting addition to the Wonder Woman mythos (even if she's often handled...poorly), because she and Diana represent two diametrically opposed views of how to protect and represent both their cultures and the women of Man's World, but that's a rant for a different time.

Anyway, the Themysciran Amazons' martial pacifism as a cultural value isn't a contradiction; it's one way of looking at a history filled with violence and victimization and saying "no more." And it's a pretty subversive way of doing so, which (well-written) comics tend to note!

So yes, the "Amazons are warriors" mentality has always been there and has been solidly emphasized at various points throughout Wonder Woman's history, and it should be acknowledged and shown that they're all incredibly competent in battle when they're forced to engage in it. But the way in which it gets emphasized is what defines whether a writer has a solid understanding of the history and baggage that comes with depicting the Amazonian struggle and the socio-political issues embedded in their lore. And unfortunately...many writers just don't seem to get it.

#sorry for just ranting about this but I HAVE to correct the narrative every time this comes up. it's not a want. it's a need.#someone hire me to write a political history of Amazonia #I could do SO MUCH with the recurring themes of isolationism vs. interventionalism as a method of self-defense #dc comics #wonder woman #wonder woman meta #diana of themiscyra #artemis of bana mighdall #queen hippolyta #dc amazons #dc meta #long post #asks

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minhosimthings · 4 months

Text

A La Folie ft. Jay

Synopsis: Wounds came and went. All in the circle of life am I right? The greatest warrior among all the kings, Park Jay. For him, seeing blood was like seeing the sky. It was a daily routine which he could not escape. Yes sometimes he had grave injuries, which he wouldn't stop to take care of, with him being a workaholic. But sometimes healers do more than heal physical wounds, and for Jay, you did exactly that.

Pairings: King!Jay × healer!fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, no smut (yet hehe), mentions of blood, violence, domestic abuse, mentions of cheating, mistresses (don't read it if you can't handle it), mentions of food, Jay has a REALLY tragic past sorry bout that, reader is an orphan, also this is really dramatic IM SORRY I CANT NOT WRITE DRAMA, open ending oohh

A/N: EYYY MR JAY PARK WOOHOO Ngl I was so excited to write this but the exams and all made this kinda difficult to write so if anyone has been waiting for this I'm sorry for the extremely long wait. Also yes this wil be in three parts yay. @yunabi436 this is for you baby 😽

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

The French Quotes Series Masterlist

"And from Aphrodite's rotten lovesick blood did the white flowers turn into a darker shade of red, eternally forming the flower of love."

Aphrodite and the hunter Adonis' tale had been one of boars, blood, lust and love.

For the young king of the iron-kingdom of Vadronia (rightly given its moniker), the only thing he cared about in all of those four things were the boars and the blood.

Jay Park's kingdom wasn't the strongest in all of Paradoxica just in a penny's wish and a flick of a tail feather. It was quote unquote 'molten from iron itself' as all its rulers were.

From all of his brothers, Jay was probably the one who took his duties as a warrior seriously.

Well, a bit too seriously, according to the said brothers.

"Jay would you please stop running so fast?" Sunghoon panted, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily as beads of sweat dripped from his hair and skin.

The mud track was always the hardest one to trench upon, and with Jay on your trail? It was hell. Atleast that's what Jake and Sunghoon described it as.

"Are you going to be saying that when you're running from enemy horses?" Jay turned back and glared at Sunghoon, the light autumn breeze giving him peace as it whipped his hair around.

"For God's sake Jay, no one is going to invade us now." Heeseung walked into the scene, with much less sweatier clothes and an arrow clutched in his hand, indicating he had come back from his target practice, "Give the poor guys a break."

"Yes please give us a break I'll go down on my knees." Jake was close to collapsing on the floor, his hand desperately clutching onto the nearby flag pole for support.

"You'd go down on your knees for your best friend." Jay scoffed, throwing his head back to shake the sweat out of his hair follicles, because as glorious as they were, the stray strands still annoyed him, "And you." He turned towards Heeseung, who, even though was much taller than Jay, now looked like a dwarf in front of Jay's broad figure, "How many times do I have to remind you to come for practice?"

"It's not my fault." Heeseung jut out his bottom lip, he always loved acting cute in front of Jay even if he was older, "Little princess back at home has been spying on me. And not gonna lie, I am extremely aroused."

"Why did I even ask?" Jay rolled his eyes and stretched out his arms, the bright burning sun reflecting in his eyes like the moonshine he loved so much, which he drank by the fireplace as he penned down poetry he could show to no one.

"So Jayyyy" Sunghoon dragged his words out, "Felt any sparks lately?"

"Ask that question again and you'll be running twenty laps round this track." Jay promptly replied, cleaning his face with the lavender-smelling towel the nearby servant handed to him. He always loved the lavender scented things, it reminded him of the springs with his mother, oh how she would tease him with tiny flowers in his hair, and the clink of her ruby created dagger in her belt. The dagger lay soulless now, sitting in a secretive place in Jay's room, as he stared at it and remembered that moment again and again. His bastard father, no matter how many times Jay had cursed him, he still couldn't get it out of his mind.

His mother, his compassionate, kind mother, didn't deserve to bleed out from his father's turn of blade.

And no matter how many potions he took, the smell of the blood filled ballroom still lingered in his nose at night, when he would jolt awake in cold sweat, wanting to cling onto his mother, but then he'd remember that he wasn't eight anymore, she was gone.

"Jay you're my brother and I really respect you a lot." Heeseung started, sitting Jay down on the oak bench, while Jake and Sunghoon quietly sneaked out, running for their lives back to their horses, "But you've got to find someone to love in your life, you've got to get over your fear."

"Weren't you the one who was complaining about love to Jake and I a few days ago?" Jay raised a magnificently trimmed brow, to which Heeseung chuckled.

"Yep but then I fell into that rabbit hole and I seem to like it, a bit too much perhaps." Heeseung stared into the distance, instantly losing his dramatic moment as the setting sun hit his pupils.

"Yeah, someday when I'm older maybe." Jay fiddled with his fingers, he never could keep them still, "But for now, I wanted to ask if you'd want to come with me on a hunt tomorrow?"

"A hunt?" Heeseung quizzed, lifting himself with much difficulty off of the bench, bow in hand, "You haven't invited me to a hunt in ages."

"Necessity is the mother of invention." Jay got up as well, scented towel still in hand, "And in this case it's that wild boar our men have been hunting since last month, been terrorizing the border between Tarnow and Vadronia now. I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet."

"Consider me blinded by love." Heeseung threw a flirtatious wink at Jay, who visibly gagged, "I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting."

"No no no, Jay, we, under no circumstances, apply essence of Hibiscus to a water snake's venom." A lady with greying hair sighed, bending over a wooden cup, while a sturdy, black haired man gulped heavily and stared nervously at the herbs in his hand.

Jay was never very successful in his healing classes, and under the strict gaze of his teacher, old Mrs.Chun, he was far away from catching the train of success.

"I don't get it." Jay frowned like a child, setting the hibiscus flower down on the table filled with healing equipments of all kind, "Wasn't the essence of Hibiscus supposed to combat this snake's venom?"

The old lady sighed again and rolled her eyes, snatching the hibiscus from the table and setting it into a basket full of the bright red flowers. With her other hand, she picked up a wicker work basket of lavender and lifted it up to Jay.

"Lavender. I said lavender remember?" She smiled up at Jay like an encouraging teacher, "Lavender for the wounds which make a man turn purple, and hibiscus for the blood drops."

Jay mumbled the rule under his mouth before pressing the lavender petals to the venom splanched across the bown om front of him. The purplish colour immediately turned a healing shade of dark yellow, satisfying Jay and letting out a sigh of relief from the old lady.

"Just some more practice and patience and you'll be a good healer in no time." Mrs. Chun patted Jay's arm sympathetically.

"But why do I even need to be a healer?" Jay asked curiously, putting the box of potions up on the shelf where they belonged, "I'm already a warrior."

"Every great warrior needs to know how to tend to his own wounds." The old lady smiled, looking curiously at a green flask, "I made a vow to your mother to never let you fail in this subject."

Jay smiled fondly at the thought of his mother spending her hours in the infirmary along with Mrs. Chun. Mrs. Chun herself was like his mother figure, providing him the hugs his 14 year old self needed so bad years ago.

"And remember Jay!" Mrs. Chun called out just as Jay was about to leave the room, "I won't be here for the entirety of next month."

"But then who's going to look after the infirmary?" Jay turned back and raised a quizzical brow at Mrs.Chun, who smiled gently.

"My apprentice will." She promptly replied, "She's a nice girl, I told her all about your predicament of failing at healing." Jay let out a chuckle at Mrs.Chun's joke, "She'll take your classes alright?"

"Don't miss me too much Mrs.Chun!" Jay laughed, "I'm your favourite remember?"

Mrs.Chun laughed heartily to herself. Oh that boy, she thought, still a bit at heart even if he was a man to the world.

Only a bit of love perhaps, can truly lead him to show this side of him to the world.

Jay sighed heavily as he plopped down on his armchair, the most comfortable one by the fire.

Love, he scoffed, what a stupid, dangerous thing.

He believed his father to love his mother, he believed his mother to love his father even as he went out every night to quote unquote 'find himself'. Mistresses were awful buisness, and no Queen had ever objected her king having one. But of course, his mother had to object, she had to be different. She had to storm in to her husband and his lover and confront them. And his father, fire-filled man he was, had to strike a blade through her belly, making her bleed out in 14 year old Jay's arms.

And of course, Jay, blinded by his rage, had to strike his father back, skilled as his father was, Jay was more fleet footed, and in the blink of an eye, his father and his father's new toy were lying in cold blood on the floor, as Jay sobbed, clutching his mother's body, dead as a fish out of the ocean.

And his brothers had noticed, they had always noticed how Jay was never the same from that day. From the happy boy who loved to write stories and poetry and who hated to even step foot in the training yard, Jay became the mercenary king, ready with his sword clutched in hand, and his poems long forgotten to silence and withering darkness.

But it wasn't to say that Jay was a ruthless ruler, he chose not to take that path, especially not after half the kingdom starved under the rule of his father. It wouldn't have been a lie to say he was the kindest one in all of Paradoxica, except he didn't really show it in the way he spoke or acted, but by the way he controlled the administration and whatnot of the kingdom. This kept his busy, seldom leaving time for any other activities, much to the disappointment of his brothers, especially Heeseung, who had always been the closest to him, who had known what he was truly like, deep inside.

Clutching his eagle feather quill, one of his most dearest ones, Jay dipped the tip into his ink pot, letting the excess ink dry off before pressing it to his leather bound diary.

When he wrote the feelings he couldn't ever say out loud onto the softwood paper, Jay felt a sort of contentment, he had always been a clandestine philophile, so to write his proses on the idea of love, death and misery, was to create a beautiful choreography on his mindset.

Alas, if there was only someone he could show them to, someone who would understand what Jay meant in the lines, even with his messy loopy calligraphy, that would have been a dream truly come true.

But how could a man who wrote poems to challenge the angels of love themselves, ever find love?

But I am a mere narrator, what would I know?

And sometimes, just sometimes, Cupid lurked in the ballrooms of dancing princes and in the dark inkpots of oxymoronic kings.

"I have no idea what's happening, but I'm happy to be here." Sunghoon's beautiful Clydesdale horse pranced around on the grass, as energetic and as similar a persona as her owner.

"Would you tell her to calm down?" Heeseung's own chestnut's hooves guided him towards Sunghoon, "She needs the energy for the hunt." Heeseung easily managed to calm the mare down by scratching behind her eyes, to which Sunghoon drooped since he had been enjoying the prancing around a bit too much.

"Why are we going on a hunt again?" Jake adjusted his saddle, making sure he was buckled in properly to his Fox Trotter horse, "Aren't we above killing animals now?"

"Your best friend tell you that?" The clip clopping of Jay's magnificent Dutch Warmblood sent all of the soldiers to silence, "And if the animal is a wild boar, no we aren't above that."

"Whatever you say, oh great King." Sunghoon snickered, as he did a sort of bow on his horse, making everyone laugh.

"Oh shut up." Jay rolled his eyes, clutching onto his horse's hair, and leaning into his usual stance, "Come on now, don't want to keep a beauty waiting do we?" And with the mighty neigh of his horse, he rode off into the forest, followed by Heeseung, Jake and Sunghoon, who followed with dramatic sighs.

"Sometimes I wonder if he just wants to live in an adventure book and say cringey lines all the time." Sunghoon jested, making the others laugh.

"Where on earth is Sunoo?" Jay shouted out, completely ignoring the statement made about him, as the rest of the three managed to catch up to his horse's pace.

"Probably tending to his vineyard." The wind whipped Jake's hair around, "God knows if he'd ever accept coming to a hunt with us."

"Maybe a grape hunt-"

"Shh!"

Jay's action of stopping his horse, and shushing everyone startled the others, and as the clopping of hooves quietened down, they understood why Jay had stopped so abruptly.

The rustling of the nearby begonia bushes, combined with the noises of an animal which sounded extremely similar to a wild boar, alerted them, as they drew out their swords, daggers and metal tipped arrows, all from treasure chest of Vadronia's amazing metalwork, aiming them at the begonia bushes, as Jay held up his closed fist to give the command.

"Come on out." Jay whispered to no one in particular but himself, as the begonia bushes began shaking more rapidly and the sounds of an animal's footsteps came nearer.

"Hey maybe we should-" Heeseung bagan quietly to Jay, but was interrupted by the ripping of the begonias into shreds.

And there it was, what Jay had been waiting for.

A big wild boar in its full magnificence.

Ivory tusks in full gleam, swathes of brown fur all over its damaged skin, with wounds from previous hints. A ture display of its strength, Jay thought, it wanted to intimidate them, as if to say 'see how many people haven't defeated me yet, why do you think you stand a chance?'.

"Steady now, Lady." Jay patted his horse, which was ever so graciously named Lady, although the mare's personality in battle was far away from a lady's. Jay always preferred mares to horses, he though they were more faster and agile, while horses used their brute strength. And he had a hatred from brute strength. It was what got her killed after all.....

"Jake look out!" Heeseung cried out, snapping Jay out of his daze of staring into the boar's eyes. Of all the animals of the world, he hated this one the most, he hated the way his father loved to hunt them, and how he'd come home from hunts everyday drenched in blood with a boar skull im his hands, from which his mother would recoil from, what with her hatred of the smell of iron.

Hatred, that's all that was there in Jay's life. And that's all there will be.

"Jay, we have to get back come on!" Sunghoon cried, his horse already galloping away. The boar was far too big for them to contain. "Jay?" Heeseung peered back, "Jay no!"

But the sturdy built man's ears heeded no warning as he stepped along to the boar, his sword clutched tightly in hand, the carving of his name in the metal shining bright, as if to warn the spirit of the forest that he has arrived.

"Hyung what's happe-" Jake and Sunghoon's horses had turned back to see why the eldest wasn't coming, only to see Jay stabbing at the boar, while Heeseung tried to get Lady, who was close to prancing away into the depths of the forest.

"Help me would ya!" Heeseung cried, flinging his rope around Lady's magnificent neck, to which Sunghoon and Jake came quick and flung their own ropes, "One of you help Jay!"

"I'll go!" Sunghoon's horse galloped towards Jay, but to his shock, he saw that the boar was already lying, its movements still, and Jay standing drenched in blood.

It was dead.

Jay's sword was decorated with ribbons of maroon.

"Jay what the..." Sunghoon began, but he could find no words. The boar had been big, two times the size and strength of any ordinary man, and now it was kneeling at Jay's command, kneeling dead and cold as a fish.

"It's dead." Jay growled, his breathing too heavy, and his hand clutching a particularly dark spot on his stomach, as Heeseung and Jake came to the scene, having calmed Lady down, "The tusk...."

"The tusk? What about the- Jay!" Heeseung cried, before jumping off his horse and quickly moving towards Jay's graceful falling figure.

The last thing Jay felt was the feeling of wet grass underneath his head, Heeseung's hand over his wrist, and the familiar scent of feminine lavender pressing over him before everything went dark as he had always wished for it to be.

Jay never cared much about his injuries. No matter how big or small they were, no matter if it was a paper cut to the thumb or an arrow head to the shoulder, he would simply say "Injuries happen, it's a part of life" and move on. Which proved to be a source of annoyance for his brothers, especially Jake, who had an eye for healing.

But Jay was a firm believer in the notion that twenty four hours a day simply wasn't enough. He wanted more, he craved for more, more time, more work. Although he wouldn't admit it, everyone was in unison with the fact that he was Paradoxica's biggest workaholic.

And when it came back to the topic of injuries, Jay would still keep working, whether or not he was stuck in bed, because Heeseung had forced him to stay there.

Heeseung remembered Jay's younger days. How Jay would whine and do nothing if he got even the tiniest splinter in his finger. How he would beg for a day off from studies if he merely stubbed his tie against the kitchen ladder while sneaking out to steal pastries. But the horrible incident had changed every aspect of Jay, and now, he wouldn't stop working if every limb in his body was broken.

"All for the good of the people" he reasoned.

Usually Mrs.Chun had taken care of him, scolded him too many times about taking rests whenever he'd come back from battles or fights with blood flowing out his nose. But even then he didn't care. So the vision of waking up to Mrs.Chun's berry scent was a norm for him whenever he'd get injured.

But now, the room wasn't berry scented, and nor was Mrs. Chun sitting in the corner, waiting for him to wake up.

A girl?

A girl, wearing Mrs.Chun's apron, had her head rested against his table, her eyes fluttered close.

Were his eyes tricking him or did Mrs.Chun suddenly become thirty years younger?

Feeling something heavy on his waist, Jay tried to lift his head from his pillow, letting out a guttural groan as he did. God what was hurting him so much? He could feel something hurting at his stomach.

"Your Majesty, lie back down." He heard someone say, and as he opened his eyes, he saw the girl bending over him, forcing him to lie back down on the bed.

Jay stared at her for a few moments, trying to remember who she is before the candle went off in his mind.

The apprentice.

You were Mrs.Chun's apprentice.

"Are you Mrs.Chun's apprentice?" Jay groaned, feeling his head throb and his fingers were aching too.

You nodded promptly, before pushing Jay gently back onto the bed as he tried to get back.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Your Majesty, but you aren't getting up for another two weeks. You were stabbed by a wild boar's tusk." You stated firmly, shocking Jay at how casually you had addressed him, "His Highness Heeseung told me to handcuff you to the bed if you even try to move."

"Handcuff me?" Jay chuckled, moving his body slightly to lessen the pressure on his legs, "Where are you even going to get-"

Jay's sentence was cut off abruptly as your hands pulled out a pair of heavy metal from a secret pocket in the olive green dress you were wearing, and held it in front of Jay, effectively silencing him.

"I'm sorry if that was rude, but you are my patient, Your Majesty.." Your mouth let out a chuckle, sending a weird sensation into Jay's stomach, which he had never felt before, "So, I will do anything and everything in order to make you rest."

"So what may I address you by, My lady?" Jay quizzed you, his head now no longer throbbing for some reason. He studied your features for a while, he thought your eyes were pretty, decorated by a thin lining of kohl. Your figure was pretty too, wrapped in the striking colour of the dress you were in, combined with the beautifully familiar way you wore your hair.

"Definetly not by 'My lady'." You chuckled, picking up your dress, and sinking into a curtsy, "Y/N, you may call me Y/N, Your Majesty."

"Pretty name." Jay complemented, watching you stand up straight from your curtsy and smile impishly at him.

"You've got to take your medicine now." You reached into your apron's pocket and pulled a big vial, which was filled with a bubbling, golden liquid, "Now, according to Mrs.Chun, tricks by pretty people often work on you."

"Pretty people?" Jay scoffed childishly, thinking about whether or not he thought Heeseung was pretty, as you measured out the liquid into a cup, "Mrs.Chun needs to have a check for up there. And do you really think you're pretty?"

You strode towards him with the cup in your hand, and smiled widely. "Well, pardon me Your Majesty, but from the way you were staring at me five minutes ago, yes. I do think I'm pretty."

"Don't get your ego up." Jay warned, taking the cup from you, letting his mind linger for a few minutes on how your delicate fingers brushed his scarred ones softly, "Your parents mus'nt have taught you manners did they?"

"Well, firstly, I don't have parents." You smiled, "And secondly I need to check your bandages, they seem to be bleeding again."

So that was what the pain radiating from his stomach was, Jay thought, as he looked down to see his bandages streaked a darker shade of red. He quickly gulped down the golden liquid in the cup, a visibly disgusted expression forming on his face at how bitter it was, and looked up at you, with widened eyes.

"So...?" He said, expectantly, seeing you fumble with some clean cloth, another vial of what looked like cream, and a safety pin.

"Tell me where it hurts when I change them alright?" You said gently, making his lay down on the bed again, "and uh..."

"What?" Jay questioned, seeing your eyes linger at his wound or more specifically, his ab muscles, "Oh you can touch them it's fine."

"Oh. Oh yeah alright." You said, feeling your face heat up slightly. Bandaging him when he was still unconscious was easier than this, when he was awake. God his stare was so attractive to you, even now, as you gently touched his bandages, replacing them with cleaner cloth, you tried hard not to brush your fingers against his abs.

"Enjoying the view?" Jay asked, a cockish sneer to his voice. "There's a view to enjoy Your Majesty?" You fired back, although you most certainly were enjoying staring at him.

"You're an interesting one." Jay said, trying to make small talk as you lightly pressed against the smaller wounds with the cream, "Y/N wasn't it?"

"Yep." You said with a pop of your lips, finishing wrapping his wounds with a slight tap to check if they were secure, "And please do stay in bed and don't work. If you need anything, I'm right outside. His highness Heeseung has told me to rest in the chambers opposite yours."

The chambers opposite to his, his parents' chambers. God did Jay hate that room, all big and filled with skulls from hunts.

"If you want to you can go home, I can manage on myself." Jay said, his eyes set on yours. Why was it so hard to maintain eye contact with you?

"I know how that idea works." You smiled again, bringing that weird sensation back into Jay's stomach, "I'll go and then you'll order someone to bring you your work, so His Highness Heeseung specifically asked me not to leave. I guess you're stuck with me Your Majesty." You curtsied to finish off the impression.

"Jay." He spoke again, to your confusion, which made him stifle a chuckle, "Please, call me Jay."

"Jay." You smiled to yourself, "Well, ring that bell if you need anything."

As you left the room, quietly shutting the door behind you, Jay had the sudden urge to kick his feet in the air. The room was filled with lavender scent, your lavender scent to be specific, and it gave Jay a sense of calm, which in turn reduced the pain radiating from his stab wound.

Well this would be an interesting two weeks.

"Your Majesty what on Earth are you doing?"

Jay froze in his position at hearing a stern voice. Your stern voice, to be precise.

"Resting?" He said, trying to hide his cheeky smile, as he slowly backed away from his table. Rolling your eyes, you quickly got him back to the bed, worried that his bandages will open back again. But the only thing Jay was worried about was that his work wasn't getting completed.

"How about this?" You asked, as you finally managed to wrestle him back to the bed, "I'll do the work for you, if you agree to rest. It's in that diary right?"

"I can't let you do that." Jay grumbled, reaching for your arm, as you hurried to get to the diary on his table. The cold touch of his hand on your warmer skin made you flinch heavily, which in turn made Jay pull his hand away.

"I'm sorry." Jay quickly apologised, as you rubbed your arm, "I- That's my private diary, I don't really allow people to see it."

"Oh, my apologies then." You curtsied, still rubbing your arm, feeling extremely cold for some reason, even if the warm daylight was coming into the room through the window, "Your Majesty-"

"Jay." He corrected, shooting you the tiniest fragment of a smile.

"Jay." You said again, this time feeling more at ease, "You've got to rest, I'm begging you. Those bandages won't magically heal you until you rest. If there's anything I can do to get you to rest, I'll do it."

Jay's ears weren't actually listening to anything. His mind was too distracted again, by your scent. God damn his strong sense of smell, but you smelled like memories he wanted to forget.

"Tell me what perfume you use and then I won't work." Jay looked up at you with a cheeky smile. He didn't know why, but he felt comfortable to show you his smile, which he didn't often feel with the ladies in their paraffin socks.

"I- that's a peculiar question." You said, not knowing what to feel aboutthe actual King asking you about your perfume.

"I swear on my own grave that I will rest if the great healer Y/N tells me her perfume." Jay recited, keeping his hand on his chest for dramatic effect.

"It's the lavender one we get in the town square from Marcella's." You raised your chin up high, "Now would you rest?"

"Hmmm let me think." Jay dramatically sighed, "No."

"Your Majesty, I will beg." You breathed desperately, "I will seriously-"

"Your collarbone." Jay interrupted, his attention diverting from your eyes to your shoulder, "There's something on your collarbone."

Jay took note of the way your eyes flickered quickly and worriedly to your collarbone, and how you rushed to pull the sleeve of your dress up to cover it, clearing your throat afterwards to clear the awkward air.

"Are you-"

"Your Majesty, I admire the way you hold so much strivance for your work but you really must rest if you wish to keep working for the rest of your life."

The atmosphere of the room had a drastic change, Jay could feel it, as you quickly curtsied, said a quick "excuse me" and hurried off towards the exit.

That wasn't a stain or a birth mark on your shoulder Jay knew it, as he leant back comfortably, and decided to follow your advice for a while.

He'd seen dark marks like that on someone he once knew and loved.

And something in him asked him not to rest (unless it was pretending for you) until he figured out where that bruise the size of a man's hand, came from.

Part 2 coming soon....

Tags: @amazzwon @heeseungshim @kvmariii @mwahvvis @hottiewifeyyyy @sacrificeatmeup @perfectnighttt @yawnzzhoon @yunabi436

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mononijikayu · 3 days

Text

hongyeon — ryomen sukuna.

With a deranged laughter that echoed across the battlefield, Ryomen Sukuna embraced the monstrous essence within him, allowing it to surge forth with unrestrained fury. The Malevolent Shrine, a twisted monument to darkness, responded to his call, unleashing its full wrath upon the enemy ranks.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Miscarriage, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Miscarriage, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: hongyeon by ahn ye eun

note: this is the point where we see sukuna become more monster-like. and it would continue more and more in the upcoming chapters. sukuna loves, but he is cursed by it too. hiromi will be fine soon enough too. the next chapter will be a few years since this. the war would still be happening and the gojo are now involved!!! i'll see you till then!!! i love you!!! <3

IT WAS A RATHER EERIE NIGHT. As the rain poured down, quenching the flames that had engulfed Ryomen Manor and bringing an eerie calm to the battlefield, it was finally quiet. Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen Hiromi found themselves amidst the ruins, their hearts heavy with the weight of their losses.

The once-proud manor was now a smoldering wreck, its proud double heron banner reduced to ash and embers. The bodies of the dead were littered from left to right, crows giving themselves leave to the flesh and bones of those still edible. The attack had ceased, the Fujiwara forces seemingly satisfied with their destruction, but the threat still loomed over them like a dark cloud.

In the midst of this desolation, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the quiet grace of a seasoned warrior. Mikoto Masaomi, a loyal guard and ally, approached with an air of urgency. His dark eyes, sharp and observant, took in the scene before him with a mix of sorrow and determination. Without a word, he extended a hand to Sukuna, who was kneeling beside Hiromi, his own emotions a tumultuous storm.

You lay on the ground, exhausted and in pain, your body trembling from the loss of cursed energy and the overwhelming grief of losing their family. Sukuna's heart ached as he looked at you, her usually vibrant eyes now dull and distant.

He gently cleaned you up, washing away the blood and grime, enough to make you clean once again, pure as the moon — as you once were. But his wife could hardly care. Nothing mattered right now. Your breathing was shallow, your spirit broken, but Sukuna refused to let you go. He refused to let his wife be defeated.

"We need to leave, Sukuna–sama.” Masaomi said, his voice firm but laced with empathy. "The Fujiwara will return soon enough. We cannot stay here. We must find a place to regroup and plan our next move."

Sukuna nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Take my wife to safety until then." he ordered Masaomi. "Protect my wife with your life."

Masaomi placed a reassuring hand on Sukuna's shoulder. "I will. But you must come with us. We need you."

Sukuna's eyes hardened. "I can't stay here. Not with the Fujiwara still out there. But I promise, I will find you. I will come back."

With that, Sukuna gently lifted Hiromi into Masaomi's arms, trusting him to keep you safe. Mikoto Masaomi nodded solemnly, and with you secure, he began to lead them away from the ruins of Ryomen Manor. He parted from them when he led them to safety, where no more Fujiwara had lingered.

As they moved through the rain-soaked night and as he watched them leave, Sukuna's mind was already formulating plans for revenge, his determination fueled by the sight of his shattered home and the loss of his loved ones.

For the rest of the night, Ryomen Sukuna hunted down the remaining Fujiwara soldiers with a relentless, vengeful fury. These invaders, who had defiled his home and slaughtered his kin, now found themselves the prey of a wrathful spirit. The rain did little to cool the burning rage that coursed through Sukuna’s veins.

He moved through the shadows like a specter, his movements swift and silent. The Fujiwara soldiers, some still looting the bodies of the fallen, were caught off guard by the sudden, ferocious attacks. Sukuna’s strikes were lethal, each blow delivered with precision and brutal efficiency. He took no prisoners, showing no mercy to those who had shown none to his family.

Painfully, brutally, over and over — he killed them. He made them suffer, prolonging their agony as much as possible. He relished in their terror, in the widening of their eyes as they realized death was upon them. Their screams echoed through the desolate grounds, mingling with the relentless patter of rain. Blood spilled over the dying flowers by the pond, mingling with the rainwater to form crimson pools.

Sukuna didn’t think straight. He didn’t need to. His mind was a storm of grief and anger, each killing a cathartic release of the agony that threatened to consume him. His hands, now slick with blood, moved with a mind of their own, guided by an instinct as ancient and primal as the earth itself.

He found one Fujiwara sorcerer looting a chest of treasures that had long been in his family. The sight of this desecration ignited a fresh wave of fury within him. With a snarl, he lunged at the man, his fists pummeling flesh and bone until the soldier was nothing but a lifeless, bloodied heap.

Another one of these fools tried to flee, his fear evident in his frantic movements. Sukuna caught him easily, dragging him back to the manor grounds. He took his time with this one, making sure every moment was filled with excruciating pain. The man’s screams were almost drowned out by the roar of the rain, but Sukuna could still hear them, and they fueled his vengeance.

The night wore on, and still, Sukuna did not tire. Each kill brought a brief moment of satisfaction, but it was never enough to quell the storm within him. He moved like a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. The Fujiwara soldiers fell before him, one after another, their blood staining the ground that had once been the foundation of his home.

By the time dawn began to break, the rain had started to ease, but Sukuna’s rage had not. The manor grounds were littered with the bodies of the dead, the air heavy with the scent of blood and rain-soaked earth. Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion and unspent rage.

He looked around at the destruction he had wrought, the broken bodies of his enemies scattered like fallen leaves. For a moment, he felt a grim sense of satisfaction, knowing that he had avenged his family, that he had made the Fujiwara pay for their cruelty.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, a hollow emptiness settled over him. The sight of the manor’s ruins, the memory of your broken form, the knowledge of all he had lost — it all came crashing down on him. He fell to his knees, the weight of his grief and anger too much to bear.

In the stillness of the dawn, Sukuna vowed to himself that this was only the beginning. He would become stronger, more ruthless. He would not stop until the Fujiwara were utterly destroyed. But for now, he allowed himself a moment to mourn, to remember the life that had been taken from him, and to let the rain wash away the blood of his enemies.

It did not take long for him to arrive in the Mikoto compound. Masaomi had been the one waiting for him, along with the many guardsmen that had gathered among the volunteers from the villages. He welcomed Sukuna in his home. He did not mind the blood in Sukuna’s clothes. He knew what happened, but there was nothing to talk about. Not after what happened.

The Mikoto were minor vassals of the Ryomen. They were wealthy enough to own property, but modest in standing to have a manor. It wasn’t what one would expect, but it was a secure house nestled away from prying eyes. It was far enough from Ryomen Manor that the Fujiwara wouldn't think to look there, at least not immediately. It was more than enough at this moment.

The house was modest but sturdy, built with the same meticulous care that Masaomi applied to all aspects of his life. As they crossed the threshold, the warmth of the interior was a stark contrast to the cold, wet chaos they had left behind. Masaomi’s home was a haven, filled with the soft glow of lanterns and the comforting scents of herbs and incense.

As they entered the inner sanctum of the compound. Ryomen Sukuna felt a momentary sense of relief, knowing that Hiromi was out of immediate danger. You were here somewhere, hidden from plain sight. Masaomi led him to where his wife was, who was finally dressed in cleaner attire. Masaomi watched as Sukuna knelt beside his wife, minding the gap as to not dirty you with the sullen blood upon his body.

"I doubt we can stay around Hida for this long." Sukuna said, his voice low and urgent. "The Fujiwara will eventually search every corner of this region. We need to move quickly."

Masaomi nodded in agreement, his expression grim but resolute. "I'll make arrangements. We have allies who can help us and are waiting for their response. Until then, we can gather our strength and plan our next move, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s gaze was sharp as he considered their dwindling options. “Have you informed the Gojo-clan?” he asked. Despite his personal disdain for the Gojo, he couldn’t deny their longstanding alliance with the Ryomen. Gojo Suzaku’s fondness for you and your late brother made it almost certain that they would take this betrayal personally.

“We have, Sukuna—sama,” Masaomi replied cordially. “But we wait for their reply. There is no doubt that they will side with us upon this betrayal.”

Sukuna's reddish eyes darkened with determination. "We will take back what is ours. And we will make them pay for what they've done."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken resolve. The flickering candlelight in the small room cast long shadows on the walls, mirroring the darkness that had settled over their lives. Masaomi’s shoulders were tense with the weight of responsibility, and Sukuna could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Masaomi,” Sukuna whispers. breaking the silence. “I don’t know if I trust you with my life. But your loyalty is noted. Your loyalty to my wife, beyond measure. Ensure my wife’s safety above all else.”

Masaomi met Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering loyalty. “I will protect my lady with my life, Sukuna-sama. You have my word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a rare moment of gratitude for the steadfast sorcerer. “Good. Now, let’s ensure we are prepared for whatever comes next. But we ought to rest for now.”

Masaomi bowed slightly before taking his leave to begin the necessary preparations. Sukuna watched him go, his mind already racing with strategies and plans for their inevitable confrontation with the Fujiwara. Too much was in his mind.

The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him, to be a protector. To be your right hand man, now that his…his own father…. He swallowed the bile down his throat. Everything now, it was tempered by a burning resolve. The Fujiwara clan had taken much from him and his wife—their home, their family, their sense of peace. But they had also ignited a fire within him, a relentless drive to reclaim what was his and to exact vengeance on those who had wronged him.

“It took you long enough to return.” Your low voice echoed through the dim room, piercing the heavy silence. “Come closer.”

Sukuna hesitated, looking down at his bloodstained clothes and hands. “I am full of blood,” he said, his voice strained with the weight of the night’s violence.

“It does not matter.” You replied, tone firm yet gentle. “Come to me.”

Obeying your request as he always has, Sukuna moved closer and sat beside you on the futon. The sight of you, pale and fragile, tore at his heart. He took your hand in his cleaner hand, feeling the coldness of your skin seep into his own warmth.

“I’m sorry, night flower,” he whispered, his voice trembling with guilt and sorrow. “If I could have done much more…..our fathers wouldn’t have….”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your gaze to meet his. Despite your weakened state, there was a fierce determination in your eyes. “You did everything you could,” you whispered weakly, but with conviction. “But we can’t give up. We have to keep fighting.”

Sukuna nodded, your words igniting a spark of resolve within him. “I will become stronger, my night flower.” he vowed, his voice steadying with newfound determination. “We will not endure this again, you must trust me. They will all regret it, what they have done to us.”

You do not speak, but your eyes pooling with emotions he could not understand spoke enough. He leaned slowly down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, feeling the softness of his kiss upon your skin.

“Rest now, night flower.” he whispered, his voice filled with both love and resolve. “I will protect you. I promise.”

As you closed your eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, there was quiet. Ryomen Sukuna sat by your side, keeping watch. His mind was a whirlwind of plans and strategies, fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. One way or another, there was going to be an end. He was going to see to it.

The image of the destroyed Ryomen Manor and the memory of the bloodshed they had endured were etched into his mind. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and darkness, but he was determined to walk it, for you, and for the honor of the Ryomen clan.

With you resting beside him, Sukuna allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. He had always prided himself on his strength, but tonight had shown him the depths of his own limitations. But he knew that there was not a time for weakness. It was death waiting on the other side.

He couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not ever again. He had to rise above his humanity and embrace the monster within, for only then could he protect what remained of his family and reclaim what had been taken from them.

As the night wore on, Sukuna remained vigilant, his mind working tirelessly to devise a plan. The Fujiwara would pay for their treachery, and he would ensure that no more innocent lives were lost to their cruelty. He would become the nightmare that haunted their dreams, the force they could not escape. And in the end, he would restore peace and honor to the Ryomen name, no matter the cost.

In the quiet of Mikoto’s home, the weight of their situation settled upon them. The rain continued to fall outside, a mournful melody that seemed to echo their sorrow. But within these walls, there was a flicker of hope—a promise that they would endure.

THE WEEKS PASSED WITHOUT CHANGE. You continued to lay on the futon, your slender form wrapped in the folds of a once-vibrant kimono, now stained with tears and the remnants of the night's chaos. Your body trembled with exhaustion and grief, the weight of recent events pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Every fiber of you being ached with the residual effects of your cursed energy, a relentless torment that seemed to sears through your very soul.

The overwhelming strain of channeling your cursed energy had taken its toll, leaving every inch of your limbs heavy and by effect, your movements sluggish. Each breath was a struggle, the air feeling thick and suffocating in your lungs. Pain lanced through your body like a cruel reminder of their vulnerability, each throb a poignant echo of the devastation that had befallen them.

But it was not just the physical pain that tormented you. The emotional toll of witnessing their home's destruction and the loss of so many loved ones weighed heavily on your heart. Your mind was a whirlwind of memories and regrets, each thought a jagged shard of anguish that pierced your fragile resolve. Tears streamed down your pale cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime that clung to your skin, as you clutched at your chest, seeking solace in the futile hope of easing your inner turmoil.

In the dim light of the room, your grief-stricken form seemed to fade into the shadows, a ghostly silhouette of despair against the backdrop of their shattered lives. The futon beneath you felt cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth she had once known within the walls of Ryomen Manor. But even in the depths of her despair, there remained a flicker of determination, a stubborn refusal to succumb to the despair that threatened to consume you.

With each sob that wracked your body and each tear that fell, you clung to the fragile thread of hope that still lingered within your heart. You knew that their journey was far from over, that there were battles yet to be fought and sacrifices yet to be made. And though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty and peril, you drew strength from the love and resilience that bound you to Sukuna, knowing that together, they would weather the storm and emerge stronger than before.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his heart aching for his wife. Gently, he began to clean your body bit by bit, skin by skin, his touch tender and careful. He wiped away the tears from your cheeks and brushed the stray strands of hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze meeting him with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude.

Sukuna's voice, tender and reassuring, cut through the cacophony of your inner turmoil like a beacon of light in the darkness. With a gentle touch, he guided you through the tattered echoes of your current kimono, the fabric worn and frayed since your arrival previously. You had refused any form of water, having triggered you in grief from the nights before.

But it was Sukuna helping you. You trusted him. You trusted him with everything. In its place, he draped a clean garment around you, the softness of the material a comforting embrace against your weary skin.

As Sukuna tucked the edges of the kimono around you, his movements were careful and deliberate, each touch a silent promise of his unwavering devotion. The warmth of the fabric enveloped you like a protective cocoon, offering a brief respite from the harsh reality of their circumstances.

Once you were settled, Sukuna draped a warm blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he smoothed out the wrinkles with a gentle caress. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent vow to shield you from the storm that raged outside their fragile sanctuary.

"Rest now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll be here, watching over you. We'll face this together, night flower. You're not alone."

His words were a soothing melody in the chaos, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, they still had each other. With a final reassurance, Sukuna stepped back, his gaze lingering on you with every inch of devotion. Every echo of affection that he could muster in him. You were all he has in the world to live for, after all.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, with your breaths gradually slowing into a rhythmic pattern as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep. Sukuna lingered by your side for a moment longer, his gaze soft with concern as he ensured you were in comfort.

Satisfied that you were resting peacefully, he rose from his kneeling position and turned to find Masaomi standing vigilantly near the window, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond for any potential threats.

Approaching Mikoto Masaomi, Sukuna's expression was grave, weighted by the events that had transpired. He was curious about what had happened. From beginning to end, it was Masaomi who was there. Sukuna wonders if it was wrong of him to wish it was Masaomi who had died instead. Because you would tell him that. You wished no death upon anyone.

But he knew he couldn't help it. Your father and uncle were more valuable to you than Masaomi was. And to Sukuna, he couldn’t help but agree too. He grew up with your uncle as his own adoptive father. Though it was not the most common of relationships, it was Ryomen Hiramu who had taught him how to be a man. And to see a stranger alive, more than his own father — it didn’t sit well with him.

"What happened, Masaomi? How did it come to this?" he inquired, his voice heavy with both sorrow and determination. “How are you alive?”

Mikoto Masaomi turned to face him, his features drawn with fatigue over the matter. Sukuna thinks he could see guilt too. But he does not consider it enough. Enough to make up for the failures of living instead of the lord and his brother.

"Many perished in the attack," he began, his voice tinged with sadness. "The Fujiwara showed no mercy. But some of us managed to escape. Isamu-sama... he sacrificed himself to buy us time to flee."

Sukuna's jaw clenched at the mention of Isamu's sacrifice, his heart heavy with the weight of loss. That must have been the sprayed bodies he had found near the inner chambers. Bloody bodies were so mangled that Sukuna had not recognized them. They had perhaps drowned in their own blood and fluids. But that would have taken Isamu–sama’s body too.

"Isamu–sama should have left." he murmured softly, a pang of sorrow coursing through him as he remembered Isamu's selflessness in the face of danger. But now, with Isamu gone, the burden fell upon Hiromi. “Along with my father.”

“We cannot do much about it now, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword shook his head at him, his face distraught. “Hoping for a different course of action cannot bring them back.”

He gruntled. “I suppose it would not.”

Silence passes between the two of them.

Sukuna didn’t know what else to say.

Because what must be said now, with nothing?

"Hiromi-sama is our clan leader now," Masaomi declared, his voice unwavering despite the sorrow that lingered in his eyes. "Her survival is paramount to the survival of our entire clan."

Sukuna nodded in acknowledgment, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon him. He understood the responsibility that now rested on Hiromi's shoulders, but he also knew that she was in no condition to bear such weight alone.

"We need to ensure her safety," Sukuna stated firmly, his gaze flickering with determination. "But she cannot bear this burden alone. We must stand together, Masaomi. We will protect her, no matter the cost."

Masaomi nodded. “We can stay here for a while. It’s safe enough.”

“But not safe enough to linger for long.”

“On that we agree, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword nodded at his master’s consort. “We need to retake Hida, but we can’t do it alone.”

Sukuna shook his head, his expression resolute. “Then we wait for the response. But as soon as we find that there is trouble, we leave. The Fujiwara will start interrogating everyone in the area. If they find out we’re here, they’ll kill everyone to get to us.”

Masaomi sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation. “You’re right. We need to keep moving, keep them off our trail. But we’ll need a plan, and we’ll need more allies.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sukuna said firmly. “We have to. For Hiromi, for Isamu, for my father. And for everyone we’ve lost.”

Masaomi placed a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder, offering a silent gesture of solidarity. “We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll rebuild, and we’ll make them pay for what they’ve done.”

As the rain continued to fall outside, Sukuna and Masaomi stood together, watching the water pool together. They were not one to be close, that had been certain. But now they are united by their shared loss and their determination to fight back. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but they will do whatever it took. No matter the cost; the Ryomen name will live.

THEY BARELY SPOKE THESE DAYS. The days that followed their escape were marked by an increasing sense of isolation between Sukuna and you. You were too consumed by your grief, withdrawing further into yourself as the weight of their losses pressed down on your soul. You spent hours alone, your once bright eyes hollow and distant, barely speaking and seldom eating. The vibrant night flower Ryomen Sukuna had known seemed to wither before his eyes.

Sukuna, on the other hand, buried himself in his plans for revenge against the Fujiwara. The fire of vengeance burned within him, driving him to train relentlessly and strategize their assault. He pored over maps, studied enemy movements, and honed his jujutsu techniques until his body screamed for rest. Yet, he refused to stop, fearing that any moment of inactivity would allow the despair to consume him.

As Sukuna delved deeper into his preparations for revenge, the lines between night and day blurred into a ceaseless cycle of training and planning. His days began at the break of dawn, the first rays of sunlight finding him already immersed in rigorous training regimens, his muscles straining with each exertion. He pushed himself beyond his limits, his determination burning bright even as fatigue threatened to engulf him.

Amidst the solitude of his training grounds, Sukuna found solace in the rhythm of combat, the familiar movements of his jujutsu techniques serving as a refuge from the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. With each strike and parry, he channeled his grief and anger into the relentless pursuit of mastery, his resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.

Yet, even as Sukuna devoted himself wholeheartedly to his quest for vengeance, a nagging sense of emptiness gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He longed for you. Longed to have the short joy that you both shared as man and wife return. But he found himself unable to bridge the growing chasm that separated the two of you.

His heart ached with the knowledge that you bore your own burdens in silence, your grief a heavy burden that you carried alone. And he lets you. Rather than lose you to the words that would break you, that would break him.

Despite his best efforts to bury himself in his preparations, Ryomen Sukuna could not escape the pervasive sense of isolation that hung over him like a dark cloud. The weight of their losses pressed down on his shoulders like a leaden mantle, threatening to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace.

The tension between husband and wife finally reached a boiling point one evening. He realized that there cannot be anything if he could not break through you. He could no longer take it anymore. To see you a shattered doll, waiting for the time to pass. He wanted his wife. He wanted you. In that afternoon, Sukuna returned to their room, finding you sitting by the window.

You were letting time pass once again, ever so empty. Hollowed with grief. You kept staring out into the darkened gardens. You could easily see withering flowers, bitter without the luscious water that rains upon it. Sukuna hurts when he sees you like this. He feels like dying inside when he sees you without your soul.

“You’ve hardly spoken to me, all these many weeks.” Sukuna said, frustration and worry lacing his words. “I’m trying to make things right, night flower. I’m doing this for us. But I cannot do it without you. I need you. I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me in.”

You did not speak in response.

He bit at his lower lip harshly.

He wanted you to look at him.

He wanted you to say something.

Anything, whatever it may be.

He just needed you, here – with him.

You turned your gaze towards him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “For us? It feels like you’re only thinking of revenge. Can we not mourn? Can we not….We’ve lost everything, Sukuna. Our home, our family… our future.”

Sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the same pain? But sitting here and mourning won’t change anything. We need to act. Or we’ll die. We’ll die like our fathers. Don’t you understand?”

You stood up, your voice trembling with emotion. “Acting won’t bring them back! Revenge won’t heal what’s been broken. You’re so consumed by your anger that you’ve forgotten about us, about me. About us!”

Sukuna's frustration boiled over, his anger simmering beneath the surface like a raging inferno. "Forgotten about you?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I've sacrificed everything for us, for our future! And I’m continuing to do so. Can’t you see that?”

You recoiled at the intensity of his words, your own anger rising to meet him. "Sacrificed? Is that what you call it?" you retorted, your voice trembling with fury. "You've sacrificed our happiness, our love, all for the sake of your precious revenge! Sukuna, I’m tired of revenge. I’m tired of losing someone. If I…if this continues, I’ll lose you too and I cannot…”

Sukuna's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his fists tightening even further. "I'm doing what needs to be done!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of their makeshift shelter. "I won't sit idly by while those bastards get away with what they've done. To let them continue what they had done. I won't rest until they pay for their sins!"

Your lip curled in disgust, your own anger fueling your words. "And what about me? What about…." you demanded, your voice rising to match his. But you abruptly stop as you feel your lips tremble. "Does nothing else mean anything to you? Or are they just collateral damage in your quest for vengeance?"

Sukuna's chest heaved with the force of his rage, his mind clouded with fury and despair. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect us, wife." he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Even if it means becoming the cruelest of them all. Us or them. That is the choice. That is the way.”

With those words hanging in the air like a curse, Ryomen Sukuna stormed out of the room, leaving you alone in the darkness, your heart heavy with sorrow and regret. Tears poured from your eyes as you lowered your head, feeling a sob reverberate from your throat.

The training yard was cloaked in a somber atmosphere, the air heavy with the weight of Sukuna's relentless determination. MIkoto Masaomi observed from a distance as Sukuna unleashed the full force of his abilities, his movements fluid and precise as he practiced the devastating techniques that would become his arsenal in the coming battle.

"Sukuna—sama, you need to rest." Masaomi called out, his voice tinged with concern. He steps forward, his lips curled into a flat line. "This path you're on... it's tearing you apart, and it's not what Hiromi—sama needs right now."

Sukuna’s anger flared, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Rest? How can I rest when everything has been taken from us? When my wife is drowning in grief and our enemies are still out there? Nothing will change if I rest. My wife will still mourn, and it won’t bring back what we’ve lost. More so, we could die. I will not let that happen.”

“Sukuna—sama, please—”

Sukuna paused mid-strike, his muscles tensing as he turned to face Masaomi, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Rest is a luxury we can't afford, Mikoto." he replied, his voice edged with determination. "The Fujiwara took everything from us. Our home, our family... I won't rest until they pay for their crimes. I either die trying or live doing it all.”

Masaomi shook his head, his expression grave. "I understand your anger, Sukuna. But you mustn't lose sight of what's truly important. Hiromi–sama needs you now more than ever. My lady needs you more than ever, not a vengeful sorcerer consumed by hatred. There will be time for that. But you must—”

Sukuna's jaw tightened at Masaomi's words, the conflict within him evident in the furrow of his brow.

"I didn’t abandon her. I won't abandon her." he insisted, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. "But I can't stand by while those responsible for our suffering roam free. I have to do this, or we’ll never be free from fear. We’ll only suffer.”

“My lord! My lord Sukuna!” A servant rushes through the corner and into the practice yard. Sukuna’s face contorts as the servant dips into a hurried bow. “You must come, hurry!”

“W-what’s going on?” Sukuna stutters as he looks at the servant’s face as it turns into a pitiful mess, tears falling over. “Speak.”

“My lady…..there was so much blood.” She finally stutters towards him as she sobs freely now. His face furrows into confusion and worry. Before finally it hits him. “My lady was with child and she….”

The courtyard fell silent, the weight of the servant's words hanging heavy in the air like a shroud of sorrow. Sukuna's heart clenched with a mixture of fear and anguish as he absorbed the devastating news. Before he could even process the full extent of the tragedy, his wife’s anguished cry pierced the stillness, sending a chill down his spine.

In an instant, Sukuna was by your side, his hands trembling as he knelt beside her. The sight of you writhing in pain, your cries echoing through the courtyard, tore at his very soul. It was as if his world had been reduced to a blur of agony and despair, his own grief mirrored in the depths of your tear-filled eyes.

Without a word, Sukuna gathered you into his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the pain that threatened to consume them both. You could barely move as you withered into his arms. He whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos, though he knew that no words could ever mend the shattered pieces of their shattered dreams.

In the dimly lit room, amidst the echoes of his wife’s anguished cries, Sukuna's own voice trembled with sorrow and regret. Over and over again, you muttered with anguish apologies to the dead. You cry about your father, you cry about your uncle, and now you cry about your child. The child who deserved better, who deserved the world.

He could feel the weight of his words heavy on his tongue, each syllable a painful reminder of his own failures and shortcomings. They tasted bitter in his tongue, painful in his chest. You were with child. It made sense. Why you had been so frightful. Why you had been feeling such grief, knowing you had just lost your father and outlived him. And soon to bear his child — only to lose them and outlive them too.

"My love….my night flower, I'm so sorry," Sukuna whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air like a lament, filled with the raw anguish of a heart torn apart by grief. With trembling hands, he reached out to you, pulling you close as if to shield you from the world itself. “I am so sorry.”

As you clung to him, your tears staining the fabric of his clothes, Sukuna felt a swell of helplessness wash over him, the weight of their loss pressing down on his shoulders like a suffocating weight. In that moment, all he could do was hold you close, his arms a sanctuary amidst the storm of their shattered dreams.

HE COULD NOT BRING HIMSELF TO ENTER YOUR CHAMBERS FOR DAYS. For days, Sukuna found himself unable to muster the courage to enter your chambers. It was too much guilt that ate at him, having caused you so much distress. Having belittled your grief and distaste for revenge. He could not face you. Not after that. Not after he had hurt you, when he wanted to protect you, care for you.

The weight of your shared grief hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over his every thought and action. Yet Sukuna felt like he had no right to mourn. He had no right to mourn when he had a part in this. As the days passed and the pain of your loss refused to diminish, Sukuna knew that he could no longer avoid facing the reality of their situation.

You cannot do what he needs you to do. And he will not force you to do it. Not when you were not in the state to do it. Not when you were already in so much pain. If there are gods above that were real, he knows that this was their punishment upon him. That he had not been enough. That he has caused you must suffer. It was on him now, to get that revenge. To take that revenge. He had to let you go.

With a heavy heart and a resolve born of necessity, Sukuna finally steeled himself to enter the dimly lit room where you lay on the futon. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft sound of your shallow breaths. As he approached your bedside, Sukuna's footsteps seemed to echo in the stillness, each one a testament to the weight of his burden.

Kneeling beside you, Sukuna felt a surge of emotion well up within him, threatening to overwhelm his fragile composure. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently took you in on his own. The chill of your skin sent a shiver down his spine.

"Night flower," he began, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. I’ve been weak. I’ve failed you. And now I have hurt you, after I had promised not to.”

Your eyes fluttered open, as though they were flowers in spring. You looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion. Sukuna's grip tightened slightly, his desperation to convey his remorse palpable.

"I thought I could protect you, that I could make things right. But I’ve only driven us further into despair. I can’t be the man you need right now. To become strong enough to avenge our family, I have to abandon the man I am and become something else. A monster. And I cannot let you be tied to loving a man who cannot be there.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you squeezed his hand weakly. "Sukuna... no...please. I can’t….I cannot… Not without you.”

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to your hand. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. And our child... I hope they can forgive me too. For being such a weak husband and a weak father to boot.”

Sukuna's voice trembled with emotion as he poured out his heart to you, his words heavy with the weight of his remorse. His confession hung in the air, a poignant admission of his perceived failures and the depth of his anguish. With each syllable, you could feel everything. Tears flowed from your eyes.

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your sorrow-filled gaze. The raw emotion in your eyes mirrored his own inner turmoil. He didn’t want to go. And you do not want to let him go. But the longer he stays, the longer he’d cause you more pain. Despite the gravity of his words, despite his resolve to cut that red string of fate between you, Ryomen Sukuna felt his heart hurt as your hand tightened around his own. As though begging him to never let go.

“Don’t leave me.” You cried to him, weakly. “Please….”

“I have to go.” He whispers back, just as lowly. He lets his hand caress the other side of your face, feeling the tears pouring slowly. “Or else I will only hurt you. I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

As Sukuna's cheek rested against your hand, a profound sense of peace enveloped him, casting aside the tumult of his inner turmoil. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, he found solace in this last moment between you two. He lets his lips echo a soft sigh, as he burns this memory deep in him.

Your touch, the warmth, the way you looked at him with all that hurt, all that love in one — it will always be a soothing balm to his wounded soul, a reminder of the enduring strength you both drew from each other amidst the chaos that surrounded you both. And he will endure. He vows to do so.

Yet, despite the comfort he found in your presence, Sukuna knew that he could not linger in this moment of tranquility. This cannot last too long. He must steel himself for what lay ahead, for the path he had chosen demanded sacrifice and resolve.

With a heavy heart, he looks at you. He lets his hand free from your cheek and take your hand from his cheek. He lets his lips press a kiss upon the palm. You choked into a grievous cry as he shakes his lips a little while longer. When he stops, he smiles at you. He bids you one last look, one last longing.

As he rose to his feet, a pang of sorrow pierced his stoic facade, threatening to shatter the mask of composure he wore. Sukuna was not one to shed tears, you knew that all too well. Yet the thought of leaving Hiromi and their departed child they had lost stirred a wellspring of emotion within him. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he took a steadying breath, steeling himself for the task that lay ahead.

Ryomen Sukuna silently bid his beloved farewell, his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. Turning away, he left the room without another word, his resolve hardened with each resolute step he took. Outside, Masaomi awaited him, his expression a mirror of Sukuna's own inner turmoil.

He knew what happened, being that silent witness to the burdens they both carried. But he does not say anything. He did not need to. Everything that has been said between husband and wife has been left into the world long dead.

"You’ll need to flee very soon." Sukuna said, his tone steely. "Take Hiromi–sama and go onwards to safety. Protect our lady with your life, if necessary."

As Sukuna spoke, his words carried a weighty urgency, his tone laced with an unwavering resolve that brooked no argument. He knew that time was of the essence, that they could not afford to linger in the wake of tragedy. And more so, he would not be there to see to it that there is success. Sukuna needs to make sure that they will look after you.

Even when he wasn’t there. Someone else has to. They have to. With every passing moment bringing them closer to danger, Sukuna knew that at whatever cost, he’d rather all had died but you. You have to live. He has to know you will live.

Masaomi, ever the steadfast guardian, met Sukuna's gaze with a solemn nod, his own demeanor reflecting the gravity of their situation. He understood the gravity of Sukuna's words and the importance of their mission. With a sense of duty ingrained deep within him, Masaomi bowed at his lord ever so elegantly.

"I will, my lord." Masaomi affirmed, his voice steady despite the weight of their circumstances. "I'll start organizing the evacuation of Mikoto immediately. Hiromi–sama safety is my utmost priority, Sukuna-sama. The Ryomen will live. You have my word."

“Go off then. Before they come.”

Sukuna watched as the sworn sword nodded at him. He watched as Masaomi walked away, barking orders to the remaining guards and servants and soon, reverberated elsewhere in his own estate. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was leaving you in a time of such vulnerability. But there was no other choice. You both have to part.

As the preparations for their escape continued, Sukuna stood alone, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He felt the man he once was slipping away, replaced by a relentless force driven by fury and sorrow. The world had taken everything from him, and he would stop at nothing to reclaim it.

And in the midst of it all, he prayed that one day, you and your lost child would find it in their hearts to forgive him for the monster he was about to become. For the villain he will now play. For the blood that must be shed. Revenge must be had. At all costs.

HE HAD EXPECTED THEM. It was that late night, under the shroud of darkness, that the Fujiwara launched their assault on the Mikoto household. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was broken only by the distant sounds of approaching footsteps. It was Ryomen Sukuna who stood alone in the courtyard, his figure a solitary sentinel against the coming storm.

The battlefield was a chaotic frenzy of clashing cursed energy and cursed weapons. One could hear the cries of battle from miles away. One could feel that air thickened with the stench of blood and sweat. In the face of the Fujiwara coming towards him with their relentless advance, Ryomen Sukuna stood as a solitary figure of defiance, his resolve unyielding despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him.

As the enemy surged forward with deadly intent, their movements swift and coordinated, Sukuna braced himself for the onslaught one after another. He could feel himself bathe in blood at each turn. One after another, there was his fist that took one life in a flash. With a fierce determination burning in his darkened eyes, he met their charge head-on, his every movement calculated and precise.

With each strike he delivered, Sukuna's strength and skill were made evident to all. It was why he was so famous, why he had been the pride of the Ryomen. His blows were like thunder, each one landing with bone-crushing force and leaving devastation in its wake. Yet, for every foe he felled, it seemed that two more took their place, their numbers swelling with each passing moment.

Undeterred by the overwhelming odds, Sukuna fought on with a grim determination, he did not care what it would cost him. With his every movement a testament to his unwavering resolve, there was nothing he had to lose. Perhaps it was what was terrifying. That a man who has nothing to lose raged against the onslaught of the many who have few to lose. Sukuna refused to back down, his spirit unbroken even as fatigue threatened to drag him down.

As Sukuna fought, his thoughts were a tumult of resolve and desperation. ”I have to be strong.” he muttered to himself between breaths. ”A monster cannot fail.”

Ryomen Sukuna knew that he had to survive here. to cultivate all his hatred, his anguish, his grief; just so he can return to you. There was no other choice. He needs to be the monster that he'd always been, he needs to be the cruel beast. He needs to be strong. He needs to protect you. So you would never suffer again.

He could feel the edges of his sanity fraying, the need to protect Hiromi and avenge their family pushing him beyond human limits. In the midst of the chaos, an idea began to form, a desperate gamble. He didn’t yet have full control of his domain just yet, but if he didn’t try now, he might never have another chance to know where he was. He needed to push, push hard until he—

With a guttural roar, Sukuna pushed his cursed energy to its limits, summoning every ounce of his power. The air around him began to warp and twist, dark energy crackling like lightning. He envisioned the Malevolent Shrine, a twisted, mangled reflection of his own inner turmoil and rage.

“Domain expansion!” Ryomen Sukuna cried, as his hands meddled together. His eyes were redder than the scarlet blood that mellowed his body. More dangerous. More animalistic. More maddened than ever before. “Malevolent Shrine!”

It did not take long for the battlefield transformed into a nightmare realm, the air thick with an otherworldly chill that seeped into the bones of all who dared to tread upon it. In the heart of this twisted landscape stood a small, disfigured Buddhist shrine, its very presence an affront to all that was sacred.

The shrine was a grotesque mockery of its former self, its once serene façade twisted and corrupted by malevolent forces. Horns protruded from its roof like the gnarled horns of a demon, casting sinister shadows that danced across the blood-soaked ground below. Human skulls adorned its edges, their empty eye sockets staring out with an eerie, haunting gaze.

The entrances to the shrine were gaping mouths, their jagged teeth bared in a silent snarl of malevolence. Each mouth seemed to beckon, promising untold horrors to those foolish enough to venture within. And at the corners of the shrine stood four short, twisted trees, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands, grasping at the very fabric of reality itself.

As they faced down the advancing enemy forces, Ryomen Sukuna could feel how electric he felt. He could feel their fear. The way the shiver of fear ran down each and every pitiful fool’s spine. This was no ordinary battlefield; this was a realm of nightmares, where the very essence of evil itself seemed to pulse and thrum with a malevolent energy. And in the heart of it all stood the shrine, a silent sentinel of darkness, casting its shadow over all who dared to challenge its authority.

Ryomen Sukuna stood at the heart of the malevolent domain, his very presence radiating a dark and ominous energy that sent shivers down the spines of all who beheld him. The Fujiwara forces, once filled with bravado, now hesitated, their resolve crumbling in the face of such overwhelming power.

His body moved with a brutal grace, every attack a testament to his determination. The shrine's dark power amplified his abilities, making him an unstoppable force. Yet even as he fought, a part of him knew this was only the beginning. He would need to refine his control, to shape his domain with precision. But for now, raw power was enough.

The grotesque mouths that served as entrances to the shrine spat forth torrents of dark energy, swallowing up soldiers and tearing them apart with merciless each and every cut that pierced through them. Nothing would be left of them soon enough. Those who dared to approach found themselves consumed by a vortex of despair, their very souls torn asunder by the malevolent forces at play.

Meanwhile, the gnarled trees that stood sentinel at the corners of the shrine lashed out with their twisted branches, striking down foes with unnatural speed and precision. Each blow was delivered with the force of a sledgehammer, crushing bone and rending flesh with terrifying ease.

As the battlefield erupted into chaos, Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his laughter mingling with the screams of the dying. In that moment, he was not merely a man; he was a force of nature, he was death in itself; a harbinger of destruction whose wrath knew no bounds. And as the Fujiwara fell before him, he reveled in the dark power that coursed through his veins, knowing that he had become something more than human.

He had become a monster.

facts about this chapter

i had to reread the story again because i was off the grid from it so long, i had to follow my plot again but here we are; this took the second longest to write, maybe a whole day, but the prep time was longer than that.

i ended up changing something with regards to the way sukuna leaves hiromi. originally, i thought i was going to make him be kidnapped by the fujiwara and thrown off in desolate isolation and that's how he becomes a cursed user. but i decided against it.

sukuna doesnt have a complete domain yet like megumi but sukuna over time will be developing it. he lives longer than hiromi, so he has time.

when i was wondering how i could save hiromi and sukuna, it made sense that it owuld be masaomi. i thought about putting suzaku in it already, but it would be too early to bring him up considering he has more of a role to play later on.

sukuna meets yozuru later on, but she's from the fujiwara. so the fujiwara isn't really fully eradicated UNTIL sukuna decides to take them out later on. that's why the war with them will keep going on for a while.

in heian culture, ghosting or leaving your spouse was considered the divorce. sukuna leaving hiromi was a form of divorce. even though few knew, it was still sukuna filing for divorce.

it takes too muhc on hiromi to use her powers. but considering how she was emotionally and mentally unstable and depressed, it made her even worse. through this time, the voices were mocking her as well. hiromi was having a really hard time.

sukuna found the room where isamu died in. but he didn't really know which one he was as isamu used his water cursed technique to kill everyone including him. so there was no body left. sukuna tried to find hiramu, but he couldn't find him.

masaomi lost his father that night as well. his father was in ryomen manor too and died alongside his vassal lords. he's also lord mikoto now, clan leader, as of that happening.

sukuna's domain, though small so far, did destroy mikoto compound. it killed only fujiwara sorcerers as they were all that was there in that moment.

sukuna and hiromi's child was not on my previous draft, but i thought it was something that was profound to wake sukuna up to the fact that there was something more important to hiromi than revenge and that was him and their child.

hiromi is now the clan leader of the ryomen. this makes her the first female clan leader of the ryomen. all of her retainers are scattered all across hida in hiding or in other neighboring allies like the gojos. masaomi intends to bring her to one of these allies to help regroup. that's where we'll meet them next chapter.

the song hongyeon was such a perfect song. as its hinted at, they'll be in each other's lives until the end. i consider them tied by fate. and that's something that is just profound.

the quote in the gif is being said by gojo when he talks about how the mikoto taught him about sukuna's life. being a descendant of hiromi, he knows stuff like this.

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