#I also can get behind the personal honor and maintaining your own values in keeping up connections because you value the person

[rickktish]

The hypocritical dichotomy of “I have the right to separate myself from those who have hurt me, I hold no obligation to them or to the connections we once had” and “I will hold the people who have hurt me personally accountable for the pain they have caused me and prioritize myself above their feelings” is the kind of thing that makes me want to tear my hair out and start biting people

[waifuoftomonori]

Aki After Tentacles: Chapter 6 - Complex (Part 1)

[Story Summary: After defending the Princess from a tentacled Void-like monster, Akifusa wakes up biologically female. The only way for him to regain his former body (and hopefully get over his newfound attraction to his male best friend, who also happens to be Shiki’s husband) is to become pregnant. Or: Tomonori remains unconvinced that he deserves nice things.

A/N: This one needs a lot of trimming. Sorry in advance.] *** “I’m having troubles with my wife, Kotokura-dono.”

Tomonori tried to keep his eyebrows from shooting up as he paused in organizing the papers on his makeshift workstation in Shinetsu Temple and lifted his gaze. “Your wife?”

The speaker— one of the lower-ranking civil servants, Nishina no Takeshi— flinched at the eye contact but took a faltering step forward, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you— I know you’re probably busy, and it’s a personal matter— but I don’t know who else to ask. And everyone says you’re… proficient in this area.” His face reddened. “Any advice you can give would be appreciated.”

A suspicion tugged at the back of Tomonori’s mind, causing his own cheeks to prickle for a moment, but he swiftly dismissed it and summoned a smile. “I can spare a few moments. Go on.” Maintaining proper barriers between one’s personal and professional life was important, but so was securing the trust of one’s subordinates, and it was the first time Takeshi had ever approached him with an issue unrelated to work.

And surely he was just being paranoid about the precise nature of these marital troubles. His mind had only traveled in that direction because of his own precarious situation. Takeshi was a publicly reserved man; it seemed reasonable that merely raising the subject of his marriage, especially to admit difficulties, would fluster him. His question probably pertained to an argument about chores or balancing work and romance or perhaps a lack of sensitivity on his end concerning his wife’s biological cycles. (Despite Tomonori’s best efforts, an appalling number of men in Kifu persisted in believing that monthly bleeding was somehow evidence of moral impurity in the female body— though most of them knew better by now than to mention this theory in his or Shiki’s presence.)

But the instant Takeshi opened his mouth again, a shiver of premonition rippled icily down Tomonori’s spine. “Suzume doesn’t react the way she once did when we kiss or… or do more than that. She doesn’t protest, but she no longer seems enthusiastic; her body is going through the motions, but her mind is obviously elsewhere.”

Tomonori kept his expression carefully neutral, despite the blush he could feel creeping back up his neck. “I see.”

Takeshi failed miserably to take the hint. “It wasn’t always like this. On our first night together, she—”

“Why are you telling me this?” he cut in, before Takeshi could embarrass his poor, dissatisfied wife any further. Perhaps she’d like you better if you tried respecting her privacy for a change, Nishina-san.

“I… I just wanted to give you as much information as possible. For context.”

Tomonori drew a slow, deep breath and managed to retain his composure. “Very well. Let me rephrase that. Why are you asking me, in particular, for help with this matter? I’m honored that you value my opinion, but I’ve been married less than a year—” He stopped. Takeshi’s face was coloring again. “Surely not everyone is saying I’m proficient at… at that.”

The other man gave a helpless shrug. “Probably not everyone.” His tone indicated it was still quite a few people.

Tomonori suppressed a groan, settling instead for a brief rub of his brow. He had a feeling he knew who was to blame for this sudden development— unless of course it wasn’t sudden, and Shiki had been gushing behind his back. (His emotions were thoroughly mixed about this possibility.) Either way, there would have to be words… not that they mattered at this point. The damage had most likely already been done.

“Regardless,” he said, meeting Takeshi’s gaze again, “this is hardly my area of expertise. Furutsugu-dono has much more practical experience—”

“I can’t possibly go to Furutsugu with this. I mean, Furutsugu-dono.” Takeshi shifted uncomfortably. “There are… some unsavory rumors about him. I would rather not let him know that my relationship with my wife isn’t as strong as it could be.”

Tomonori sighed. “I see your point.” Despite himself, his eyes flickered back to the papers on the desk. Autumn was rapidly approaching— harvest season, the busiest of the year. So far, the tsuchigumo refugees had transitioned smoothly to daily life in Kifu, but most of them came from nomadic tribes with no agricultural experience. They would learn through practice, but the budget would have to account for—

“So what do you think I should do differently? Are there any techniques you’d suggest, or…”

“Perhaps this is a discussion you should be having with Suzume and not me. I can’t answer your question, because I don’t know her, but I can assure you she probably knows her own preferences perfectly well.” Only long years of practice masking his emotions kept him from snapping the words. “Talk to her,” he added, to soften the blow a little. “Listen to what she has to say. That applies to other areas of your marriage as well.”

Takeshi stared at him with wide eyes as if the simple idea of direct communication with his wife had never before crossed his mind. “I… I’ll try that,” he eventually said, dropping into a bow. “Thank you for the advice, Kotokura-dono.”

“It’s no bother,” he lied, smiling.

As soon as Takeshi had disappeared, he rolled up the papers for ease of transport, scooped them into his arms, and briskly departed for the sanctity of his private study. Usually Tomonori liked to spend half the day (sometimes the morning, sometimes the afternoon) either working in one of the shrine’s more public areas, as he’d intended today, or walking around the village to check that everything was running smoothly and to make any necessary modifications if it wasn’t. He also used the time to chat with the villagers and encouraged them to come to him with any problems, which he worked to resolve as efficiently as possible and brought to Shiki’s attention as needed. Although the bulk of his work still took place on paper, his shoulders hunched over his desk, he recognized the importance of staying in touch with reality.

He’d planned to spend the afternoon in his study, but already he could feel a headache throbbing behind his temples. Somehow he suspected that a fairly large proportion of the concerns villagers brought to him today would be similar to Takeshi’s.

Why did Akifusa have to be so loud?

Shiki was loud too, sometimes, but that was different. She had spent years suffering in silence, determined to face her fate with courage and a minimum of complaint. She deserved to be loud now. He rejoiced in every moan, every cry, every gasp and plea and sigh his touch wrested from her lips— especially the ones that happened to take the form of his name, though he had to admit “Master” had grown on him— and he wouldn’t be ashamed if everyone from Kifu to the capital to the distant lands across the Western sea heard her. (Embarrassed, perhaps, but not ashamed.) Sometimes he wished they would.

Most of the time, though, Tomonori had no desire for the entire village to know the inner workings of his personal life, nor did he wish to know the sordid details of theirs— especially given the level of ignorant brutality he already knew a fair number of the men possessed regarding the female body.

He couldn’t think about that now. Dwelling on it would only agitate him further. He paused to collect his breath before continuing across the courtyard.

He didn’t want a reputation for this, especially since word of Furutsugu’s dalliances with unhappy housewives had begun to spread. The thought of cultivating similar rumors about himself, even if only via careful deception, made Tomonori ill, and it would be cruel to Shiki besides, even if she was fully aware of the lie. Perhaps he should start planting favorable gossip about someone else— Kodonomae? he seemed like he’d take it in stride— to draw some of the attention off himself for a while. Then again, that could raise the question of how he knew about Kodonomae’s bedroom prowess—

“Tomonori!” A high, breathless, discomfitingly loud voice rang out behind him, intruding on his scheming as per usual.

Reluctantly, he slowed his pace, allowing Akifusa to catch up. “You’ve made things very difficult for me this morning,” Tomonori said, shooting him a cursory glance before fixing his gaze forward again. At least they’d almost reached his study.

He heard Akifusa gulp. “This morning? I… I don’t know what I did this morning.”

“Of course you don’t.” Predictably, Akifusa bristled in his peripheral vision; Tomonori allowed himself a quick smirk before concluding, “Because you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh? But you said—”

“I’m talking about your inability to keep your voice down when discussing sensitive matters. Get the door for me, will you? My arms are full.”

Of course, he was more than capable of shifting some scrolls under his arm and opening the door for himself, but he enjoyed watching Akifusa’s ears redden as he hastened to obey. “Thank you, Akifusa,” he said quietly as he slipped past, stifling a laugh as they flushed even redder.

Once inside, he deposited the papers on his desk and turned to find Akifusa still hovering outside the doorway, gaze lowered to his feet as if he worried he’d trigger an avalanche of books and scrolls just by looking at the racks too long. Evidently he had taken to heart Tomonori’s repeated injunction to avoid setting foot in his study without his express permission. Tomonori was momentarily tempted to shut the door in his face— he just wanted some peace this morning so he could immerse himself in work and mentally prepare for the barrage of covert stares and explicit questions he would suffer in the village later, and the idea of Akifusa’s outraged arousal at the reminder of who wielded the power held a certain appeal— but he stifled the urge with a sigh. “Are you going to come in or keep standing in the door looking like a scolded puppy?”

“I can come in?”

“That was implied, yes. Just don’t touch anything.”

“I won’t,” Akifusa said solemnly, hesitating one final moment before crossing the threshold. His storm-gray eyes widened as they scanned the walls, a tinge of pink entering his cheeks; it took him a moment to recover enough to close the door. “Th-thank you for honoring me with this privilege, Tomonori.”

“I pulled you in here just a few days ago,” he pointed out, biting back a smile despite himself. Once again, Akifusa was tossing him the reins without even realizing it, thrusting control into his hands without even a semblance of a struggle. Poor, helpless, naive Aki-kun, trembling before he’d even been touched. Why did he always have to do this?

He needed to be taught a lesson.

But that could wait. There were one or two things they needed to address first.

Akifusa had gone back to gazing around the room, lips parted and chest heaving in a way that suggested panting— panting? how was he this excited already?— so Tomonori stepped forward and tugged his chin into place, holding his stare for a moment before letting him go. “Was there a reason you wanted to talk to me?” It was probably best to get that out of the way first, before unfulfilled desire overrode Akifusa’s ability to make coherent statements. Although Tomonori liked him best when Akifusa’s vocabulary was reduced to Tomo, more, and please, along with an assortment of whines and whimpers, he had to admit this state wasn’t conducive to actual conversation.

“Yes.” Akifusa straightened, a glimmer of clarity returning to his expression. “There are two reasons.”

“You’re not getting more than one kiss this morning, no matter how much you beg,” he said dryly, provoking a deeper flush.

“Th-that’s not what I was going to ask! Well, one of them was, but not both.” Akifusa paused, eyes flickering to Tomonori’s mouth; a small lump slid down his throat. “Please—”

“We’ll get to that. What’s your other question?”

Akifusa peeled his gaze back up and took a deep breath. “When can we try again?” His blush darkened to the usual vibrant vermillion, but he didn’t look away.

Tomonori stared at him, unable to keep his eyebrows from rising. “You want to try again already?” It had barely been twelve hours. Considering how things had ended last night, he’d been fully prepared to give Akifusa space for a few days to sort out his conflicting, no-doubt-complicated feelings about his own body, Tomonori’s body, and the situation as a whole.

He supposed he should have known better. None of Akifusa’s feelings were ever complicated. It was a quality Tomonori envied as much as he pitied.

Akifusa nodded rapidly. The comparison to a puppy had been apt; Tomonori could practically hear his tail wagging. (Maybe that also explained why his head made such a tempting target for pats these days, now that Tomonori no longer needed to wait until he was sitting or else stretch his arm up to deliver them.) “Whenever you’re ready. Whatever night. Well, the night would work better, but day too—”

“I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Shiki yet,” he interrupted. It wasn’t exactly true; she’d been awake when he’d returned to their room last night. She’d given him a curious look as he slid into bed beside her, but she hadn’t pressed the matter, and they hadn’t discussed it while they snuggled this morning, either. He had no intention of avoiding the subject entirely— he’d planned to bring it up today at some point—  but he’d wanted a chance to calm down and collect his thoughts first.

Besides, recently it felt like every other conversation they had related to Akifusa in some way. Some of that was probably unavoidable, and she kept insisting she wasn’t jealous, but Tomonori still felt the need to preserve what the two of them had— to carve out some time each day for Shiki alone, to leave some areas of their relationship untouched by Akifusa’s shadow. Mentioning Akifusa in a sexual context while the two of them lay curled in each other’s arms on the futon they’d shared every night since their marriage would have felt like a violation of those unspoken boundaries— especially after all of Akifusa’s little noises, all of his blushes and shivers and begging, had left Tomonori uncomfortably aroused even by the time he’d slipped under the covers.

“Oh.” Akifusa’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t protest. “I understand.”

Tomonori sighed, relenting a little. “I’ll have an answer for you by dinnertime. It’ll probably be sometime within the next week.”

“The next week?”

“You’ll survive.” Akifusa looked uncertain but nodded; Tomonori pressed his lips together to avoid laughing. “I can’t promise anything more specific until I’ve spoken with Shiki.”

“All right.” Akifusa paused, forehead wrinkling as his blush renewed its efforts; he appeared to be having a serious internal debate, emotions flickering one at a time over those guileless gray-blue eyes. From the shifts in his expression alone, Tomonori was forming a pretty clear picture of how the argument was unfolding. The temptation to laugh intensified. Eventually, Akifusa drew in a deep, unsteady breath and looked up, cheeks a boiling crimson. “I… I liked the blindfold. Even though it didn’t work like you said it would.”

Tomonori blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that, exactly. Or, rather, he hadn’t expected Akifusa to admit it so readily. “You liked it, or your body did?”

“I… B-both of us did. You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

A smile tickled his lips. “Never.” Not until Akifusa gave in and admitted that it was an embarrassingly transparent excuse to deny all responsibility for having more-than-platonic feelings for his best friend, anyway. Maybe he was right and he hadn’t felt a grain of attraction to Tomonori until his transformation; maybe it had amplified feelings that were merely lying dormant. Either way, refusing to examine it in any more detail seemed like a cheap way out. “You enjoyed being blindfolded, though?”

In defiance of reason, which suggested there couldn’t possibly be any more blood in Akifusa’s body that hadn’t rushed to his head by this point, his blush found a way to deepen. “Y-yes. In fact, I… I wouldn’t mind doing it again. If you wanted.”

Tomonori’s breath quickened a little. He couldn’t help it.

He’d enjoyed the blindfolding too— even though it hadn’t gone quite the way he imagined it, and not just because it had ended early. In truth, he’d been more prepared for Akifusa to call it off than he’d been for his own perplexing reaction to having Akifusa blind and even more helpless than usual, completely at his mercy.

It had excited him; of course it had excited him. Part of him had wanted nothing more than to mock Akifusa endlessly, to force him to grovel and weep and admit his own weakness and worthlessness and the fact that Shiki would never love him the way she loved Tomonori before granting him anything remotely resembling relief. (He wasn’t entirely sure, now, how long he could have continued along this route before his pesky conscience got the better of him, but the fantasy had definitely crossed his mind.)

But something had curled in his chest as the full extent of Akifusa’s vulnerability sank in. Akifusa had been blind. Akifusa had no sexual experience beyond kissing and a single clothed chest fondle. Akifusa was stuck in a body that made him intensely uncomfortable, and the longer they went on, the harder it would be for either of them to ignore. Akifusa was smaller and weaker than him— and Tomonori wasn’t exactly large or strong to start with.

Akifusa trusted him, enough to beg him to do his worst. Akifusa needed him.

(There was also the fact, Tomonori was forced to concede, that Shiki had chosen him over Akifusa. He hadn’t thought of it at the time, but he supposed the lack of present competition for her love might also be a factor.)

In short: Akifusa had been so helpless last night that Tomonori had been struck with the ridiculous and completely unprecedented desire to protect him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shaking off the thought.

“Or you could do other things, too,” Akifusa offered, squirming a little but holding his gaze steadily. “Anything you want. You don’t have to hold back.”

This, of course, was the problem with feeling protective of Akifusa: the two greatest threats to Akifusa’s safety were his lack of self-preservation instinct and Tomonori himself.

Then again, Tomonori hadn’t wanted to harm him last night, and he’d been able to stop at the word “Sword”. Perhaps— just perhaps— Shiki was right about his “villain complex” getting in the way of his own pleasure, just a little.

“You would really let me do anything,” he said quietly, more statement than question. Akifusa nodded anyway. (It was the twelfth time he’d promised “anything”, Tomonori noted automatically.) “I’m starting to believe you, Akifusa.”

“Only starting?! I wouldn’t—”

“I know you wouldn’t intentionally lie. Keep your voice down.” Tomonori sighed, gathering his composure once again. “I’d meant to talk to you about that, actually. Has anyone asked you any… personal questions today?”

“Personal questions?” Akifusa’s forehead wrinkled. “Other than you?”

“Yes, other than me, you dolt.”

Akifusa shook his head. “I haven’t talked to anyone else this morning. I’ve just been doing sword reps.”

“All right.” That was a small comfort. “Apparently people heard us last night, and there’s at least one rumor going around.”

“What’s the rumor?”

“First of all, it’s worth noting that everyone probably assumes we had sex.” He paused: Akifusa was wriggling again, eyes glazing slightly. “Are you paying attention?”

“Uh-huh.” It emerged as two barely audible puffs of air, recognizable as assent only by the accompanying tiny nod. To test his theory, Tomonori took a step forward. The squirms multiplied, Akifusa’s thighs rubbing frantically.

“Akifusa…” He could feel the corners of his mouth twitching, threatening to rise despite himself. He had the vague sense that he should be more exasperated by Akifusa’s inability to focus on an issue that had been weighing on Tomonori’s mind since he’d found out— an issue that involved Akifusa as well— than he was. Maybe once he would have been. He stepped forward again, sliding a hand over Akifusa’s cheek; unsurprisingly, it was hot to the touch. “Will it help you focus if I kiss you now?” he murmured, eyes fixed on the wide blue-gray pair before him. Despite all of Akifusa’s recent physical changes, his eyes were exactly the same as they’d always been, large and vulnerable and painfully sincere. Akifusa leaned forward, but Tomonori was prepared; he withdrew just a few inches, clicking his tongue admonishingly. “You’re always so impatient. Answer the question.”

“Um.” Akifusa swallowed. “M-maybe?” He was too honest even to say yes. Tomonori’s smirk widened.

He knew he needed to concentrate, since Akifusa clearly wasn’t going to do it for him. He needed to end this conversation, give Akifusa his kiss, and get back to work. If only Akifusa could be a little less entertaining to tease for just a minute or two.

Rallying, he pulled back a bit farther. “The specific rumor doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are multiple. You need to be quieter, both in and out of the bedroom. It’s possible no one would have identified me as the one responsible for all of your moans if you hadn’t called my name so many times last night. I admit, I didn’t protest at the time because I found it endearing, so perhaps some of the responsibility for this falls on my shoulders as well— but if you had kept your mouth shut to begin with, I wouldn’t have needed to say anything.” He patted Akifusa’s cheek to take away some of the sting, though he wasn’t sure it mattered at this point, judging by the dazed look in those eyes. Hopefully Akifusa was at least aware enough to get the gist of what he was saying; it was always a mild annoyance when Tomonori had to repeat things for his sake. “Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread any information about our time together, or me in particular.”

“Huh?” Akifusa blinked. “But what if I hear any rumors that aren’t true?”

It was a fair point. It was also likely, given Akifusa’s unwavering code of honor and complete absence of subtlety, that his intervention would do more damage than he’d intended to prevent. The whole village would wind up learning every detail of every interaction the two of them had ever shared, innocuous or otherwise— and gossip would undoubtedly center on the “otherwise”. Perhaps Shiki’s name would come up as well. “If you hear any lies, tell me, but don’t correct them,” Tomonori said, after a moment’s consideration. “Adding fuel to the fire won’t help. If someone asks you a direct question, just say you’re not comfortable answering, and repeat that until they move on.”

Akifusa shuffled his feet a little but ultimately nodded. It was probably the best response Tomonori could hope for: letting a falsehood stand uncorrected, especially one that potentially involved either or both of his closest friends, had to be only a few notches above lying in Akifusa’s books. Hopefully it wouldn’t become a serious concern, and the village would lose interest in a week or two.

All the same, it couldn’t hurt to start concocting those counter-rumors as a backup plan. Once he’d finished with his other work today, he would have to sit down and brainstorm.

“A-about that kiss…”

Tomonori kept his face blank, stepping back with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrows. “What kiss would this be?”

“The…” Even at a distance, he could hear Akifusa’s swallow. “The one to help me focus.”

“I’ve told you everything I needed to, so I don’t see why that would be necessary any longer,” he replied innocently. “You’re free to go if you wish.” He stifled a laugh as Akifusa’s eyes widened. Poor Akifusa. He hadn’t really thought Tomonori would just hand over the kiss that easily after Akifusa’s moans had drawn so much unwanted attention, had he?

“No, I don’t want that! Not yet. You told me I could have it… Don’t do this to me, Tomonori, please.” His voice quivered, climbing to a near-squeak; the blood in his cheeks brought out the blue in his eyes.

Tomonori gave a noncommittal hum, pretending to check his fingernails as a means of concealing his smirk. After the first please slipped out, Akifusa usually required much less encouragement; soon enough he’d start running entirely on momentum.

“I-I still have training today! I need to focus for that! Please, Tomo, it doesn’t have to be a long one— I mean, I-I’d like it better if it was, but if you want to get back to work early or you’re still mad about how loud I was— but I couldn’t help it, you were kissing me all over and it felt really good, it felt better than anything I’ve felt in my life— but if you’re angry about it, I understand. I swear I won’t make a peep next time—”

“You’re really willing to swear to that?”

Akifusa hesitated, plainly torn between integrity and desire. “No,” he finally mumbled, only to straighten a moment later. “But I can try! I swear I’ll try, Tomonori, you have my word that I’ll try. I’ll try so hard if you just kiss me right now, please, please, just one kiss, I’ll beg as much as you want—”

“Move a step to your left,” he cut in, calmly. Akifusa snapped his mouth shut and obeyed. “Back up.” Again, the command was met with speechless compliance; there wasn’t even a flicker of uncertainty in those earnest, puppyish features, big eyes silently pleading for praise. “Keep going,” Tomonori said instead. “Don’t stop until you reach the wall.” He didn’t need to raise his voice or alter his tone or expression in any way; he didn’t need to make threats or promise rewards; he certainly didn’t need to invoke the Power of Words. Akifusa would do anything he asked regardless.

Only when Akifusa’s back was pressed flat against the wall did Tomonori permit himself a smile. He stepped casually forward, maintaining eye contact: while Akifusa’s new body held no special allure for him (other than the frequency with which those nipples stiffened and those ample thighs rubbed together in an obvious attempt to contain his excitement— and, fine, Tomonori liked being the stronger one for a change), his facial reactions were precious. “Arms on either side of your head.” Akifusa’s cheeks flushed as he slowly lifted his hands, and Tomonori knew he was remembering the previous wall-pin with perfect clarity. “Good,” he said quietly, closing the remaining distance in two swift strides and wrapping his fingers firmly around those delicate wrists. Skin shivered in his grasp, Akifusa’s pulse accelerating at the brush of his thumb; Tomonori’s own heart kept pace easily as he stared into those wide, unguarded gray irises and felt that intoxicating sense of control stir, dangerous and tempting, within him.

He could say or do almost anything at this moment— kiss Akifusa, refuse to kiss him, call him a fool, bite his nose, twist his wrists, apologize gently for hurting him, do it again— and as long as it didn’t directly involve a specific part of Akifusa’s anatomy, Akifusa would enjoy it.

But that thought sloped down steeply into dark and far-too-tantalizing tunnels, as usual, so Tomonori squelched it with a quick squeeze of the wrists and a soft, deliberate kiss, savoring every second of Akifusa’s squirming.

“We’ll talk after dinner,” he murmured when he drew back. Flushed and breathless, Akifusa nodded rapidly; Tomonori held him in place for a few more urgent heartbeats before releasing him with a beatific smile and letting him scramble away in one piece.

***

“Most of what I’ve heard hasn’t been that bad, and I’ve made sure to correct the most common misconceptions. I think you’re underestimating how much people like us.” Smiling, Shiki bumped his shoulder with her own. “They’re definitely talking about it, though. You may have to get used to the occasional uncomfortable question, at least for a while.”

Tomonori winced. He’d told her about Takeshi’s intrusion, though he hadn’t mentioned any names. The two of them were resting together beneath one of the maple trees in the shrine courtyard; the brief midday breaks, in addition to the back massages and shorter working hours, were one of several changes to his daily routine that he’d made at Shiki’s request since they’d defeated the Sword. “I just wish the whole village didn’t know,” he said.

She shrugged. “It was probably inevitable that people would find out about you and Akifusa at some point. You know he’s incapable of keeping a secret.”

“That’s true,” he said, studying her features; the small, content smile on her lips as she turned to face him softened something in his heart, as it always did. “How do you feel about it?” he asked her anyway, gently.

“About you and Akifusa, or the fact that people are talking?”

“Let’s start with ‘me and Akifusa’.”

Her smile faltered for a second, almost imperceptibly; someone less trained in observing every minute twitch of Shiki’s expression might not have noticed it. “I know it’s necessary,” she began.

“In other words, you’re still jealous,” he said, poking her knee.

She blushed. “Not all the time. I was fine for a while, after Akifusa told me there was nothing romantic between the two of you.”

“There’s not.”

“And I didn’t mind the idea of you sleeping with him— I don’t mind it, still,” she added, lifting her eyebrows meaningfully. “Since you didn’t complete the act last night, I imagine you’ll probably need to try again.”

“How do you know we—” He halted as the answer occurred to him an instant before her gaze darted discreetly down his body, drawing a wave of heat to his own cheeks. “Ah.”

Shiki’s smile returned in full, now with a mischievous edge that made him want to grab her by the back of her head and kiss her breathless. “It’s cute how you get so shy about these things in public, Tomo-kun.” She leaned in a little, lowering her voice. “Next time it happens, you can ask me for help, you know.”

“Would you be all right if there was a next time, then?” Despite the persistent warmth tingling through his pores, Tomonori wasn’t about to let her evade the topic that easily. (He’d just mark the teasing down once their break ended so he could plot his retribution for this evening.)

Her face grew serious once more. “Yes. My feelings are more complicated than I expected at first, but… yes, I would. I trust you, and I want the best for Akifusa as well.” She swallowed, looking almost reluctant to continue, but went on. “And I think… even if there is no deeper connection, you’ll take better care of him than anyone else would.”

Tomonori blinked at her, stunned— and then thought about it. Sadistic fantasies aside, he’d offered to help Akifusa evaluate the candidates for taking his virginity because it seemed unlikely that any man interested in sleeping with someone he barely knew (or didn’t know at all) was considering anything beyond physical gratification. In other words, they would only want Akifusa for his body, and that would just trigger Aki’s insecurities and make the experience miserable for him. Maybe there was no way of completely avoiding discomfort, but Tomonori knew Akifusa well enough that he could at least try. And he hadn’t actually harmed him yet.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he replied at last.

“Only perhaps?” Shiki peered at him suspiciously, drawing a rueful half-smile to his mouth.

“Is it really a complex if a lot of my thoughts are genuinely cruel?”

“Yes, because most of them aren’t. We’ve been over this.” She lifted a finger toward his cheek as if intending to poke or pinch it, but he caught her hand and tugged her in for a kiss instead. Her lips parted softly for him, inviting him to linger; if they weren’t in one of the more exposed areas of the shrine during the middle of the day, he would have been sorely tempted to press further. Shiki smelled pleasant and summery, with just a hint of wildflower sweetness; it was refreshing after the several hours he’d spent cloistered in his study.

“I appreciate your faith in my good intentions,” he said after he pulled back, but this time it was playful, as was the wry look she gave him afterward, betrayed by her tiny, flickering smile.

“Have you talked to Akifusa about these ‘cruel’ desires of yours?”

“Once or twice, perhaps. At one point I threatened to bite off his tongue and cook it for him—”

“But then he wouldn’t be able to taste it.” Shiki’s cheeks promptly pinkened, as if she hadn’t quite intended for that to be her first response; it was rather gratifying that some things still had the power to fluster her.

“I told him it would be a fun challenge.” He couldn’t help but smirk at the memory.

“Do you remember how he reacted?”

“He begged me to do it.”

Shiki gave him a purposeful look, raising her eyebrows. He sighed.

“Yes, I see your point, but that’s not the problem. He’s too quick to ask for things like that, things that could leave even him seriously injured if I ever decided to act on that permission.”

“But you won’t, because deep down you know you care about him. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“That’s—”

“And you just said you only brought it up once or twice, and one time was just a joke. Have you shared with him any of your specific… tastes, other than the blindfold?”

“Well, no,” he admitted.

“You told the man who came to you for help that he should talk to his wife, because she knows what she enjoys. I think you should take your own advice with Akifusa. Not that you should bite off his tongue just because he asks,” she added quickly, as if anticipating this argument. “But, well… you could try making a serious suggestion next time and see how he reacts. And if he agrees, and it goes well, then you can build up from there. If it continues, I mean.”

Tomonori stared at her for a moment, lost for words.

She bit her lip, gaze falling to the grass. “I’m sorry if it’s not my place to—”

His mouth smothered the rest of her thoroughly unneeded apology, corners curling into a smile.

Two of the things he treasured most about Shiki were her ability to spot his hypocrisies and her willingness to challenge them. She was right, of course, as usual: although he’d done his best to listen to Akifusa’s concerns, for the most part Tomonori had avoided sharing his own desires, after Akifusa had reacted with baffled outrage to the confession that Tomonori enjoyed hearing him beg (and, to be fair, he should have clarified). Perhaps it was time to change that.

“It’s absolutely your place to say something,” he whispered after they drew apart. “You’re affected by this as well. And you’re right. I’ve been making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

“More complex, you mean?”

He faked a scowl, making her laugh. “If you insist.”

“I do.” She paused, amusement fading from her features, voice quieting slightly. “Will you be trying again tonight?” He heard her straining for neutrality.

“No.” Tomonori smiled, reaching for her hand. “Akifusa’s not my first priority. You are.” He had no intention of spending more time with Akifusa than with her, even if she claimed she wouldn’t mind, even if Akifusa fell to his knees and pleaded.

Wisteria eyes widened, a light blush dusting her cheeks— and then she returned the smile, slender fingers nestling into the gaps between his own. “It’s nice to hear you say that,” she said quietly. He gave her hand a squeeze in answer. “So… when do you think you’ll try next?”

“I’d meant to ask you, actually. I was thinking once or twice a week until we succeed, so probably in three or four days, but I’d like to hear your opinion as well.” He was somewhat relieved she’d brought up the subject so he didn’t have to figure out how to tactfully ease into it.

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I know it’s important to him.”

“It is, but I’m sure he’d understand if you’d prefer—”

This time she was the one to silence him with a kiss. “Thank you for worrying about me,” she said once it ended, softly yet firmly. “I really do appreciate it. But I knew it would probably take multiple tries from the moment I proposed this to Akifusa.”

“Why did you suggest it, anyway?” He tried to sound innocent, although by this point he was quite confident her motive had been anything but.

Her blush deepened.

Smirking, he poked her cheek. “I thought as much.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Your face did.”

For a moment, she hesitated, and it seemed as though she might yield— before she said, “Read my face now, Tomo-kun,” and stuck out her tongue at him. A startled chuckle escaped him, though he hastily swallowed the rest of the laugh and managed a few reproving tuts in her general direction.

“Is that how a Princess should comport herself in public?”

“Your Princess will comport herself however she pleases, in public or otherwise.”

“Of course. And who was it who gave you the freedom to live however you please, Princess?” He inched closer. “Who was fully prepared to give his life to ensure you would be free to stick out your tongue in full view of as many onlookers as you desired or perform any other ridiculous acts that popped into your head? Refresh my memory, please.”

“He was prepared to give his life without my permission— in fact, entirely against my wishes— and if he truly cares about my happiness as much as he claims, he’ll never try anything like it again. Also, I seem to recall him taking a number of rather shocking liberties with his mistress…” Her eyes gleamed with wild mischief, daring him to defy her; his pulse quickened at the challenge. Suddenly their “public” location no longer seemed quite as relevant.

“Liberties she gave every sign of enjoying,” he murmured, despite his rising blush, “and now requests on a regular basis.”

Shiki’s breath hitched. He raised his free hand to cup her cheek, invitingly warm and smooth, echoing the softness of more intimate areas of that long-forbidden, surprisingly delicate body his fingers had now committed flawlessly to memory, to the satisfaction of them both.

“If you’d like me to stop taking so many liberties, Shiki”— he relished her shiver at the casual use of her name, another taboo demolished with the Sword— “you need only ask.”

“Of course I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?” He wrinkled his forehead, affecting concern. “It might help with some of the rumors—”

“I like the rumors.”

The words startled him into drawing back. Flushed but sincere, she met his gaze.

“They’re a little embarrassing,” she admitted after a pause, “and I had to clarify the situation to a few people who came up to me earlier to ask if I knew you were sleeping with another woman. I didn’t like that they would even consider the possibility that you might cheat on me… but word must have spread quickly, because people stopped asking about that soon enough.”

“How much did you tell them, exactly?” He fought to keep his voice level.

“Nothing too personal. I knew that would make you uncomfortable, and probably Akifusa as well.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I said I’d encouraged it to happen, and the circumstances were highly unusual but had nothing to do with any problems in our relationship, and the third person knew this and still consented to it. I didn’t even mention Akifusa by name.”

He would probably have answered similarly. Shoulders relaxing, Tomonori nodded at her to continue.

“But after that… I ran into some women from the village, a few of the housewives, talking as they did their laundry. They were mostly complaining about their husbands, from what I could tell—”

“All of the other women were complaining? Not you?”

“Well, they stopped when they noticed me.”

“I’m sure they did,” he said lightly.

She gave him a long, searching look; it was difficult to keep the smile off his face. Eventually, she sighed and said, “I’m not entirely sure if you’re joking, but you should know that if I did have any complaints, I would tell you directly instead of badmouthing you behind your back and then lying about it.”

Chuckling, he pecked her forehead. “You’re right, I was joking. But go on. What happened once they saw you?”

“They went quiet for a moment, and then…” She bit her lip. “One of them asked if a certain rumor about you was true.”

“What rumor?” Somehow he already knew which one, unless it had more specific variants.

“The one that you’re, um, good in bed.”

He winced and nodded.

Again, her teeth sank lightly into her lower lip, but now he glimpsed a sneaky sparkle in her eye. “I didn’t want to lie.”

“You didn’t—?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she rushed to add. “But apparently my face told them as much as it told you. The others chimed in to tease me, but not in a mean way; it was all very light and playful. I promise I didn’t give them any details— I know that would embarrass you, and I like that there’s a side of you only I know about… and Akifusa now too, I suppose.” Her gaze flitted away briefly, a small wrinkle appearing in her brow, but she resumed talking before he could offer any words of comfort. “But it felt nice to be included in that conversation for once. No one from the village has ever mentioned sex around me before, not even since our wedding. And there’ve been times when everyone stopped talking as soon as I showed up, and I can tell I’ve made things awkward somehow, even though no one’s ever been rude about it.” She shrugged, leaning against his shoulder. “It just felt nice. That’s all.”

Absently, Tomonori stroked her hair as he considered her words. The people had always liked Shiki; her decisions as a leader had always been sensible, with Kifu’s best interests firmly in mind. But for years following the Inheritance Ritual, her mischievous spirit had suffocated under the weight of self-loathing and solemn duty. Not many of the villagers had known the exact truth of those awful rituals— of the sin and suffering foisted upon Shiki’s shoulders— but after her mother’s death, sorrow had shrouded her wherever she went. Everyone had treated her more gently after that, but also more formally, as if she’d shatter at the first hint of intimacy. They should have known it would take more than that to shatter their Princess. Shiki was the strongest person Tomonori had ever known.

“I’m sure they’re only acting that way now out of habit,” he said softly, “but I understand.”

On his reluctant journey toward the village a few minutes later, he heard a brusque voice call, “Boy.”

Tomonori turned, forcing a smile as his gaze landed on an extraordinarily red-faced Kuso-no-mikoto. “May I help you, Kuso-dono?” The god’s blush made him uneasy, but at least Kuso was prideful enough not to consider turning to a mere mortal for help under the vast majority of circumstances, especially personal issues. Right?

With typical bluntness, the Crow thrust a handful of paper charms in his direction, keeping his gaze locked on a nearby patch of grass. “Take them,” he muttered.

Since Kuso seemed unlikely to approach any closer, Tomonori gave an internal sigh and walked the rest of the distance himself, peering at the intricately runed talismans. He knew a bit of magical script from his shrine work— mostly glyphs of warding, cleansing, and of course sealing— but the purpose of these charms eluded him. “These are the kinds of talismans Furutsugu-dono uses for his spells, aren’t they?”

Kuso didn’t react visibly to the mention of Furutsugu— a promising sign. “He didn’t make these ones,” he said tersely. “I did. I don’t personally need to depend on material props for my magic, but binding the required energy to paper is a simple process with the relevant arrangement of runes—”

“I understand the basics of how magic works,” Tomonori cut in, masking his impatience with a pleasant smile, “but what do these charms do?”

“Once activated? Noise suppression.” Kuso grimaced, meeting his eyes for half a second. “Sound will be confined to a certain radius of the charm and avoid flowing out past those limits.”

“So no one outside the area will be able to hear noises from within it?” Tomonori studied the charms with renewed interest. “How large is the radius?”

“Twenty feet in each direction, though I included a means of reducing it as necessary. Such customized spell modification was no trouble for a member of the proud Yatagarasu clan. Restricting the affected area to a single room should pose no difficulty, even for a mere mortal without magical training.”

When Tomonori looked up, Kuso’s stare had retreated determinedly grassward once again. Something occurred to him. “How sensitive is your hearing usually, Kuso?”

The Crow’s deepening scowl answered the question for him.

“Ah. I see.” Warmth prickled at the base of his neck; Tomonori resisted the urge to avert his own gaze. “You could have mentioned it earlier,” he said quietly.

“It was unpleasant previously, but… tolerable.” Kuso hefted an irritable sigh. “Just take the charms, boy.”

He did so, tucking them discreetly up a sleeve. “Thank you. I’ll put them to use.”

“See that you do,” the god muttered before stalking off.

Tomonori wondered idly if it were possible for a humble non-magically-trained mortal such as himself to reduce the radius of one of these talismans even further than the size of a typical bedroom— to mute one specific individual, for instance. (And if Kuso’s almighty spellcraft wasn’t up to the task, the Power of Words could probably handle it easily.) He’d have to figure out another way for Akifusa to signal when the proceedings grew uncomfortable for him— maybe by touch?— but that didn’t seem too difficult. (He had no desire to silence Shiki; he cherished both their banter and her eventual moans too much for that.) Perhaps some experimentation was in order. A tiny smirk bloomed over his lips as he left the shrine grounds. *** [A/N: I was thinking of swapping out the talismans Kuso gives Tomonori for feathers, since there’s canon precedence for gods’ body parts conveying magical properties. If anyone’s played Kuso’s route and has a deeper understanding of his lore, hit me up; I know he’s one of the more popular characters in the game, and even though I’m taking liberties with him— as I am with all the characters— I want to make sure my portrayal of both him and his magic isn’t too far out of left field. The intent is to provide a caricature, not an entirely different character. Also, one of my intended historical research topics is what exactly Tomonori’s daily work would consist of— and another is whether he would use a desk at all, or simply a writing box. When I was doing basic research earlier, I couldn’t find any information on desks during the Heian era, but I found a few articles about this thing called a writing box that seems like it would function similarly to a miniature desk. If you have any instructive articles on this topic, please share the link, I’d love to know. (Yes, this is a smutty crack fic treated semi-seriously for an obscure fandom, and yes, the setting has fantasy elements that suggest strict historical accuracy is not the top priority, but having more info would help me form a clearer image of the relevant scenes while remaining somewhat assured that what I’ve written isn’t too implausible.) Hope you’re enjoying Tomonori’s PoV for some longer scenes! Part 2 of this chapter coming soon. Thanks again for reading— please, if you’re enjoying this story so far, as crude and unfinished as it is, don’t feel shy to let me know. A like would be enough to bring a smile to my face; a reblog would make me giddy; a comment (or private message if you prefer!) would instantly make you one of my favorite people in the universe.]

[ivesambrose]

♕ 𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱 : 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐮𝐱𝐮𝐫𝐲 ♕

1. 2. 3.

Yes, this is a long one. Why? I want y'all to prosper that's why.

Pick a picture that evokes a strong emotion in you and if all of them call to you, so be it. Do not limit yourself.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at jovescorpioreadings@gmail.com with your name and query.

You can book this particular pick a card question or any book one from this list.

Tips are highly appreciated 🤎

1. Golden snakes

Your definition of luxury : is to follow one's bliss and get whatever the heck you want. 'I want it, I will most certainly get it.' and you likely do.

You're more than open to face adversity and some challenges just so you can use your wits and determination to solve them in order to enjoy the fruits of your labour. To you, luxury is something you'd want to build long term. For instance, saving up money in order to get that one thing from your wishlist and smiling proudly to yourself like, "I did THAT. I really did THAT."

You believe in delayed gratification instead of instant gratification. You have certain values and morals in life that has come either via, a mentor you've looked up to, by re-parenting yourself or by building and achieving something by yourself from scratch. Regardless of your age you have a lot of wisdom that you have saved for yourself and select few. You don't claim to be a know it all nor are you the kind to give a Ted Talk on your journey. You don't want to share said journey, you simply want to do things that excite you without feeling bogged down by 'hustle culture'. You believe in gatekeeping yourself

Your ideal luxurious life : is likely to be known, accomplished, popular, magnetic yet secretive.

You may want an empire of your own but instead of making people work under you, you want to either guide or influence them. You want multiple things and some.

You seek to leave behind a tumultuous time, place or situation seek your own adventure. You may even want to leave behind your hometown and find your calling elsewhere. Your ideal luxurious life includes freedom, peace and excitement. Although you have lived your life so far with a particular idea of how to manifest wealth and luxury that is through hard work and you may also have faced delays, obstacles and several difficulties along the way you want a change from this mindset. Ideally, sometimes you crave that instant gratification too. Thing is, if you desire it, you'll have it. Deep down, you know you will.

Best way to manifest :

Gratitude journal

Even affirmations like,

"luxury loves me / money loves me" "I am__", "I always have __," "it is mine."

Your words and persistent thoughts indeed manifest quick. There is power in them, honor it.

You may have a close friend who is also big on manifesting and see eye to eye with you / you both share similar beliefs. So picturing telling them about having manifested luxury or wealth is also a great way to manifest.

Visualizing yourself being congratulated or receiving what you desire

You will most likely build your luxury by working one on one with people, networking with the right people, helping or influencing the right people, being in the right place at the right time, maintaining harmonious and honest connections. Be mindful of the company you keep because this influences your mindset the most, make sure you're not absorbing the projections of other people and their beliefs that you don't want manifesting in your reality or influencing you in ways you do not want.

2. Golden crown

Your definition of luxury : is to put down the burden of all the definitions and ideas that have been told to you growing up of what what life, wealth, career and luxury is supposed to be. You don't want to hoard, you just want to have enough.

I think you may feel over saturated with information or what you may be currently doing so you simply want to leave it behind. You believe there is more to life than slaving away and accumulating something you can't share. You may feel a bit like an outcast due to these ideals and maybe these perceptions will change in a few years or a decade but right now you simply want to live and form said perceptions by yourself. I just sense that you're tired and haven't gotten a break so your ideal of luxury is a career you can likely do remotely and not make it your entire personality and sole reason of being. You'd rather sit down and observe the beauty in the mundane or little things you missed out on. Infact if you could go offline and just live without seeking validation it'll be ideal for you.

Your ideal luxurious life : Is to stop chasing anything including luxury. You don't want to chase and endlessly work you just wanna have, cuz I feel you have put in ample amount of work but haven't received enough credit or people keep telling you that in order to get xyz you need to do an entire advhdjkk with additional god knows what and still it won't suffice cuz 'nothing comes easy'. I feel you're so done that you want to turn back to them and say, "to you!" and walk off. Your ideal life is already living from it connecting with yourself instead. Like I said, you just want enough and you just wanna be and that's perfectly fine you don't need to explain yourself. You're the type to get your manifestions and simply go off the radar and exist as a beautiful myth should you desire one moment and next do something that gets you really excited and happy and also get celebrated for then you disappear again. One lovely thing about you is that you never wanna stop improving and learning new things even if it's something as random as learning how to read ancient Egyptian heliographics or baking or making spooky pottery. You're brimming with ideas and you simply seek the luxury to do most of them. Here's to reminding you that you don't have to limit yourself anymore.

Best way to manifest :

Faking it till you make it.

Talking to yourself, literally looking at the mirror and giving yourself a pep talk.

Music and sound influences you greatly so you can literally have a playlist of songs that cater to you.

Affirmations like,

"things always work out in my favor.", "no, I'll get what I want. This is my reality.", "not my circus, not my clowns.", "I am more than capable and worthy of this."

I sense you might also be into esoteric or some spiritual practices so even praying, (I think some of you may also work with moon phases or have the belief that you manifest best when you're feeling any strong emotion - joy, rage etc use it to your benefit) having your own niche ways to manifest will work just fine.

You need to fully accept that your circumstances can change overnight and will. Nothing is too far fetched. You don't have to continue trying or pushing yourself, you simply need to accept.

3. Hand dipped in golden paint

Your definition of luxury : is to never to have to struggle for wealth and security ever again.

You may have had a difficult upbringing or faced circumstances in your life that made you feel financially insecure or you may have seen someone go through these circumstances that may have severely impacted your mindset. You could have grown up with the mentality that money is hard to make or that you have to go the extra mile for it or you can only generate wealth by the conventional means. You are thankful for the gifts you posses, how much you have honed your skills and your craft as well. You're a very humble person at the same time very generous. To you, luxury should be shared, no one should have to struggle for it. It's not supposed to be for a handful of people, everyone's just as deserving.

Your ideal luxurious life : Deep down you feel you have a particular life Path or destiny. Some of you are already aware of it some of you are still in the process of discovering. (your subconscious is already aware though) you'd like to have the freedom of pursuing it without having to worry that you'll run out of income sources or that said destiny / path becomes your path to luxury. You'd like a deep, like rooted deep transformation of your circumstances and your past as well. Likely there are some lingering doubts that surface due to past traumas. Go easy on yourself and know that your traumas don't define you and regardless of anything, you're deserving of your ideal life. Your ideal life would be to stop taking orders from people with a selfish and sharp tounge so that they continue to grow richer while you keep putting double the work, your ideal life would be to discover your own identity and being proud of yourself and your achievements, to have something of your own and to have more than enough. Wealth you can save, grow and share and be comfortable and content with. You simply desire security and peace, you'd be happy perhaps having a garden or a small business of your own, you do have a philanthropic streak to you and you intend to have enough to donate to good causes. You relish the simple things in life, whatever brings you comfort and healing, you are meant to have it regardless of whatever people have told you.

Best way to manifest :

Anything that makes you feel at ease. You can manifest simply by being in the flow of things. This reminds me something I read on twitter a while back where the girl started asking the universe to show her how good things can get. So simply asking your subconscious / higher self / universe / whatever it is that you have faith in to, "show me how good things can get. Bring them to me. Bring me ease." is more than enough.

You're prone to having breakthrough moments that set you on the right path so set your intention accordingly that, "hey you know, the solution will come to me. It always does." it'll happen.

Self talk is extremely crucial of what I'm picking up, you have to be gentle with yourself and talk to yourself in a way you would talk to your best friend or someone in need of comfort.

Visualizing, dreaming, day dreaming with intention, meditation, vision boards etc are also super easy and fun ways to manifest for you.

I sense you're very sensitive to what you see and the visuals you consume, your mind tends to picture things too vividly sometimes. So be sure to surround yourself with things you'd rather see regardless of whatever, be mindful to feed yourself thoughts that evoke feelings that align with your desires. Read, read a lot, read things that make you happy or simply for leisure. You manifest best when you don't have to strain yourself at all. You got this!

[briarrosescurse]

Rozalina’s Birthday Celebration - Personal Story

9th of May

(it's roza's birthday, happy day of borth my sweet angel... also my first attempt at imitating the ssr birthday cards, i hope it turned out okay?? hopefully i can catch up with everyone else too who i missed out on 😭 you can find roza’s personal story under the cut, i’d love it if you’d give it a read!)

NRC Newspaper

Birthday Interview - Rozalina Edition

Part 1

Diasomnia Dorm - Birthday Party Venue

Yuu: Happy Birthday!

Roza: Hehe, thank you so much...! This is all so exciting, I just cannot keep sitting still any longer!

Roza: This is my second birthday that I am spending at Night Raven College and I wish to make it a grand celebration with everyone~!

Yuu: You seem to enjoy birthdays quite a lot.

Roza: How could I not? A day where everyone gets together to celebrate and honor the date you have been born on... A day of appreciation but also a day that goes to show just how much you have grown up! It is the most fun with friends though, really...

Yuu: What were your birthdays like before?

Roza: Hmm... truthfully, up until last year, I never have looked forward to my own birthday. Usually, on my birthdays, I would be spending it on my own, because my father and mother are quite the busy people...

Roza: They always have tried to at least spent a few hours with me, but with every year, it feels like less and less time...

Yuu: Were you not able to spend it with anyone else?

Roza: Uee... N... Not really. My wetnurses would try to spend time with me, but it would just feel like any other day...

Roza: Do not make that face!! ... I guess that was not what you were asking for... Ummm...

Roza: I did not have any friends my age for most years, so I was not having a party with anyone outside my immediate family or employees, if that was what you were curious about.

Yuu: What kind of people are your family? Please tell me about them.

Roza: My family... I think most people would call them strict and serious. My mother does not particularly enjoy taking the lead, therefore my father makes a majority of the decisions.

Roza: My mother is a rather gentle soul... She always used to spoil me quite a lot with sweets behind my father's back. I remember her signaling to not say a word when my father asked me if I had stolen one of the plates full of baked goods that one time, hehe.

Roza: My father... A lot of people call him scary. He has always such a serious face, his eyebrows being furrowed and all - wargh, he is gonna get even more wrinkles, at this point! - but he is very loving towards me.

Roza: Even though I know this had been for my own sake, I am not... particularly happy about how overly protective he is. This includes me not being allowed to have friends outside of our family's home.

Roza: Reading about all those fun and lively birthday parties in novels... I felt quite jealous that I could not experience those myself...

Roza: But it cannot be helped any more, I suppose, so no point in crying over it~

Part 2

Yuu: Are you very close to your wetnurses?

Roza: Absolutely! They have been my best friends for so many years now.

Roza: Hehe, if there ever was a problem or a concern, I was always able to rely on them... I know this is not something to be expected, so I am quite grateful.

Yuu: Please tell me more about them.

Roza: They are quite the... interesting trio, I must admit. Unlike the majority of the employees back home, they are fae folk.

Roza: I have always been a little curious as to why fae folk would decide to work for human nobles when there are plenty more fae noble to serve, but I never really had the chance to ask them.

Roza: One of the wetnurses is like a 'headmaid' of the bunch... She takes the control of majorities of things and is always able to come up with a solution!

Roza: The second one is a rather playful lady... She is always very lax about the rules. It's impressive how she manages to stand her ground if her attitude conflicts with the headmaid.

Roza: And then we have the youngest of the three! She is... always in her own world, her head in the clouds, but her dreamy nature had been a relief from the busy every day life.

Yuu: What kind of presents did you get so far?

Roza: Oh, oh! The most exciting part...! Silver had been the first to congratulate me today, he gifted me a portable sewing kit, embellished with typical materials from the Valley of Thorns.

Roza: Our dorm leader gave me an... encyclopedia about gargoyles... Uwergh... He said it would be useful for our club activities, but I read one single page and fell asleep right away.

Roza: I appreciate the... attempt though.

Roza: Uuuhh... right, then there were Sebek and Lilia! Sebek did not appear too joyous to bring me a gift, but Lilia gave him the right push forward! A blue, towering cake!

Roza: The candles almost dropped on Sebek's head, haha! Thankfully though, Lilia was able to stop them.

Roza: I am feeling a little nauseous at the thought of trying Lilia's baking, but a gift is a gift!

Yuu: Your dorm mates really seem to care for you.

Roza: Mhm! I firmly believe the greatest gift anyone could ask for are loyal, caring friends.

Part 3

Yuu: You mentioned you grew up really sheltered... What's the biggest lesson you learned during your time at Night Raven College?

Roza: E-Eh? That is quite the big question... Umm... Let me think...

Roza: For as long as I can remember, I always used to think that maintaining a proud image of a proper lady is what should be valued the most.

Roza: I always looked up to heroines that feel into that category... Benevolent, kind, generous, composed and all that - flawless, really.

Roza: But... I grew to understand that this is not all what should be aimed for in life... Or rather, this was never really something I desired.

Roza: That is why I appreciate today quite much - as it reminds me of how I grew, but also of that, which I treasure the upmost.

Roza: The connections I made here, all good and all bad.

Roza: Coming into contact with people alike you and unlike you, you grow to understand new perspectives and discover parts of yourself you had not known of before.

Roza: ... That is what makes growing up so fun yet scary, I think.

Yuu: That is quite the mature lesson.

Roza: Waa-wahaha, you think so? I-I was just saying whatever felt right, really...

Roza: ... Unless you were asking about school lessons?!

Roza: N-Nonetheless... I think what we may able to take away is that... All those connections should not be forgotten. When you lose sight of the brighter days, remember the kind hands that reach out to you and take them.

Roza: ... Even if you are thrust into an unkind fate from birth on.

Roza: All dreams can become more than 'just a dream' with the right attitude~!

Yuu: Thank you for talking to us about so much.

Yuu: Again, happy birthday.

[thefanficmonster]

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home. 

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them. 

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

[arcadialedger]

How Catra and Zuko have been saving me lately: A (sort of) meta

A very long, personal post under the cut. This is really important to me, and I could really use some support, so if you could take the time to read and reblog that would be greatly appreciated. I just want to reach out.

Once again, please PLEASE read. I really need help.

Recently, I’ve found myself desperately latching onto the characters of Zuko and Catra, as many have in the past. To put it simply, I’m in one of the most difficult times of my life right now.

I’m transferring colleges because I was doxed by an online hate mob (long story) , and in general because I just didn’t belong at my old school. I went to three different high schools, moved around a whole bunch, and I don’t really belong anywhere. All of my friends are far away, my parents are busy working and I’m alone.

I just feel like I’m wandering aimlessly in darkness, unloved and unsure where to go. I’m faced with making a huge decision about my future with this transfer, and I’m terrified. Terrified I won’t make the right choice, and terrified it won’t be the newfound happiness I so desperately need it to be. But most of all, I’m terrified of being unwanted and alone again, wherever I go.

I’m used to not being wanted. I’m 4’10, not thin, and have been tossed aside because of my appearance my entire life. I’m 20 years old and haven’t been kissed (how pathetic is that). I moved schools and stayed in my room depressed because I never got to lay down roots and establish a foundation. Hell, I never even got to live as a teenager. I’m just behind and broken.

I was hoping Tumblr would be my place, where I could write and analyze and showcase my talents. Be wanted for once. For a while, it looked like it might be. Then a friend blocked me and made a callout post, due to me having a different opinion on a sensitive matter, and a domino effect began. I lost more friends and half of the fandom we’re both in blocked me seemingly at their word. I had featured this friend on an episode of my podcast at, had many fond memories chatting with them, and even bought a zine to support them. The loss hurt, and I was cut off from one of the few things I had. It was all taken away from me. My growth halted as I dealt with months of online abuse: including death threats, suicide baiting (these people knowing I’ve struggled with being suicidal), aphobic slurs (knowing I’m ace), mocking and editing images of my face. My Twitter was hacked, I lost podcast deals with creatives who my friends who blocked me and started all of this went on to interview because of said hacking, and I was threatened to be doxed. I suffered blow after blow while the people who hurt me grew and were rewarded, allowed a place here, and this continues to this day. The damage remains. I have to self reblog a whole bunch to get my content remotely seen in the algorithm.

Because my entire life, it feels I’ve never been allowed a win. I’ve never been allowed to have and keep anything good. I’m short and ugly, talentless with nothing to give to the world, my family has no money so I haven’t gotten to travel or experience a lot of things. I’ve spent my entire life envious of the “hot skinny girls” who’ve been wanted and dating since high school, who live in McMansions and get to go on vacations.

When I work to make good content on Tumblr and build a following talking about what I’m passionate about? It’s taken from me. When I work hard to get into my old college’s honors program and earn a trip to Greece which I could otherwise never afford, a global pandemic comes along and makes sure I don’t get that kind of positive experience in life.

I’m used to it all, being worn down and unwanted and losing. I’ve gone my entire life behind, lesser, and not enough.

And that’s why I’m so scared. I have a big decision to make, I’m at my own crossroads, and I desperately need all of this to come together for me this year. I’ve gone so long without happiness and love. I need this to be the light at the end of the tunnel, newfound happiness. I need to find newfound happiness. All I want is to escape the darkness, find peace of mind and function day to day doing the things I love without being stressed.

So when I see Zuko— so angry at the world for being given the short stick, abused, and never making things easy, and Catra— driven mad by comparison and feeling as though the world takes away everything from her? Gosh, I feel it so hard.

Because that’s just what I do. I get angry at the world for making things so hard for me. I compare. I feel like the world just takes and takes and never gives me a win. And so I’m never happy. I feel their pain and loneliness so deeply, and I’m terrified that I’m the villain because of it. I cry at the anguish and self loathing in their eyes because I have been there. I AM there. 

Like Zuko comparing to Azula, I feel lesser because the world has constantly told me I am so. I feel cheated and given the short end of the stick, as though life has it out for me. I get angry and lash out from my pain.I’m desperate for validation from people who can never give it to me. I’m so scarred from my past, I can’t believe I have a future. 

Like Catra, I’m always left behind. I’m lonely and driven mad by the unfairness of the world. It takes and takes until I’ve lost it all, but it never gives. I’m so afraid of losing anyone and anything else, I refuse to let anyone in. Because why would I deserve love? There’s nobody who wants me, no purpose for me on this world. I’m nothing, just constantly chasing an impossible goal of perfection to justify my existence. 

“You drive them away, wildcat”

Yeah, I know their hurt. I know what it all feels like. To be that broken, that insecure, that left behind and unwanted. The punching bag of fate. These characters suffering is so much of my own.

And that’s why they’re the only thing to give me hope.

Seeing them be where I am now, and where they end up, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, that can be my future. That I’ll get a happy ending. It gives me the courage to believe that what I’m so desperately striving for can happen. 

Zuko standing up to his father and forging his own path in life, which leads him to a better place as he finds his destiny and happiness after so many years of torment. We both have scars-- if he can overcome his, why can’t I?

Catra, after so many years of struggle, taking agency over her life back from those to abused her, and finally learning to accept the love of those around her. Opening up to pain and rejection and ultimately being forgiven. Catra felt so lonely, unable to see the love around her-- maybe I’ve been doing the same thing. Maybe I’ll find the strength to take my life into my own hands and find my own love.

It’s so empowering, a flicker of light in what feels like eternal darkness. I am so worn out and broken. I’ve never had love, or learned to love myself. In the real world, it is find to find hope.

It is only in these characters, who have felt my pain and found their way to a better place, that I find comfort.

I am one of so many who have been touched by these characters arcs, and they are one of the purest examples of why stories are important. Why the emotions narrative can evoke are important. It is not only escapism, it opens up a door to critical self introspection that can make a real difference in our lives. It holds up a black mirror of our lives, providing an outside view of our deepest, darkest emotions and struggles which can be so hard to understand when they’re inside. 

These characters, and their stories: insecurity, abuse, doubt, comparison, chasing validation, just wanting to find your purpose in life and happiness-- they are the stories of life, stripped down to it’s rawest emotions. 

There is power in redemption. There is power in rising from the bottom. 

As I said in my last post about Catra and Zuko:

“Their stories: being angry at the world, driven mad by comparison and a need for validation, making wrong choices, processing trauma, needing help but being too scared to open up and accept it, feeling as though they don’t deserve love or forgiveness, fighting to restore and maintain valued relationships, convincing themselves they’ve lost it all, feeling conflicted or confused, realizing what they thought they wanted isn’t fulfilling and hasn’t brought happiness, escaping years of mental conditioning which told them they were worthless, not seeing the love they have right before them, constantly fighting uphill for a life which seems to throw everything it can at them… Well, isn’t that just the most human story of all? And so their redemptions give us hope.”

I have been so lost and lonely for so long, and now I’m at a crossroads. I’m so scared to believe that this change, this new path, can lead to a better place, but these characters? They give me strength to. They give me faith.

This has been a rambling post of feelings, and I am thankful to anyone who has read this far. I’m just so tired of feeling this way, and needed to reach out and share this. If you are also feeling this way, know you are not alone. You are so very far from alone.

I just really don’t want to feel unwanted and unloved, like I don’t belong, anymore. I want to have a place here. I probably sound desperate because I feel that way. I don’t know how else to cry out for help other than sharing this.

 If anyone wants to message or send asks about this, please feel free to do so. I want, and very much need, to talk. 

[gukyi]

for you, anything (post-script) | ksj

summary: in the midst of all of the coworker chaos over your newfound relationship, you and seokjin make a deal. 

{established relationship!au, friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff word count: 2k warnings: bts being annoying coworkers a/n: shoutout to @aurawatercolor​ for being so wonderful and for commissioning this drabble’s monster predecessor: for you, anything!! thank you for being so patient with me and overall being a good friend of mine. much love!

Here

“Back off, he’s mine!” You shriek, furiously mashing your keyboard buttons as your eyes zero in on your computer screen. Maintaining as much of a grip onto your mouse and keyboard as possible, you push your office chair towards Seokjin’s in a desperate attempt to get him to lose his hold by crashing into him, bumper-car style. You hear the scratchy fabric collide, a soft thud that ricochets you forward, almost like you had crashed into a fuzzy rock. 

Naturally peeved, you turn around to find your boyfriend completely unbothered, having moved barely an inch. And yeah, you weren’t great at Physics when you took it in high school, but you have a feeling that that’s not how Newton’s Third Law works. 

Unfortunately for you, the split second you spend glaring at the back of Seokjin’s head means that he can go in for the killing blow, sword stabbing through the warrior king on the screen until he collapses in a pool of video game blood. The sound of a death cry and a cheer echos from your computer speakers, and you groan. 

“Not again,” you say, exasperated. You toss your head back against the chair, eyes rolling upwards, just enough to make out Seokjin eyeing you, a smug expression written all over his face. “I told you I had him.”

“You just weren’t fast enough, I guess,” Seokjin says casually, bouncing out of his chair to gloat to you all up front and personal. 

“You better share all of the money and rewards you got from that kill,” you demand, poking a finger against your cheek. Seokjin kisses you gladly, wrapping his arms over the chair and around you as he rocks your office chair side to side. The benefit of working together in Kingdom is that you always have backup you can trust (unlike some other MMO games, one of which rhymes with Meague of Megends), but Kingdom was designed for loot to be collected by whoever delivers the death blow, and not split evenly among all parties. 

Lucky for you, your boyfriend happens to be both good at the game and willing to share all of his treasure. 

“Ew, gross, PDA at three o’clock,” Jungkook says loudly, his whiny voice interrupting you and Seokjin’s lovers’ quarrel. 

“Ugh, just because you guys can have a successful and empowering relationship doesn’t mean you have to rub it in all of our faces,” Taehyung adds with a huff. At least nobody’s singing playground nursery rhymes about the two of you anymore. Since when last did people actually sit in trees, anyway?

“Get a room,” Yoongi deadpans as per usual. His attitude has not changed even though the state of you and Seokjin’s relationship definitely has. You know you can always count on him to give it to you straight. 

“Hey, no making out on office premises,” Namjoon says, barging into the room with his glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater, one of those pastel cream ones that dads who golf wear (though Namjoon is neither a dad nor plays golf). He’s switched to an iPad in recent weeks, which, despite being much more environmentally friendly, is still not Namjoon-friendly, and he often has to troubleshoot basic things like the functionality of the Notes app. Not to mention, his place of employment is filled with twerps who love doing things like spamming his camera roll and locking himself out of his own iPad. You think the record is three hours, but give the device to Hoseok and he’ll get it up to a couple of days with ease. “You guys agreed to that when you signed the employee handbook.”

“You always think so lowly of us, Joon,” Seokjin chides, and since he’s everybody’s best friend, he’s the only one who can get away with doing that. “We were just talking.”

“And playing Kingdom,” Yoongi pipes up, quickly switching away from his Haikyuu!!! tab. 

“If there’s a rule against Kingdom in the employee handbook, you’d have to fire all of us,” you remind Namjoon pointedly. Not even Yoongi would be spared, even if he’s terrible at the game itself. 

“But if you did, maybe Jungkook could finally live out his dream of being an E-sports gamer,” Taehyung adds, sending Jungkook into a tizzy. 

Seokjin scoffs, “He’d have to knock me and Y/N out of first and second place first, though.” 

“But please don’t fire us,” Taehyung pipes up weakly. 

“Nobody’s getting fired. You guys just better be doing your work,” Namjoon says. “Hey, it says that my iPad is going to be updated later tonight, do I need to do anything about that?”

Everyone groans. 

“Hey, what if we got married?” Seokjin nudges you with his shoulder. 

You sputter out the water you had been drinking all over your desk. “Married?” It dawns on you that shouting out that word in an office filled with nosy coworkers may not be the brightest idea. 

“You guys are getting married?” Taehyung shrieks excitedly. “Oh my God, I call being best man!”

“You don’t get to make that decision, idiot!” Jungkook shouts. “Besides, Seokjin would totally pick me over you anyway.”

“Who says?”

“Guys, we’re not getting married,” Seokjin says before the whole office breaks out into a brawl. Taehyung’s expression falls, sinking back into his chair, defeated. Yoongi had even quirked up for a moment before immediately turning back to his anime. “At least, in real life, we’re not.”

“Oh, you meant in-game?” You ask, the realization dawning on you. You notice everyone in the office eyeing you and Seokjin. Glaring at each and every person, you say, “He meant in-game, mind your own beeswax, you nosy freaks.” 

“Obviously,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I love you, Y/N, but seeing as how we started dating three months ago, I think that marriage is pushing it. But in Kingdom, yeah, why not? We’ll get a lot of buffs from being married.”

Seokjin’s got a point. Being married in Kingdom means that the two of you will share wealth, property, and have the option of combining special powers during battles. It also means that the game will split boss and player rewards evenly amongst the two of you without you having to do it manually. Besides, isn’t it only right for the top two players in the game to get married? Assert their dominance? Remind Jungkook that he’ll never be an E-sports gamer for Kingdom? 

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, easily convinced. Besides, Seokjin could ask you to hand over all of your coins in the game, leaving you penniless, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash. “We can do it later tonight.”

“My place? We can order takeout.”

“Only if we can get some cheesecake as well,” you say. 

“Done.”

Seokjin plants another kiss onto your lips before returning to his own desk, your office chairs facing away from each other as you get back to work, the promise of a nice meal and some quality time together keeping you motivated. 

Out of the blue, you say, “I would have said yes, you know.”

“To what?” Seokjin asks, not even turning around. 

“To asking if we could get married,” you tell him. He rounds on you, eyes wide. “I would have said yes.”

Seokjin seems frozen in place before he caves, body relaxing as his entire face begins to glow, red and orange and pink. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll ask again later, and if your answer is still the same, then we can.”

“How much later?” You ask. You don’t like to be kept waiting. Especially since the both of you know that your answer almost definitely won’t falter. 

Seokjin grins. “You’ll see.”

There

“I never liked fancy dresses,” you comment, pulling at the collar of the white dress lacing your features, hugging your body like a bedsheet. It’s scratchy and uncomfortable and restricting, making you feel like you can’t eat a single apple without popping open. There’s a veil with a train the size of the castle behind you, and the tiara on your head is so heavy and sharp that ti feels as though you’re about to topple. All this for a wedding?

“Good thing you’ll never have to wear one again after this, right?” Jin whispers back, the two of you facing the officiant before you as a crowd of onlookers watches the two of you. 

“Is that a promise?” You ask. “We’re making a lot of promises today, aren’t we?”

“And I will keep every single one of them with honor,” Jin says dramatically. It almost makes you reach out to punch him in the shoulder, but you don’t for the sake of publicity, hands wrapped tightly around the bouquet, filled with roses and tulips and carnations. You can’t believe you’re saying this, but you think you prefer your knight’s garb. At least it comes with flat boots. 

You even tune out what the officiant is saying, an old, monotonous advisor who oversees all military weddings, waiting boredly until you are prompted to respond. Time usually goes by rather quickly in the Kingdom, whether you are strolling through the market or on the battlefield, but here, it feels as though it’s taking forever and a day. Discreetly, you turn to look at Jin, who notices your gaze and rolls his eyes, just to make you laugh. At least the both of you feel the same about this whole thing. You wish there were an easier way to do this, perhaps just going to a courthouse and signing some papers and making a vow or two. Does the entire kingdom have to watch? 

“Do you promise to uphold these values, Jin?” The officiant asks. 

“I do,” Jin says. 

“Do you promise to uphold these values, Y/N?” 

Relieved that it’s finally coming to an end, you nod. “I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Immediately, Jin turns to you, reaching an arm out to hold onto your waist as he pulls you towards him, your faces pressed up against each other, breaths hitting each others’ skin. 

“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he whispers softly. 

“Then don’t hold back,” you challenge. 

In one fell swoop, Jin presses a kiss on your lips, soft and warm and gentle. It’s filled with more promises than the officiant could even dream of making, filled with more vows than any wedding ceremony could produce. What this is is more than a silly pledge, a matrimonial technicality. It is an oath. To protect each other. To care for each other. To love each other.

And you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that for the rest of time, until the sun collapses and the moon vanishes, that you will.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 72: Ring Road

Chapters: 72/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: T

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary:  A funeral for a giant.

You woke up to the gentle alarm sounded by Loki's magic. You were warm, and comfortable, and...mildly sore, but not too bad.

Oh, right.

Loki was curled protectively around you, snuggled up so close, he was like a second blanket. The sun had not risen yet, but that didn't mean much at this time of year. The sun was rising later and later, setting earlier and earlier. Winter was close.

You rolled over in his arms to face him, but he was already awake, gazing adoringly at you.

“You're still here.” He murmured.

“Of course. Did you think I wouldn't be?”

“I'd hoped you would.”

“Hey. Hey.” You cupped his cheek. “I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

He helped you dress, sensual and loving touch smoothing the wrinkles in your clothes, then shared a light breakfast with you. He'd had you start sitting under a special lamp once the days had started shortening; this was common for humans in Iceland, he said. To maintain health. So you had a portable one you could take with you most places-to lessons with Saga, to his rooms, even to the council rooms and throne room, so you could have simulated sunlight wherever you went.

“It makes you radiant.” He said.

“I wonder what people here did before these were invented?”

“Suffered, probably.”

You ate, bathed in light.

“Loki...”

“You have questions. I anticipated this. I do not know why I am so small compared to other Jotun, but I do know that I was born this way. I was not expected to survive, and so I was left to die in a special place, as part of a Jotun ritual.”

“That...sounds awful.”

“It is their way. In a way, Odin taking me with him was a final insult to their very culture. But it allowed me to survive.”

“Why can I touch you like this, but not like that?”

“This isn't an illusion. I am more than just an illusionist, I am a shapeshifter. You can touch me in this form, because it's real. When I am in Asgardian shape, I truly am Asgardian.”

He held out his milky hand, and you caressed his palm.

“Everybody else knows, don't they?” You asked.

Loki nodded. “Once I found out, I knew everyone else would eventually. I wanted to control the method of the revelation, so I...well I wrote a play.”

“A play? You can write too? Is there anything you can't do?”

Loki flushed. “A few things.” He admitted bashfully.

“I want to see it!”

“Not yet! I mean, we don't have facilities, or actors. We don't have the time. But someday, yes.” He seemed nervous. Maybe he was embarrassed about it. He never said it was a good play, after all.

“Loki, if you're Asgardian when you shapeshift into one, then why worry about being a Frost Giant to begin with? You can be anything, and it's real.” You asked.

“Humans are highly mutable.” Loki explained. “Your cultures move and change quickly. Even those whose identity goes back thousands of years will find that not all of their customs are exactly the same as they were. It's kind of admirable, actually.

But Asgard moves much more slowly. The war between the Frost Giants and Asgard is over, except that it isn't. It's barely been a single generation since then. Thor was born in the middle of that war; I was born at the end. It is within recent memory. I was raised around people who had fought, people who had lost loved ones. I was raised on the residual hate. It became a part of me.

Maybe that would be all I was grappling with, if I had known from the start. Maybe I would have had time to come to terms, to grow a thicker skin. But the centuries of lies on top of that; the man who raised me watching that prejudice grow in me and not bothering to do anything about it, as if he thought a lie could ever last forever with me around.”

“But it did, didn't it? Almost forever. Did you ever question?”

“Yes and no. I knew something was wrong, but I dismissed it. Ignored it. I didn't want to look into it.”

“The only person who can lie to you is you, huh?”

“Oh, stop being so insightful, will you?” Loki scowled.

“Sorry, can't. It's my job.”

                                                                        ******

Two days later, you were on the road again.

This was a funeral procession. You, Loki, and Thor, as well as ten einherjar and six masons, two cooks, and the Asgardian equivalent of a priest.

And, of course, the giant.

He had been tightly and carefully wrapped, almost like a huge mummy, to keep his head in place, and make him safe for transport and handling. He had been placed in a wooden cart, which would act also as his coffin. He had been veiled, and most of his possessions placed in the cart with him, along with what the Asgardians considered peace offerings. Honor, even towards an enemy, was a matter of common practice. After all, if one sent an opponent to Valhalla, it wouldn't do to leave them angry with one upon one's own entry.

And so a helmet had been placed with him, and a nice blanket, a pickax, a basket of wheat, and a pan flute. You had left him a book, but you wondered if that was any good as a gift. After all, a thousand years ago, your language hadn't existed in the form you knew. Saga had shown you what Old English looked like, and you hadn't even recognized it. It had made you feel strange and small.

Was it an appropriate gift? A book he couldn't understand? Or was it the thought that counted?

“We don't really do grave goods where I'm from.” You'd told Loki. “I don't really know what to give.”

“What do you value?” He'd asked. “If it means something to you, it should be fine.”

And so it had to be a book. Old stories of Americana-Mark Twain, and Maya Angelou, and Edgar Allen Poe. Little chunks of your culture over time, and from different perspectives. You hoped if he could read it in that big black hole in the sky, that he found some enjoyment from it.

You, however, were finding very little enjoyment on this trip. Not only was it violently cold, but the wind was a cruel whip that lashed at you until Loki draped his heavy cloak over your head, creating a tent. That kept the wind out, but also completely blocked your vision, forcing you to let him guide Acorn, instead of you.

Though Acorn was a sturdy and stalwart little thing, born and bred on the frigid Icelandic landscape, she was distressed by the Frost Giant in his cart. To keep her calm, Loki moved the two of you forward, closer to him, but that just increased your frustration.

You wanted to be close to Loki, and he clearly wanted to be too, but there was no time, no opportunity. You were frozen out on the road, and this was a funeral procession. There was propriety to observe.

From under Loki's cloak, you could not see any of the beautiful landscape around you, and while you were enveloped in his comforting scent, the cloak also blocked out what little sun the island got at that time of year. For the entire four day trip, you saw little light, other than the evening cooking fires when the procession set up camp.

Then, with the tents set up as a windbreak, and dinner cooking over the fire, you were able to look up as the crystal clear sky, scattered with diamonds and flowing ribbons of color.

You'd never seen the auroras before this, but you could see how people became enchanted by their otherworldly aura.

“It's like the Bifrost, isn't it?” You said to Loki, who was staring up into the night just like you were. He was tucked up close to the fire with you, stealing the only moments of intimacy the two of you could find. “Is that what they saw, way back when? A way to reach the gods? How many ways did people interpret this, if they didn't know the science behind it?”

“Knowing the science doesn't necessarily remove the magic, now does it?” Loki said. “We know how lightning and thunder works. We know what causes it. We know that men should not be able to command it, and yet...”

“Is it magic?” You asked, staring at the swirling colors.

“Perhaps.” Loki said. “Of a kind.”

There wasn't even any privacy to be had in the tents; they were large group affairs, meant to house several people each, with little dividers hanging between them. The best you could get was wriggling your hand under the divider to hold Loki's, but the cold permeated just enough that you couldn't do it for long. You eventually had to hunker down into your thick, fluffy sleeping bag until only your nose and mouth were exposed to the open air.

You dressed yourself in the mornings in very heavy, but much less elaborate clothing than usual. Loki had insisted that you wear some of your armor on the trip, your breastplate and helmet, just in case there were any opportunistic enemies out in the countryside.

“When you are writhing in my arms,” He had whispered into your ear. “I don't want it to be from pain.”

On Acorn's back, under Loki's cloak, you tried to come up with an appropriate blessing for the dead giant.

What could you say? You still felt some kind of responsibility. You hadn't tried to deescalate the situation. You hadn't tried to talk to the giant. Hadn't tried to calm him down, or warn him. Just threatened him, antagonized him, distracted him.

But the kids...He had already killed several people, injured Kolla right in front of you, and was threatening the children...

What would you have done, if you knew nothing about Frost Giants? If Asgardian prejudice had not been taught to you?

Screamed a lot and gotten squished probably.

Would it be insulting to the giant's spirit to beg forgiveness or show remorse? To consider his death a terrible accident that could have been averted? Would a warrior want words like that?

The funeral procession had traveled back to Akureyri to get onto the Ring Road, a highway that circled the entire island in a single, unbroken stretch of asphalt. It was much easier to navigate than cross country would have been, but went a little out of the way as well, taking you along the northern part of the island, when your destination was in the east.

It seemed they had drawn a lot of attention as well. There weren't many tourists at this time of year, only the most hardcore of explorers, but the Icelanders themselves used the road regularly. Every now and then you peeked out from under Loki's cloak to see an ever-changing entourage of people; on horses, in small cars or buses, all waving and calling out, either questions or encouragement, you weren't familiar enough with Icelandic to tell.

Loki and Thor took it well, chatting with people who were brave and careful enough to approach. Some of them expressed what you thought was probably fear or shock at the dead giant, but more reacted with curiosity.

That was the general reaction Icelanders had to Asgardians. Iceland was a Christian country, but not quite in the way that America was. The vast majority of Icelanders that you saw showed no hostility toward Asgard, even though they represented a major religious crisis. It was very different from the fractious contention Asgard generated back home. You definitely preferred this.

How long, you began to wonder, until you weren't American anymore? Was it possible, as an adult, to absorb enough culture from another land, that it made you something other than what you'd grown up as? Or would you always be a foreigner; exotic, but accepted?

The long road split off towards the eastern interior of the island, before reaching Rekjavik, leading you even further away from civilization, and into the wilderness. But Okjokull was a depressing reminder that civilization had reached out into the wilderness, and touched even the most remote of places.

Okjokull, or rather, just Ok now, had once been a glacier, covering an extinct shield volcano. Now, the volcano and the glacier were both extinct. Under Loki's cloak, you had studied on your phone, looking up pictures of the glacier back in the nineteen-eighties, when it covered the whole area. But now, the horses hooves ground the gravel of the exposed landscape; a barren area, with only a few scattered chunks of ice, here and there. Over the course of one human lifetime, the whole thing had disappeared.

It disturbed you. Icelanders certainly believed in climate change. They'd seen this happen. They'd held a funeral. And here you were for another one.

The masons fell into building, directing the einherjar. After getting permission from the government, Thor estimated it would take no more than a day and a half of hard work to build a decent barrow for the giant, whose decaying body might-might-help to rebuild the glacier.

If not, his presence here might become just another tourist destination, another relic of the islands past.

You watched them dig out a large hole, deep enough to roll the cart into, and cover it halfway. Then they began packing in the larger stones, building a large mound that would hold up under it's own weight. Next came a low wall, surrounding the entire grave at a distance of about ten feet, to indicate that this was no natural formation, and lastly, a bronze plaque, set into a large stone at the front of the fence, declaring what this was, and urging caution when approaching.

Thor had been correct; the entire thing was finished before nightfall on the second day. The entire entourage gathered as the priest said a simple farewell to the giant, and everyone present murmured their own blessings before releasing a glowing, golden orb of magic into the sky.

“If we meet in another life, I hope to learn your name.” You had said, while beside you, you had heard Loki mumble: “Rest. We will take care of them.”

Snow had begun to fall; fluffy white flakes sticking to everything. You wondered if it would get high enough to bury the barrow, as you were hustled off to sit on Acorn's warm back, wrapped up in Loki's cloak once more. Everyone packed up in a huge hurry: Thor told you that the procession needed to get back to the Ring Road quickly, before the smaller, country roads that led to Ok were snowed over. The Asgardians feared that if they got snowed in, you would be in danger of freezing, but the Ring Road was kept clear.

Once back on the open road, you peeked out from under the thick tent of Loki's fine cloak and gazed out over the wide countryside. Far in the distance, to the west, you could just barely see a dome of faint light that must have been Reykjavik. Loki had said he would take you there on the tour of the island he promised you this spring. But for now, this was as close as you would get.

It amazed you to think that you could traverse an entire country by horse so easily. Your old home just went on and on and on, forever and ever. It seemed no matter how many miles you traveled, there was always another mile of Iowa to go. Here, there was a single road that went all the way around. The country was self contained, surrounded on all sides by powerful and mysterious oceans.

A small flush of terror washed over you once again, at re-realizing how isolated and far away from everything familiar you really were. Floating in the frigid North Atlantic on a giant volcano, in the care of aliens. Participating in the funeral of a giant. Riding home on a horse, to hopefully fall right into bed with your divine, royal boyfriend.

Who even were you now?

[foretolds]

CASSIUS MORALES BAPTISTE called into ORACLE FM. They were a little bit HEDONISTIC & RECKLESS at first, but we kept them talking until they got a little PROTECTIVE & WORLDLY.  They said they’ve been working as CHEF AT OBSCENITY, and thinking about aligning themselves with NA since they have been living in Nova Satus for FORTY ONE YEARS, and from what we can tell, they still give off huge THE SLOW LOWERING OF DESIGNER SUNGLASSES TO MAKE A POINT, THE PRIDE IN THE CLAIM OF BRUISES LEFT RIGHT AT THE CORNER OF COLLAR BONES, & BASS IN THE BOTTOM OF A HEARTY LAUGH THAT MAKES AN IMPRESSION vibes . [Y'LAN NOEL, HATIAN LOA (PAPA GHEDE), CIS MALE, UNKNOWN , HE/HIM ]

While taking a vessel is usually a process that is more inviting, Cassius has occupied this one for as long as he cares to remember (or tell), for more intimate reasons. The story changes depending on when and how he is telling it, but few have managed to settle him enough to garner the real account of the way things happened. Some are given the tall tale of ritual sacrifice, a dramatic rendition of his ceremony, others are told the long winded yet rewarding story involving a lover with a dream to keep whatever was left of a broken heart.

The truth? The truth was that the man he occupied now was the cemetery keeper for the body of one of his greatest lovers. This usually wouldn’t have made him particularly special, but it was watching the way the man continued to work through, or passed, his own needs to give to the dead that made him appealing. His loneliness was so palpable at one point, that the gift of possession seemed like it would, and could, come as a relief. So, they had made a deal.

Cassius sat with this man for awhile, days turning into years, until finally he had agreed to preform the ritual that would allow him to live forever, even if he was forced to shove over for the needs and wants of a loa that was fickle yet somehow still honorable, in some sense. When they joined, he allowed the man to occasionally slip through, to have a few days, a few moments, a few memories that would and could be his alone. In a sense, some would say that he loved his vessel, and they wouldn’t be wrong. Where they were, wrong, though, was in thinking that this gave him some kind of weakness.

That was years ago, though. Years, decades, centuries. He has been here, watching, operating, living his life. Throughout those decades he has indulged all of his whims, whether it be working as a doctor and enjoying the irony in being the one that would decide if sickness would bring them to join the dead, or would they bounce back better than ever; or a coroner for his people, specifically, because America was never warm enough to them, and they died on the street far too often for his liking.

When he was coroner, and when he deals with the dead, he is the pillar of guidance and assistance. They don’t deserve to feel fear when they pass, the simpler parts of humanity can bleed away to make way for the after life that is often more welcoming than the world can be. That’s the caveat, isn’t it? He knows celebration intimately, even in the fact of despair, but that doesn’t mean that he is always the poster boy for this years fuck boy Olympics. No, you just have to know how to talk to him nice, to ask him to be serious for a moment, and you’ll always get a seriously answer, lecture, or piece of advice.

As the stories go, he has always had an issue with food. The glasses that usually adorn is features are not needed, but we’re once used as a tool to hide the way he watched those who much steal it from him. Now, they are more of a dramatic accent, but that doesn’t mean that he is particularly forgiving for anyone that steals from him, or his following, considering it a large offense, and one well worth holding a grudge for.

At the advice of a very specialized therapist, he would open the restaurant behind his love of said food. He learned that making it, that giving that gift back to people, eased that anxiety and began to quell his need to constantly run away with sustenance that he did not need. Eventually, his passion became the restaurant that would stand today. It gives him a chance to deal with his own bullshit, but it also seconds as a chance to bestow his own blessings on people - through charity donations, catering funerals (an obscenity special that is always pro bono), or just lifting the spirits of those that enter the front doors.

He found Nova Satus to be the right place for that years ago, and when he was approached about their potential return to full power, he jumped on it. The man might be partially dormant, but he misses the way that belief flows in the blood, the way it sets your body on fire. The way appreciation tingles right under the skin, the way adoration feels when it’s whispered against your lips. All of it he has chased on a small scale, but now, now it has to return full force.

Cassius goes by Baptiste and very rarely allows or enjoys anyone else calling him by his first name. Much like the truth behind his origin story with his vessel, this is a privilege for a select few, rather than a standard setting.

Baptiste often is found wearing all black, almost to the point where it is comical that the man even owns any other colors. However, alternatively, if anyone makes the mistake of telling him that he looks like he’s dressed for a funeral, he simply grins while explaining that a funeral is the most important party you’ll ever have.

Baptiste is extremely sex positive, and will throw hands over anyone who decides to slut shame, kink shame, or otherwise. Because of this, he also hasn’t had too much of a history in committed relationships. It’s not that he is not open to them, they had to just be worth the while, and keeping both his interest in personality and his need for filth in the bedroom can be...well, a task.

Baptiste is almost always wearing a pair of glasses, most frequently they are sunglasses that are either pushed on his nose dramatically, gestured with, or otherwise.

Papa Ghede is well known for the obscene, both generally and sexually. That being said, he is always going to be the first one to say something vulgar to some degree. He is unapologetically shameless, and smooth in a way that is both attractive and irritating, depending on the day and person. Alternatively, catch my guy with a very popular only fans account, the number one fan of whatever day myst gets new shipments in, and rolling through every single amateur's night at the local strip clubs.

Last but not least, at least for now, he also tends to be jovial, in a sense, dancing words in circles or saying shit just for amusement value or to get a reaction. I apologize in advance for whatever nonsense is going to come out of his mouth, truly. That being said, that is just how he operates. However, if you want or need him to be serious about something, the solution is simple: use your words. If you ask him to be serious or take something seriously, he will, and he will offer a solid response.

POWERS

death force manipulation

vodou magic

necromancy

healing

enhanced charisma/sexual inducement/sex deity physiology

underworld lordship

possession/aspect manifestation 

contract bestowal/summoning/power bestowal

wish granting/blessing inducement/curse inducement

immortality

WEAKNESSES

contract/blessing/curse negation (including prolonged use of blessing, power, contract or misuse)

may also need to present offerings, complete task or favor, or user must have certain qualities to obtain curse/blessing.

all wishes come with price and balance, all wish, curses and blessings come with loopholes and twists.

can be bound by high level magic (usually requiring several covens/witches/magic beings)

weakness creation/inducement/empowerment

spicy healing (aka he has to take on some portion of the sickness he is taking away, or suffer some consequence in order to do that)

possession can be negated by rune, certain protection spells

life balance - lives saved have to equal lives taken, so if he saves one person, he also has to kill someone to maintain the balance

[fallencomrade]

𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀   𝐑 𝐀 𝐃 𝐈 𝐀 𝐓 𝐀  a  drabble  based  on  this  post  from  my  old  blog ( x ) PER REQUEST,  i will happily  turn this into a thread ! ◝(●˙꒳˙●)◜

     THEY HAUL HIS LIFELESS BODY INTO A DARK ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  proud  hunter  might  drag  in  his  latest  kill,  his  latest  TROPHY.  they  are  pleased  with  their  triumph,  but  the  muscle  required  to  take  down  such  a  beast  certainly  demanded  a  price.  TWELVE  MEN,  it  had  taken  twelve  men  and  a  locked  door  -  and  they  had  just  barely  managed  to  SUBDUE  him.  just  barely.  they  are  all  in  bad  shape,  the  majority  of  the  strike  team  absent  due  to  serious  injuries  that  required  immediate  attention.  rumlow,  disregarding  his  own  injuries,  the  tremendous  PAIN  livid  inside  his  own  body  ( ORDER  ONLY  COMES  THROUGH  PAIN  )  refuses  to  miss  this  though.  he  will  lick  his  wounds  later.  now,  it  is  time  to  bask.  

     ‘  heavy  fucker ,  ’  he  laments  as  he  dumps  the  body  into  the  reinforced  steel  chair  bolted  to  the  floor.  he  begins  the  arduous  process,  starting  with  the  leather  restraints.  he  wraps  them  around  each  arm  and  leg,  as  well  as  around  the  torso.  next  come  the  magnetized  cuffs  which  clamp  tightly  around  wrists  &&  ankles.  they  will  hold,  developed  and  proven  to  withstand  super  -  soldier  strength,  tested  on  some one thing  similar.  the  drugs  they  pump  into  his  body  have  been  tested  just  the  same,  and  if  his  serum  works  anything  like  theirs,  the  man  should  not  wake  until  they  are  ready  for  him  ;;  until  they  PERMIT  him  to  do  so.  rumlow  wraps  chains  around  each  limb,  just  to  be  safe. 

     once  finished,  he  glides  his  tongue  over  the  blood  pooling  from  his  split  lip,  and  spits  the  taste  of  it  out  at  his  prisoner’s  feet,  finally  stepping  away.  pulling  his  phone  free,  rumlow  dials  a  single  number.  ‘  connect  me  to  pierce ,  ’   he  orders,  heated  eyes  burning  as  he  glances  back  at  the  body  in  the  chair.  

      ‘  SIR.  we  have  him.  steve  rogers  has  been  CONTAINED.  ’

     rumlow  had  wanted  to  KILL  rogers.  (  for  personal  reasons  and  selfish  delights,  more  than  anything  else  )  but  he  also  understands  how  DANGEROUS  the  captain  is.  he  has  worked  alongside  him  now  for  a  while,  and  knows  the  RISK  keeping  him  alive  poses.  but  pierce  had  been  very  clear  with  his  orders.   he  wanted  the  captain  taken  in  ALIVE,  seemingly  confident  ‘guts  and  glory’  here  could  be  convinced  to  cooperate.  rumlow  is  doubtful,  but  questioning  pierce  is  not  in  his  best  interest.  whatever  the  secretary  has  up  his  sleeve,  it  is  time  to  start  putting  it  into  motion.   convincing  rogers  will  not  be  easy.  

            whatever  his  hand  is,  it  better  be  good. 

      THEY LEAD THEIR LIFELESS SOLDIER INTO A COLD ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  medical  professional  might  examine  a  CORPSE  -  with  cold,  clinical  hands.  they  remove  the  thermal  suit  clinging  to  his  trembling  body,  the  material  still  cold  with  the  lingering  breath  of  stasis.  they  hose  him  down  and  scrub  his  skin  raw.  the  technicians  spend  a  great  amount  of  time  washing  his  body,  which  is  different  -  but  if  the  soldier  notices,  he  does  not  say  anything.  the  asset  does  not  question.  they  order  him  to  sit  down  in  a  chair,  and  so  he  sits.  they  pull  out  a  blade.  no  -  it  is  a  razor.  the  soldier  expects  them  to  hand  it  to  him,  to  use  as  a  weapon  during  this  next  mission,  but  they  do  not  assign  it  to  him.  neither  do  they  use  it  for  testing  purposes  -  not  to  poke,  prod  or  slice  into  his  skin.  no,  instead  they  tell  him  to  lean  back.  he  complies.  they  tell  him  not  to  move.  he  complies.  then  they  rub  something  frothy  across  his  face.  they  glide  the  sharp  blade  across  his  skin,  scrapping.  it  doesn’t  hurt… and  that  is  surprising.  the  techs  put  away  the  blade  without  spilling  a  single  drop  of  blood. 

     they  cut  his  hair,  hacking  away  until  there  is  more  on  the  floor  around  them  than  on  his  head.  no  longer  can  he  HIDE  behind  dark,  oily  bangs.  they  are  sheered  away.  they  cut  until  his  hair  no  longer  lays  on  his  shoulders,  no  longer  covers  his  neck  -  and  it  leaves  the  soldier  feeling…  strangely  EXPOSED.  it  is  odd,  different  -  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  one  of  the  technicians  holds  out  a  piece  of  paper,  its  contents  unknown  to  him.  the  asset  does  not  question.  her  dark  eyes  flicker  back  and  forth  between  him  and  the  page  and  after  a  moment,  she  frowns  and  sighs,  shoulders  slumping  with  what  appears  to  be  DEFEAT.  ‘  his  eyes ,  ’   she  criticizes  and  for  a  brief  moment,  the  asset  wonders  what  it  is  in  his  eyes  that  DISAPPOINTS  her  so.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  she  shrugs  soon  after  anyway,  with  a  dismissive,  ‘  it  will  have  to do.  ’ 

     finally,  they  strap  him  in  the  chair  and  REVIVE  his  mind.  the  ice  is  swept  away,  replaced  with  their  steadfast  CONDITIONING.  the  soldier  is  ACTIVATED,  once  again.  ready  to  comply.   —  &&  when  it  is  finished,  as  his  cerebrum  sparks  &&  flickers  with  electricity,  lightning  scorching  all  passageways  to  his  brain,  while  numbing  everything  else  -  they  prepare  him.  if  he  were  in  his  right  mind,  the  soldier  might  ask  why  they  decide  to  dress  him  in  the  attire  they  choose.  why  they  have  him  tug  on  a  pair  of  dark  jeans  instead  of  the  usual  cargo  pants.  why  they  have  him  in  a  soft,  navy  dark  cotton  shirt  instead  of  the  standard  kevlar  and  tactical  vests.  this  flimsy  long - sleeved  shirt  will  do  little  to  stop  bullets  and  blades.   

                        —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.    

     ONLY A SELECT FEW  are  allowed  inside.  secretary  pierce  certainly  is  not  intimidated  by  an  audience,  but  these  are  delicate  matters.  it  is  important  they  maintain  a  level  of  professionalism.  they  are  situated  in  a  sub – level  basement  located  in  the  underbelly  of  a  large  accounting  firm,  one  owned  &&  run  by  hydra.  it’s  a  well  respected,  legitimate  business.  perfect  record  of  excellence,  fortune  500  company  with  outstanding  company  morals  and  ideals…  and  growing  inside,  beneath  the  guise  -  a  hydra  head  breathes,  thriving.  

     when  pierce  arrives,  security  detail  in  tow,  the  captain  is  just  starting  to  stir.  ‘  his  serum  is  impressive,  ’  one  doctor  whispers  to  another,  glancing  down  at  his  watch  before  scribbling  notes  onto  his  clipboard.  they  are  eager  to  start  conducting  tests,  but  without  direct  authorization  from  pierce,  all  they  have  been  able  to  collect  thus  far  are  a  few  samples  of  blood.  they  are  also  afraid  to  get  too  close  to  rogers  without  him  being  properly  sedated  &&  restrained,  and  for  good  reason  too.  much  to  the  strike  team’s  chagrin,  the  scientists  were  privy  to  the  elevator  footage.  hydra  values  their  minds,  not  their  muscle  ;;  they  are  of  no  use  DEAD.  so  for  now,  they  will  maintain  their  distance,  jotting  down  what  little  details  they  can  obtain  based  on  observation  alone,  tucked  safely  behind  the  pointed  guns  of  what  remains  of  the  strike  team.  sectioned  off  in  the  middle  of  the  room  sits  a  makeshift  holding  cell,  the  space  completely  surrounded  by  sturdy  metal  bars.  at  its  center  sits  two  chairs  -  one  occupied  and  bolted  to  the  floor,  the  other  empty  and  unbounded.  it  is  an  accustomed  outlay,  especially  for  hydra.  still,  the  doom  and  gloom  of  it  all  still  makes  pierce  huff  and  shake  his  head  a  little.     

     POLISHED SHOES STEP FORWARD,  into  the  cage.  the  door  closes  behind  him.  he  removes  his  suit  jacket,  draping  the  expensive  material  over  the  back  of  the  unoccupied  chair.  a  single  light  hangs  over  the  cell,  illuminating  the  small  space  while  casting  the  surrounding  area  into  thick  darkness,  allowing  the  others  to  observe  without  being  seen.  but  not  pierce,  no.  alexander  pierce  wants  to  be  seen  ;;  wants  to  be  heard.  the  man  is  optimistic,  pleasant  even  when  steve  finally  wakes  up.  he  remains  patient,  reasonable  -  welcoming  the  captain’s  VITRIOL  with  calm  understanding.  ‘  i  would  like  us  to  become  business  partners,  captain.  i  was  not  lying  when  i  shook  your  hand  and  said  it  was  an  HONOR.  ’   but  steve  is  quick  to  spit  back,  ‘  you  killed  nick  fury  ’  and  that  has  pierce  amused,  knowing  smile  stretching  across  thin  lips.  ominously,  he  responds,  ‘  not  me.  ’ 

     but  pierce  should  know  swaying  the  captain  will  require  more  than  just  a  simple  invitation.  steven  rogers  is  STUBBORN  with  ferocious  tenacity  and  even  stronger  ideals.  no,  it  will  require  something  a  little  more  refined.  something  far  more  personal  than  the  promise  of  money  or  power.  hell,  even  the  prospect  of  saving  billions  from  an  out - of - control  overpopulation  will  not  appeal  to  the  captain.  he  is  too  HONORABLE,  and  when  pierce  points  out  how  they  are  both  fighting  for  the  same  thing  :  PEACE,  the  captain  scoffs  in  his  face.  the  captain  appears  to  be  INCORRUPTIBLE.  steve  rogers  however  is  just  a  man  underneath  all  that  righteousness  -  and  all  men  have  a  price,  a  breaking  point  -  a  weakness,  a  DARK SIDE.  hydra  needs  only  find  a  single  weak  point,  the  smallest  opening  to  burrow  beneath  -  and  then  it  could  grow,  consume,  overpower.  A  PARASITE.  lucky  for  them,  hydra  already  possesses  steve  rogers’  WEAKNESS.

     ‘  we  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  but  you  don’t  TRUST  us.  i  understand.  maybe  i  could  offer  something  else…  in  exchange  for  your  cooperation ?  ’  

     the  secretary  stands  up  then  and  makes  a  gesture  over  his  shoulder.  the  cell  door  opens  behind  him  with  a  SINISTER  groan  and  in  walks  a  SHADOW.  the  older  man  steps  closer  and  turns,  perching  himself  at  steve’s  side.

            ‘  a  gift,  for  your  COMPLIANCE.  ’  

     A GHOST IS MEANT TO BE UNSEEN.  he  is  a  SHADOW,  meant  only  to  exist  in  the  dark,  chased  away  into  nothing  if  exposed  to  light.  his  presence  is  to  be  felt,  but  never  seen.  to  have  so  many  eyes  on  him  at  once,  it  makes  him  feel  exposed  in  the  worst  ways  possible.  his  skin  crawls  as  he  is  summoned  from  his  hiding  place,  the  heat  of  their  gazes  nearly  BURNING  through  his  composure.  focus,  soldier !  focus !  his  mind  berates,  shoving  him  forward.  his  orders  are  still  unclear,  but  he  has  been  trained  well.  he  knows  to  follow  directions  issued  by  his  handlers  ;;  knows  to  never  speak  unless  addressed  or  given  explicit  permission.  he  knows  to  always  do  as  COMMANDED  and  to  never  question.  they  want  him  inside  the  CAGE  and  so  he  enters  the  cage.  

     he  has  been  watching  this  whole  time,  a  SPECTATOR  and  he  is  ashamed  to  admit  his  mind  has  been  restless.  this  entire  time,  his  stomach  has  been  twisting  tighter  &&  tighter,  to  the  point  of  great  discomfort.  he  has  been  unable  to  identify  a  source,  a  culprit  to  explain  the  pain  -  but  it  hurts.  his  mind  wavers,  lulled  by…  the  voices  (  a  voice  )  in  the  room.  he  tries  to  chase  after  the  calm  DRONE  of  static,  but  he  finds  himself  getting  distracted,  which  is  concerning.  he  had  just  undergone  maintenance,  not  even  an  hour  ago.  it  shouldn’t  be  this  hard  to  concentrate  ;;  and  the  restlessness  in  his  blood  is  a  sign  of  stasis  deprivation.   —  but  he  had  just  come  out,  hadn’t  he?

     SOMETHING IS WRONG.  he  can  feel  it  in  his  bones.  there  is  a  heavy  weight  pressing  down  on  top  of  his  shoulders,  legs  dragging  as  if  chained  to  his  SHADOW.  he  wants  to  go  back.  the  soldier  realizes  with  muted  curiosity  that  he  doesn’t  want  to  step  into  this  cell.  he  wants  to  turn  back  around  and  BEG  to  be  put  back  into  stasis.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  want  and  the  asset  does  not  CHOOSE.  so  he  continues  forward,  despite  the  AGONY  cracking  his  chest  open.  each  step  PULSES  through  him.  he  feels  all  their  eyes  on  him,  but  when  the  captain’s  fall  on  him,  he  IGNITES,  insides  burning  away  into  ASH.          stop.  stop,  stop.  it  HURTS.         

     HE TASTES DEATH ON HIS TONGUE.   he  falters  -  mind  stuttering  into  WHITE  NOISE,  attempts  to  recover  quickly  -  but  he  can  tell  pierce  notices  and  he  is  displeased.  the  captain  is  forcing  a  REACTION  from  the  asset  and  he  doesn’t  know…  why?  for  a  half -  second,  their  eyes  lock  -  and  it  is  an  ONSLAUGHT  of  noise,  emotion,  and  PAIN.  gold  hair,  big  blue  eyes.  dumb  expression.  it  plucks  at  strings  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  a  melody  of  some  kind  whispering  across  his  subconscious  -  tugging  at  memory,  which  immediately  insights  sudden  PAIN.  in  order  to  SURVIVE  this  ordeal,  the  soldier  charges  forward  ;;  he  pulls  away.  eyes  retreat,  dimming  and  with  each  step  forward,  he  grows  more  and  more  distant,  DETACHED  -  until  he  is  empty,  ready  to  be  filled  with  orders.  ready  to  comply.  he  focuses  on  pierce  and  only  pierce.

     pierce  nods  towards  the  chair  and  the  asset  sits.  the  FEAR  is  slowly  draining  from  him,  like  pus  from  a  wound  -  leaving  him  feeling  cold  &&  tired,  but  he  notes  with  a  flare  of  perplexity  that  he  is  AFRAID  of  the  captain.  why  is  that?  he  avoids  both  their  eyes,  instead  choosing  to  look  down,  focus  coming  to  a  stop  on  pierce’s  hands.  they  dim  and  eventually  gloss  over  -  and  the  asset  awaits  orders. 

     pierce  smirks,  pleased.  his  hand  comes  up  to  rest  on  steve’s  shoulder  and  he  squeezes  the  muscle  tightly,  making  an  offer  steve  rogers  cannot  refuse.  ‘  hydra  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  we  can  even  give  you  your  BEST  FRIEND  back.  ’  

                          ALL  YOU  HAVE  TO  DO  IS  COMPLY.  

[seraphiixa]

Questions for the mun. @kingofdesert​ asked:  3. Are there any particular aus or plots that you’d really like to write? 13. Who are five of your favorite characters? (In the rp community or otherwise)

3. Are there any particular aus or plots that you’d really like to write? 

     I’ve been toying with the idea of an au where Lyra takes her battleship to defect and become NOT a pirate, but a sort of maritime vigilante. She wouldn’t call herself a pirate and she wouldn’t raise a black flag, but she would be sailing without orders, challenging crews that bring harm to people, and trying to bring islands and towns under her dedicated protection in a way that she can’t do as a Marine (she would effectively be a pirate, because illegally sailing makes you a pirate however you wanna slice it, but she wouldn’t want to use the word because of old prejudices). 

     However... I just can’t see Lyra ever leaving the Navy. The way she sees it, the only way to fix the corruption in the Navy is to stay in long enough to fix it yourself by either advancing in rank high enough to effect change through regulation and law, or by training and producing generations of Marines under her with the same values as her own.

     As for plots... it could be fun to write her encountering the Beasts pirates because as far as I know, don’t they collect Zoans? She’s a Mythical Zoan and I could see that bringing conflict about. I’d also really like to explore her worsening reputation among the Navy with other Marine writers, but we are few and far between. She’s a bit of a black sheep in the Navy in the post-Time Skip because of the limitations of her Fruit, so I wouldn’t mind writing that out a bit with someone who actually does treat her like a black sheep. Also, Lyra was trained by Vice Admiral Tsuru and sailed under her for the first fourteen years of her career, so a Tsuru or a Doflamingo/Donquixote Pirate to plot and develop a writing relationship with would be great, since she would logically have been close to Tsuru under her mentorship and she would have encountered and clashed with the Donquixotes numerous times because that’s who Tsuru chased. Come get you a hateship or a mentorship. : ).

13. Who are five of your favorite characters? (In the rp community or otherwise) 

     I’ll keep this to One Piece. I can’t possibly rank them, so this is in no particular order.

1. Smoker. Listen. Obviously, I am very biased towards Marines. I love that he fiercely loves and protects his redneck Marines (as a friend put it once). He executes the mission but he also knows when to call bullshit on unlawful orders and when to let people go. He was beaten to a bloody pulp by Doflamingo to let the Straw Hats and Law get away. He fought Vergo until he couldn’t move anymore because the guy betrayed the trust of his Marines and he was pissed. He can put aside his personal pride when it comes to the greater good. Smoker has an awesome moral compass but still does his damn job, and I love that. (Also, Vice Admiral Momonga and that female Marine on the Giant Squad get honorable mentions. I love that Momonga is one of the most formidable Marines as far as we know, he’s just a swordsman with no Devil Fruit. And that female Giant Marine gave 0 shits and attacked Oars Jr. head-on; she is fearless and I love her. )

2. Sir Crocodile. I’m a sucker for a mafia boss. Listen. Crocodile is just so cool. I love his attitude, his design, his laugh, the way he talks down to EVERYONE, his awesome sand powers, the fact that his own arrogance was his downfall, not necessarily the power of his opponent, and just... Every time Crocodile’s on the screen, I’m grinning ear to ear, loving everything that comes out of his mouth. I used to write Crocodile and I miss it. He’s a bad bitch and I love him so much. I hope he’s doing well in the New World; I believe in him.

3. Doflamingo. If you can’t tell, I love villains. I love villains with vast underground criminal empires and surrogate mob families and long eerie laughs. I love that Doflamingo is unquestionably evil. His background, his actions, his perspectives --- he has incredibly few redeemable qualities and the series doesn’t try to sugarcoat it. Even when he’s kind to his Family, you know it’s just because he’s using them. After all, he says he won’t forgive anyone who hurts his family, but he also asks them to kill themselves for him. He is straight up terrifying when he is angry, with those veins in his forehead and giant grin on his face. I love that his power of strings could have been so unassuming but he made it so insanely powerful. I stan (1) puppet-master. God save the rightful King of Dressrosa. 

4. Warden Magellan. Listen up. I feel like people forget how unbelievably awesome Warden Magellan is. He was an absolute nightmare for Luffy. The only reason Luffy got out of there alive is because of Ivankov, just by a fluke chance, being there to save him from the poison, and Bon Clay, by fluke chance, giving them the escape from the prison by opening the Gates. Magellan, considering his power, could very well be one of the most powerful people in One Piece that no one remembers. He can literally wash hundreds of people away in a tide of poison and they will die from it so long as they don’t have special poison resistance and you can’t touch him or you’ll get poisoned, too. More important than his incredibly underrated power, when everything in Impel Down was going to Hell and everyone was freaking out because of multiple crises occurring on multiple levels, he maintained his composure and demonstrated INCREDIBLE LEADERSHIP for subordinates by giving concise and clear directions for them to follow and then taking the lead on challenging the most dangerous threat to them. He also imprisoned Shiryu because he was being cruel to prisoners, stating that the prisoners are just there to be held, they’re not to be toyed with. He has a heart, he‘s a good guy just doing his job of keeping the worst of the worst behind bars so everyone else can be safe. I love Magellan so much. I hate that he stepped down from his position as Warden because he literally did the best he could with the circumstances he was given; no one could have done better. I hope he returns to the series.

5. King of Wildfire. I’ve known of King’s existence for all of four days and I already love him. I’ve seen (1) clip of him and I read his Wikipedia. That’s it. I’m not that far in the anime at all, but the clip I saw... just showed me that he’s my kind of person. Something was happening so he went and fucking handled it. And they played heavy metal in the background while he did it. I’m all in on King. ALL IN.

AND OBVIOUSLY SHANKS. WHO DOESN’T LOVE SHANKS. THE MAN’S A LEGEND.

[aspoonofsugar]

Which is your favourite dynamic in Requiem for a Phantom? Do you have a favourite episode? Quote?

Hello anon!

Thank you so much for this ask because it gives me the chance to talk about this series!

My favourite dynamics are the ones among the three phantoms and especially the one between Elen and Reji because of its importance for the whole series and for the themes.

Phantom explores several themes. Some of them are the following.

1) Giving one’s own life meaning despite how tragic it is. Because of the nature of the series, this often happens through death meaning that many characters try to give their deaths a meaning or to conclude their lives the way they want to:

After all the series is called Requiem for the Phantom and a requiem is something made to celebrate a dead person. The title highlights that the story is about celebrating the phantoms’ lives despite how short and tragic they are. The point is that even these individuals who are not part of society and have committed sins and lack an identity are worth being remembered and being given value.

2) The series explores a specific setting and underlines the cruelty of the criminal world from which it is very difficult (and basically impossible as far as the series is concerned) to escape. The criminal world is described as a literal hell and it is embodied by the organization Inferno which wants to unify it under a single name.

Inferno is a group made by the traitors of other organizations:

This is fitting thematically because it shows how the criminal world twists every relationship and attempt to maintain some kind of honor.

This is shown multiple times and the story arc centered on Tony Stone is the first example offered by the series. Tony, despite being a criminal, loves his people and family and believes in a code. However, in the end he loses his family and dies, his organization is destroyed and used as a scapegoat and he is betrayed by a friend. His story conveys the futility of trying to build some kind of ethical system in a world which is driven by power and ambition and where people’s lives are constantly at stake.

In the series as a whole this same theme is mostly expressed through Lizzie’s character arc. She wants to be treated as a person and asks her employer to do as much in exchange of her loyalty. However, in the end she is betrayed and is forced to kill that same employer despite the fact that she still cares about her.

3) Finally the story is one of self-affirmation and of obtaining a will:

A person should take responsibility for their own actions and sins because only in that way they can truly become an individual.

The relationship between Reiji and Elen (and also the one between Reiji and Cal, but I am not talking about it here) is important for all these three themes and it is fundamental for the whole story.

2) Let’s start from the second theme aka how personal relationships are sacrificed for survival or power in the criminal world.

The important thing when it comes to Elen and Reiji is that they are an exception to the rule. As a matter of fact, even if the people around them like Scythe and Claudia try to manipulate them and to force them to fight against each other, they keep caring for each other and always choose each other over the interests of the organization.

They struggle to do so because of their flaws, but in the end they manage not to betray each other.

This is made obvious in the climaxes of the first two acts which are built so that they are mirrors. In the first act Claudia manipulates things, so that Elen and Scythe are hunted by the organization and in the second act Scythe does the same targeting both Claudia and Reiji. However, both times Reiji and Elen avoid killing each other.

This is also connected to theme number 3) i.e. to the ability of affirming one’s own will.

First of all it is interesting that Elen sees Reiji in this way:

Elen is a person with a very frail sense of identity because of the abuse she went through. She has developed a specific coping mechanism to survive her assassination job:

She nullifies herself and makes her completely dependent on others. If she is ordered to do so she can kill anybody without getting hurt because, in a sense, she is not killing out of her own free will.

Claudia wants Reiji to be different:

She wants him to become more independent and to accept his new life as an assassin in a more proactive way. However, she still manipulates him, so that he works for her. Her manipulation is just different from Scythe’s. He suffocates his subordinates’ feelings, while Claudia nurtures emotions and uses them to manipulate people even more effectively than Scythe.

However, the fact that Reiji himself is manipulated is not really important for Elen who simply sees him as a freer version of herself:

Elen had always assumed that her way of coping was the only one possible, but through Reiji she learns she has other options and starts questioning what she was told and what she had assumed.

The story makes clear that deep down Elen has never lost her most genuine part of herself:

Episode four goes out of its way to establish exactly this.

The episode opens with a very different and overly cheerful Elen who acts in a childish way and has fun going shopping:

This is soon revealed to be a mask she uses not to give away her true identity. However, this mask gives us some information about her real self as well.

First of all, Elen uses this cheerful personality whenever she needs to move around in a public place or when she has to interact with regular people. She uses this persona both in the first act and in the third act. This is interesting. After all, Elen could just take on different personas instead of sticking to a single one. The fact that she doesn’t may very well symbolize that this personality tells us something about her.

All in all it might simply convey the fact that Elen is deep down very child-like. She has been taken by Scythe when she was younger than Reiji and so when her identity had still to properly develop. Scythe manipulated her and took her memories away leaving her as a person completely dependent on others like children are. So it is fitting that her “normal” persona is a childish one because that is the stage in which her development was interrupted.

At the same time, the episode plays with the viewer’s perspective of Elen. Her having fun with the teddy bear is immediately contradicted by her breaking it to retrieve the data and when she later on is asked if she is interested in the touristic depliants she coldly rejects the assumption.

However, by the end of the episode we are shown that she kept both the Teddy Bear and the depliant.

Both are symbolic objects.

-The teddy bear represents her childish self and it is symbolically broken because she herself has been broken when she was a child. Let’s also highlight that in act three where she had the chance to experience a healthier style of life for some months she has a teddy bear on her school bag.

-The depliant is representative of her home town aka Mongolia which will be the end of her journey where she finally finds herself. The fact that she has it since episode 4 clearly shows that deep down Elen had always known from where she came from.

Then why did she not try to leave before Reiji’s arrival?

The answer is this:

In order to grow up Elen needs to face who she truly is. This means that she gets to finally feel complete, but at the same time she has to leave behind a coping mechanism which makes her feel safe and to accept what she has done.

This is something she can’t do alone and needs Reiji’s help in order to succeed.

Reiji too needs Elen and this is made clear at the end of the first act.

As previously stated, Claudia is manipulating Reiji to have him grow apart from Scythe and Elen, so that he can work as her own Phantom. She tells Reiji she is leaving the final choice to him, but she doesn’t really plan to as her orchestrating the whole mess with Scythe proves.

In the end she gives Reiji a choice. He can either go back to Japan or work for her. She knows fully well Reiji will not probably be able to go back to his normal life and the chaos of the situation might very easily push him towards her side. However, Reiji takes a third option:

He wanst to protect Elen and to help her to become a complete person. This is the path Reiji chooses in order to remain himself despite his new identity as an assassin.

In other words, Reiji needs Elen just like Elen needs him, but in a different way.

We can say that they develop a relationship which has shades of codependency since one can’t properly function without the other.

Without Reiji Elen can’t free herself from Scythe, while without Elen Reiji completely loses himself and spirals in his new role as phantom until he meets Cal who saves him.

The end of the second act perfectly shows what their relationship is about.

Elen is still unable to rebel against Scythe and keeps fighting Reiji, but stops when Reiji takes away her mask which is symbolic of him seeing her as a person.

At the same time Reiji is ready to die. He thinks Cal has died because of him and that he has become a monster and prefers to die rather than keep living in the criminal world where people use and betray each other. However, Elen saves him:

Elen’s two scars were both made by Reiji. Reiji is fixated with the second one he gave her when he accidentally shot her. That scar represents Reiji’s guilt and his crimes and it is the only part of himself he can currently see. However, Elen reveals that it is her other scar the one she cares about aka the one he gave her when he saved her. She claims that that scar is the proof of her existence and why she keeps fighting.

In this way they save each other. Reiji is given a new reason to live, while Elen is taken away from Scythe for good.

The third act shows that they keep learning opposite things from each other:

And it is also interesting that in terms of proactiveness and passiveness they start to exchange roles. As a matter of fact in the third act Elen is far more active than Reiji, while it used to be the other way around, especially in the first act when they had to run away.

This is also something that Scythe’s behaviour highlights:

He keeps assuming that the one taking action against him is Reiji, but it is not him the one who has come up with counter-measures against Inferno, but Elen who proves herself to be perfectly able to read Scythe’s way of thinking.

This is illustrated also in their final showdown.

Scythe thinks that thanks to having integrated Claudia’s philosophy with his own he has finally been able to create a group of perfect specimen. However, Elen proves him wrong and states that these new experiments are exactly like her and that Scythe has not grown:

While she has:

Her reasons for killing Scythe are also interesting:

She says that she is killing him because he hurt Reiji which is surprising because she too has been hurt by Scythe and she has been abused by him far longer than Reiji. However, I think that this line highlights once again that Elen really sees Reiji as a better version of herself. Even if she has grown Elen still struggles to see herself as a person and so, instead of telling Scythe that he has hurt her, she tells him that he has hurt Reiji, but she is really speaking of herself in the scene.

In other words both Elen and Reiji are able to go back to be people because of each other. This is true especially for Elen whose whole arc is about this. What is more, they are clearly presented as two sides of the same coin to the point that their two arcs and characters appear as clearly linked:

When Elen “dies” at the end of the first act, so does Reiji and he has does so in a way similar to hers.

At the same time, the first act also plays with the dream/flashback in episode 7.

The sequence starts with Elen remembering the day she met Reiji and it ends with Reiji waking up from a dream where he supposedly has remembered a part of his past. In short, it is not clear who is the one really having the flashback and it is really not important because this just cements the idea that Elen and Reiji are complementary and really two “versions” of the same entity without a personhood who is the phantom.

1) It is precisely because of this link that symbolically Elen dies when Reiji does.

When one considers it from a realistic in-universe stand-point it has probably to do with the afore-mentioned codependency. The two of them have been utterly devastated by their experiences and would need time to properly heal, but they are denied it. Because of it, when Reiji dies Elen takes her own life.

However, I think that there are different reading levels to the ending which have to do with different themes the story wants to convey.

As mentioned above the series depics the criminal world as a horrible place from which it is basically impossible to escape. This is why we are shown different people trying to live in this world with different methods and objectives. Claudia wants power and believes that one can only live one’s own life to the fullest by taking risks. Scythe wants knowledge and believes that he can pursue it in the criminal world. Lizzie wants to apply some sort of ethics to her killing, but she realizes that her gun has become too heavy for her and prefers to die rather than to kill a person she cares for again. Cal and Mio are both asked to choose if they want to enter the criminal world to be with a person they care about or not. Cal does so and dies, while Mio doesn’t and survives. The different outcomes of their stories have also to do with their different social standings. Mio is privileged and loved and has her family’s support when she needs it, while Cal is a runaway child who is left alone by everybody she cares for. For her entering the criminal world has also to do with her gaining strength.

What is important is that all these characters die. As I stated above the only prominent characters who survive by the end of the series are Mr McGuire and Mio. This is not by chance because they represent two opposite extremes thematically speaking.

Mr McGuire is literally the devil who rules Inferno as all the symbolism associated to him proves. He is symbolically the underworld itself and this is why he survives the ending and has supposedly Reiji killed. It is because the underworld is very difficult to destroy.

Mio is the normal person whose life is not involved in the underworld. The fact that she is secretly a mafia princess without her knowing might very well be symbolic of how even the parts of society which seems uninvolved with the criminal world are actually still intertwined with it even if they ignore it. Mio has come to an understanding of it by the end of the series and chooses to keep living her life in the normal world.

In other words, if the series wants to give this depiction of the world of criminality as a world which is unescapable at least physically, then it makes sense that Reiji and Elen, just like Cal, can’t survive the ending. However, they are given, just like Cal, an ending where they can stop being phantoms and become someone. This is emphasized by the last episode being called Elen. The title highlights how the whole story is about the original phantom aka Ein becoming Elen.

This is what the last scene is about. Even the fact that Elen kills herself, as sad as it is, it is something she had failed to do early on in the series:

In the end Elen chooses to die as herself and in her hometown.

This is at least one reading that can be done. Either way, several are possible in my opinion.

This is an analysis of Elen and Reiji’s relationships which is one of my favourites. I also love the one between Cal and Reiji, but I chose the first one because it let me talk about the series more generally.

When it comes to my favourite episodes, I love the last two ones where the major conflicts are settled and where there are many of my favourite moments.

I also love episode 6 because of how well it is structured and powerful thematically despite it being tragic.

As far as my favourite quote is concerned, I actually love this one by Claudia:

Like you say, we may be forcing this lifestyle upon you, but you are not a slave. Even you possess a freedom…Speed…Even in a set course, as long as you desire and work for it, you can accelerate towards any goal. (…) How you run through it is up to you. Don’t ever think of yourself as a slave again. As long as you have that thought in mind, you are granting victory to those who belittle you.

I think this quote is very meaningful when it comes to Claudia’s character and also to the series general themes because it emphasizes the necessity of facing even an unfair life and to do the best you can of it. It is just that what Claudia wants to do with hers is something completely different from what Reiji wants.

Thank you for this ask!

[innerpowercounseling-blog]

A Decluttered Life, Part 1: Re-Examining

My journey toward a decluttered life has lasted several years. I’ve taken the slow, winding road, sometimes finding myself back in places I thought I’d left for good.

Eventually, though, I have noticed new terrain and higher elevations. I’m am not wandering the same circular trail anymore, but it took a lot of effort to recognize the path I was stuck on and move to another one.

The biggest struggle for me was the attachment I developed to items. I’ve carried this habit from my childhood. As a little girl, my very favorite things were my books and small figurines. I was intimately acquainted with every piece and would play with or hold them almost daily, displaying my favorites in a shadow box on my wall. I remembered where each item was, and the story behind it, even into adulthood when they spent most of their lives packed away.

As an adult I would occasionally get the books and figurines out, loving hold each one, and feel connection. It was the connection I had created as a child, when I used all of my energy to transport myself into other worlds. I somehow felt that these pieces were my link to that past magic, that keeping them was how I honored and protected my younger self; to lose them felt like annihilation. Yet eventually, that is what I faced.

I moved to the Seattle area in the wake of a brutal trauma. I did not have the internal or external resources to process what had happened to me, or handle the flashbacks of earlier trauma that were being triggered. I was in the present pain but also tormented by transportation to the past. Looking for a reprieve, I visited my sister and her husband in Seattle. I felt the relief and promise of an untainted place and a different mindset, and decided for various reasons that I would move to Seattle and continue graduate school there.

The move meant that I was going from a house with plenty of storage to a small apartment. I had moved many times before, but had always held onto my favorite childhood items. This time, I realized that I needed to let most of those things go. I carefully organized each figurine into its original set and lovingly prepared them for donation. I held every book tenderly before placing it into the donation box. Then I sent them away.

The losses haunted me for a long time, and I was confused by how much regret I felt. There was a conflict between my adult self, who knew they were simply a child’s toys, and the child part of me who believed those toys were her lifeline. For a year or so I had very little, just the clothes and books that I needed. Then, slowly, I began to collect again. This time, it was objects or books related to my interests. I felt the familiar pull of holding a book or small figure in my hands and feeling satisfied. There were wounds in me I was trying to heal, and those magical items seemed like the cure.

I could see that my patterns weren’t helping, and often left me feeling empty, but recognition alone was not enough to help me break the spell. I wanted those tiny figures and some part of me felt that I needed them; not a part I could reason with, but a part stuck in the past, who found comfort in her favorite things. It didn’t matter how much I rationally understood that an object could not save me.  

Doing my own inner work allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of the healing I needed, and feel compassion for the part of me that was trying to soothe herself. I brought things into my world to heal it, as I had done as a child, but that had barely worked for me in the past and it was certainly not working for me in the present. The items I bought to make myself happy felt more like chains that held me underwater than buoys to kept me afloat.

I could see that the clutter in my life really reflected what was happening inside of me. Many of the clothes, books, and objects I owned were in my life because they held me captive. They tied me to the past with guilt and nostalgia, and to the future with “what ifs” and the fear of missing something that was gone. Every item seemed to have meaning, as if it held an energy that connected me to myself and others, and I worried about what would happen if those things were well and truly gone. I remembered how much it hurt to let the objects of my childhood go, and feared hurting myself again.

Around that time, I encountered the KonMari method*. I found the book randomly, as it had recently been released in the U.S. While I had not heard of Marie Kondo before that day, I felt a connection with her philosophy. I read her book over the weekend and felt inspired. New ideas opened to me, and while I was not yet in the place to fully put her method into practice, I was struck by some of her principles.

I took with me the understanding that the objects in my life had already fulfilled their role by making me happy in the moment of purchase or gifting. I could thank them for their service and let them go, creating a life that honored the present moment instead of getting stuck in the past. If an item did not bring joy, I questioned why I had it and what its real purpose was.

So I had to start over. I had to re-examine everything I owned and give voice to the parts of me that held emotional ties to those items. Until I heard what those parts were afraid of, and what each item meant to them, I could not guarantee that letting the items go would be a victory rather than a trauma. It was scary, but I went for it. I revisited the KonMari method and used it as a guidebook on my journey.

In this series, I want to explore what I learned about myself and my connection to objects. By examining every single item in my life, I found three overarching themes:

The items I owned represented my identity. I used them to declare who I was because I did not trust in my own ability to own and represent my true self.

Objects from the past held the memories and energy of those experiences. I feared that without them I would lose who I had been and what I experienced.

Things equaled comfort and control. I felt prepared and soothed (briefly) by finding interesting or useful items and owning them. Without the ability to soothe myself, I needed more things in order to maintain that feeling.

I hope you will join me on this path, ongoing and ever widening. It’s very personal to me, and not easy to talk about, but I believe it holds value. At least for me. Even as I write this, I see myself more clearly and can think of at least one thing in my house that I need to re-examine, being even more truthful with myself about its purpose.

References

*Kondo, M. (2014). The life-changing magic of tidying up: The japanese art of decluttering and organizing. New York, NY: Ten Speed Press.

Disclaimer:This is a blog, which contains a mixture of my current knowledge and opinions. The information is accurate to the best of my knowledge but may contain omissions, errors, or mistakes. I am a psychologist licensed to practice in the state of Washington, but this article does not create a psychologist-client relationship. I am providing psychological information and my own opinions for informational purposes only, and anything I present should not be seen as psychological, emotional, or medical advice or treatment. You should consult with a mental health professional or your primary care physician before you rely on this information or take any action. I reserve the right to change how I manage or run my blog and may change the focus or content at any time.

[fallencomrade-a]

𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀   𝐑 𝐀 𝐃 𝐈 𝐀 𝐓 𝐀  a  drabble  based  on  this  post  ( x ) can be turned into a thread by request.

     THEY HAUL HIS LIFELESS BODY INTO A DARK ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  proud  hunter  might  drag  in  his  latest  kill,  his  latest  TROPHY.  they  are  pleased  with  their  triumph,  but  the  muscle  required  to  take  down  such  a  beast  certainly  demanded  a  price.  TWELVE  MEN,  it  had  taken  twelve  men  and  a  locked  door  -  and  they  had  just  barely  managed  to  SUBDUE  him.  just  barely.  they  are  all  in  bad  shape,  the  majority  of  the  strike  team  absent  due  to  serious  injuries  that  required  immediate  attention.  rumlow,  disregarding  his  own  injuries,  the  tremendous  PAIN  livid  inside  his  own  body  ( ORDER  ONLY  COMES  THROUGH  PAIN  )  refuses  to  miss  this  though.  he  will  lick  his  wounds  later.  now,  it  is  time  to  bask.  

     ‘  heavy  fucker ,  ’  he  laments  as  he  dumps  the  body  into  the  reinforced  steel  chair  bolted  to  the  floor.  he  begins  the  arduous  process,  starting  with  the  leather  restraints.  he  wraps  them  around  each  arm  and  leg,  as  well  as  around  the  torso.  next  come  the  magnetized  cuffs  which  clamp  tightly  around  wrists  &&  ankles.  they  will  hold,  developed  and  proven  to  withstand  super  -  soldier  strength,  tested  on  some one thing  similar.  the  drugs  they  pump  into  his  body  have  been  tested  just  the  same,  and  if  his  serum  works  anything  like  theirs,  the  man  should  not  wake  until  they  are  ready  for  him  ;;  until  they  PERMIT  him  to  do  so.  rumlow  wraps  chains  around  each  limb,  just  to  be  safe.      

     once  finished,  he  glides  his  tongue  over  the  blood  pooling  from  his  split  lip,  and  spits  the  taste  of  it  out  at  his  prisoner’s  feet,  finally  stepping  away.  pulling  his  phone  free,  rumlow  dials  a  single  number.  ‘  connect  me  to  pierce ,  ’   he  orders,  heated  eyes  burning  as  he  glances  back  at  the  body  in  the  chair.  

      ‘  SIR.  we  have  him.  steve  rogers  has  been  CONTAINED.  ’

     rumlow  had  wanted  to  KILL  rogers.  (  for  personal  reasons  and  selfish  delights,  more  than  anything  else  )  but  he  also  understands  how  DANGEROUS  the  captain  is.  he  has  worked  alongside  him  now  for  a  while,  and  knows  the  RISK  keeping  him  alive  poses.  but  pierce  had  been  very  clear  with  his  orders.  he  wanted  the  captain  taken  in  ALIVE,  seemingly  confident  ‘ guts  and  glory ’  here  could  be  convinced  to  cooperate.  rumlow  is  doubtful,  but  questioning  pierce  is  not  in  his  best  interest.  whatever  the  secretary  has  up  his  sleeve,  it  is  time  to  start  putting  it  into  motion.   convincing  rogers  will  not  be  easy.  

            whatever  his  hand  is,  it  better  be  good. 

      THEY LEAD THEIR LIFELESS SOLDIER INTO A COLD ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  medical  professional  might  examine  a  CORPSE  -  with  cold,  clinical  hands.  they  remove  the  thermal  suit  clinging  to  his  trembling  body,  the  material  still  cold  with  the  lingering  breath  of  stasis.  they  hose  him  down  and  scrub  his  skin  raw.  the  technicians  spend  a  great  amount  of  time  washing  his  body,  which  is  different  -  but  if  the  soldier  notices,  he  does  not  say  anything.  the  asset  does  not  question.  they  order  him  to  sit  down  in  a  chair,  and  so  he  sits.  they  pull  out  a  blade.  no  -  it  is  a  razor.  the  soldier  expects  them  to  hand  it  to  him,  to  use  as  a  weapon  during  this  next  mission,  but  they  do  not  assign  it  to  him.  neither  do  they  use  it  for  testing  purposes  -  not  to  poke,  prod  or  slice  into  his  skin.  no,  instead  they  tell  him  to  lean  back.  he  complies.  they  tell  him  not  to  move.  he  complies.  then  they  rub  something  frothy  across  his  face.  they  glide  the  sharp  blade  across  his  skin,  scrapping.  it  doesn’t  hurt… and  that  is  surprising.  the  techs  put  away  the  blade  without  spilling  a  single  drop  of  blood.   

     they  cut  his  hair,  hacking  away  until  there  is  more  on  the  floor  around  them  than  on  his  head.  no  longer  can  he  HIDE  behind  dark,  oily  bangs.  they  are  sheered  away.  they  cut  until  his  hair  no  longer  lays  on  his  shoulders,  no  longer  covers  his  neck  -  and  it  leaves  the  soldier  feeling…  strangely  EXPOSED.  it  is  odd,  different  -  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  one  of  the  technicians  holds  out  a  piece  of  paper,  its  contents  unknown  to  him.  the  asset  does  not  question.  her  dark  eyes  flicker  back  and  forth  between  him  and  the  page  and  after  a  moment,  she  frowns  and  sighs,  shoulders  slumping  with  what  appears  to  be  DEFEAT.  ‘  his  eyes , ’   she  criticizes  and  for  a  brief  moment,  the  asset  wonders  what  it  is  in  his  eyes  that  DISAPPOINTS  her  so.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  she  shrugs  soon  after  anyway,  with  a  dismissive,  ‘  it  will  have  to do.  ’ 

     finally,  they  strap  him  in  the  chair  and  REVIVE  his  mind.  the  ice  is  swept  away,  replaced  with  their  steadfast  CONDITIONING.  the  soldier  is  ACTIVATED,  once  again.  ready  to  comply.   —  &&  when  it  is  finished,  as  his  cerebrum  sparks  &&  flickers  with  electricity,  lightning  scorching  all  passageways  to  his  brain,  while  numbing  everything  else  -  they  prepare  him.  if  he  were  in  his  right  mind,  the  soldier  might  ask  why  they  decide  to  dress  him  in  the  attire  they  choose.  why  they  have  him  tug  on  a  pair  of  dark  jeans  instead  of  the  usual  cargo  pants.  why  they  have  him  in  a  soft,  navy  dark  cotton  shirt  instead  of  the  standard  kevlar  and  tactical  vests.  this  flimsy  long - sleeved  shirt  will  do  little  to  stop  bullets  and  blades.   

                        —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.         

     ONLY A SELECT FEW  are  allowed  inside.  secretary  pierce  certainly  is  not  intimidated  by  an  audience,  but  these  are  delicate  matters.  it  is  important  they  maintain  a  level  of  professionalism.  they  are  situated  in  a  sub – level  basement  located  in  the  underbelly  of  a  large  accounting  firm,  one  owned  &&  run  by  hydra.  it’s  a  well  respected,  legitimate  business.  perfect  record  of  excellence,  fortune  500  company  with  outstanding  company  morals  and  ideals…  and  growing  inside,  beneath  the  guise  -  a  hydra  head  breathes,  thriving.  

     when  pierce  arrives,  security  detail  in  tow,  the  captain  is  just  starting  to  stir.  ‘  his  serum  is  impressive ,  ’  one  doctor  whispers  to  another,  glancing  down  at  his  watch  before  scribbling  notes  onto  his  clipboard.  they  are  eager  to  start  conducting  tests,  but  without  direct  authorization  from  pierce,  all  they  have  been  able  to  collect  thus  far  are  a  few  samples  of  blood.  they  are  also  afraid  to  get  too  close  to  rogers  without  him  being  properly  sedated  &&  restrained,  and  for  good  reason  too.  much  to  the  strike  team’s  chagrin,  the  scientists  were  privy  to  the  elevator  footage.  hydra  values  their  minds,  not  their  muscle  ;;  they  are  of  no  use  DEAD.  so  for  now,  they  will  maintain  their  distance,  jotting  down  what  little  details  they  can  obtain  based  on  observation  alone,  tucked  safely  behind  the  pointed  guns  of  what  remains  of  the  strike  team.  sectioned  off  in  the  middle  of  the  room  sits  a  makeshift  holding  cell,  the  space  completely  surrounded  by  sturdy  metal  bars.  at  its  center  sits  two  chairs  -  one  occupied  and  bolted  to  the  floor,  the  other  empty  and  unbounded.  it  is  an  accustomed  outlay,  especially  for  hydra.  still,  the  doom  and  gloom  of  it  all  still  makes  pierce  huff  and  shake  his  head  a  little.     

     POLISHED SHOES STEP FORWARD,  into  the  cage.  the  door  closes  behind  him.  he  removes  his  suit  jacket,  draping  the  expensive  material  over  the  back  of  the  unoccupied  chair.  a  single  light  hangs  over  the  cell,  illuminating  the  small  space  while  casting  the  surrounding  area  into  thick  darkness,  allowing  the  others  to  observe  without  being  seen.  but  not  pierce,  no.  alexander  pierce  wants  to  be  seen  ;;  wants  to  be  heard.  the  man  is  optimistic,  pleasant  even  when  steve  finally  wakes  up.  he  remains  patient,  reasonable  -  welcoming  the  captain’s  VITRIOL  with  calm  understanding.  ‘  i  would  like  us  to  become  business  partners,  captain.  i  was  not  lying  when  i  shook  your  hand  and  said  it  was  an  HONOR.  ’   but  steve  is  quick  to  spit  back,  ‘  you  killed  nick  fury  ’  and  that  has  pierce  amused,  knowing  smile  stretching  across  thin  lips.  ominously,  he  responds,  ‘  not  me.  ’ 

     but  pierce  should  know  swaying  the  captain  will  require  more  than  just  a  simple  invitation.  steven  rogers  is  STUBBORN  with  ferocious  tenacity  and  even  stronger  ideals.  no,  it  will  require  something  a  little  more  refined.  something  far  more  personal  than  the  promise  of  money  or  power.  hell,  even  the  prospect  of  saving  billions  from  an  out - of - control  overpopulation  will  not  appeal  to  the  captain.  he  is  too  HONORABLE,  and  when  pierce  points  out  how  they  are  both  fighting  for  the  same  thing  :  PEACE,  the  captain  scoffs  in  his  face.  the  captain  appears  to  be  INCORRUPTIBLE.  steve  rogers  however  is  just  a  man  underneath  all  that  righteousness  -  and  all  men  have  a  price,  a  breaking  point  -  a  weakness,  a  DARK SIDE.  hydra  needs  only  find  a  single  weak  point,  the  smallest  opening  to  burrow  beneath  -  and  then  it  could  grow,  consume,  overpower.  A  PARASITE.  lucky  for  them,  hydra  already  possesses  steve  rogers’  WEAKNESS.

     ‘  we  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  but  you  don’t  TRUST  us.  i  understand.  maybe  i  could  offer  something  else…  in  exchange  for  your  cooperation ?  ’  

     the  secretary  stands  up  then  and  makes  a  gesture  over  his  shoulder.  the  cell  door  opens  behind  him  with  a  SINISTER  groan  and  in  walks  a  SHADOW.  the  older  man  steps  closer  and  turns,  perching  himself  at  steve’s  side.

            ‘  a  gift,  for  your  COMPLIANCE.  ’  

     A GHOST IS MEANT TO BE UNSEEN.  he  is  a  SHADOW,  meant  only  to  exist  in  the  dark,  chased  away  into  nothing  if  exposed  to  light.  his  presence  is  to  be  felt,  but  never  seen.  to  have  so  many  eyes  on  him  at  once,  it  makes  him  feel  exposed  in  the  worst  ways  possible.  his  skin  crawls  as  he  is  summoned  from  his  hiding  place,  the  heat  of  their  gazes  nearly  BURNING  through  his  composure.  focus,  soldier !  focus !  his  mind  berates,  shoving  him  forward.  his  orders  are  still  unclear,  but  he  has  been  trained  well.  he  knows  to  follow  directions  issued  by  his  handlers  ;;  knows  to  never  speak  unless  addressed  or  given  explicit  permission.  he  knows  to  always  do  as  COMMANDED  and  to  never  question.  they  want  him  inside  the  CAGE  and  so  he  enters  the  cage.  

     he  has  been  watching  this  whole  time,  a  SPECTATOR  and  he  is  ashamed  to  admit  his  mind  has  been  restless.  this  entire  time,  his  stomach  has  been  twisting  tighter  &&  tighter,  to  the  point  of  great  discomfort.  he  has  been  unable  to  identify  a  source,  a  culprit  to  explain  the  pain  -  but  it  hurts.  his  mind  wavers,  lulled  by...  the  voices  (  a  voice  )  in  the  room.  he  tries  to  chase  after  the  calm  DRONE  of  static,  but  he  finds  himself  getting  distracted,  which  is  concerning.  he  had  just  undergone  maintenance,  not  even  an  hour  ago.  it  shouldn’t  be  this  hard  to  concentrate  ;;  and  the  restlessness  in  his  blood  is  a  sign  of  stasis  deprivation.   —  but  he  had  just  come  out,  hadn’t  he?

     SOMETHING IS WRONG.  he  can  feel  it  in  his  bones.  there  is  a  heavy  weight  pressing  down  on  top  of  his  shoulders,  legs  dragging  as  if  chained  to  his  SHADOW.  he  wants  to  go  back.  the  soldier  realizes  with  muted  curiosity  that  he  doesn’t  want  to  step  into  this  cell.  he  wants  to  turn  back  around  and  BEG  to  be  put  back  into  stasis.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  want  and  the  asset  does  not  CHOOSE.  so  he  continues  forward,  despite  the  AGONY  cracking  his  chest  open.  each  step  PULSES  through  him.  he  feels  all  their  eyes  on  him,  but  when  the  captain’s  fall  on  him,  he  IGNITES,  insides  burning  away  into  ASH.              stop.  stop,  stop.  it  HURTS.         

     HE TASTES DEATH ON HIS TONGUE.   he  falters  -  mind  stuttering  into  WHITE  NOISE,  attempts  to  recover  quickly  -  but  he  can  tell  pierce  notices  and  he  is  displeased.  the  captain  is  forcing  a  REACTION  from  the  asset  and  he  doesn’t  know...  why?  for  a  half -  second,  their  eyes  lock  -  and  it  is  an  ONSLAUGHT  of  noise,  emotion,  and  PAIN.  gold  hair,  big  blue  eyes.  dumb  expression.  it  plucks  at  strings  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  a  melody  of  some  kind  whispering  across  his  subconscious  -  tugging  at  memory,  which  immediately  insights  sudden  PAIN.  in  order  to  SURVIVE  this  ordeal,  the  soldier  charges  forward  ;;  he  pulls  away.  eyes  retreat,  dimming  and  with  each  step  forward,  he  grows  more  and  more  distant,  DETACHED  -  until  he  is  empty,  ready  to  be  filled  with  orders.  ready  to  comply.  he  focuses  on  pierce  and  only  pierce.

     pierce  nods  towards  the  chair  and  the  asset  sits.  the  FEAR  is  slowly  draining  from  him,  like  pus  from  a  wound  -  leaving  him  feeling  cold  &&  tired,  but  he  notes  with  a  flare  of  perplexity  that  he  is  AFRAID  of  the  captain.  why  is  that?  he  avoids  both  their  eyes,  instead  choosing  to  look  down,  focus  coming  to  a  stop  on  pierce’s  hands.  they  dim  and  eventually  gloss  over  -  and  the  asset  awaits  orders. 

     pierce  smirks,  pleased.  his  hand  comes  up  to  rest  on  steve’s  shoulder  and  he  squeezes  the  muscle  tightly,  making  an  offer  steve  rogers  cannot  refuse.  ‘  hydra  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  we  can  even  give  you  your  BEST  FRIEND  back.  ’  

                          ALL  YOU  HAVE  TO  DO  IS  COMPLY.  

[chibivesicle]

into the Ogata fray

Hello Golden Kamuy peeps on tumblr, I’m toeing into the fray in regards to the most talked about character (in my humble opinion) Ogata. Apologies this is a bit long but whatever.

As work is about to get a lot busier in about a week, I figured I gotta do this now or never so here goes nothing.  Also, I’d love to thank the peeps who have been having a great dialogue on this already I’m looking at #hundredogatas and #goldenkamuyhunting for some great analyses.

I already posted some of my comments over on Mangadex in regards to chapter 165, Flag Bearer, trying to wrap my head around Ogata’s motivations and his role in the series.

I’ve really taken to the idea that Ogata is a fundamentally hurt character who has been hurting for so long that he doesn’t even know it anymore.  He had normalized his “abnormal” feelings.  As a result of his normalization to this he became in a ways “dead” to a lot of things, I agree with many others that he does have feelings but he keeps them buried deep down for the most part and the occasionally bubble to the surface.

The first instance of his feelings/humanity bubbling up are quite early on.  Others have already highlighted he did not kill Huci or Osoma when going after Tanigaki.  He is quite clear that he does not believe in unnecessary violence or actions.  The second time this pops up is in the showdown in Barato.  He saves Shinpei the gangster son and even though he calls him a weakling he is the one who allows him to be free of his meddling parents and move off on his home.  Yes, he’s drawn as a tough character but you see no malice or meanness in his expression, just a straight up explanation that he doesn’t like people who lack action or volition.  I felt he was just making a very firm point.

Throughout the series, I’ve always read Ogata as an individual who views himself as a self made man.  He rose to his position as a Superior Private through skill and hard work and in part by not making too many waves.  He highly values individuals who take control of their lives and their actions and have some sort of purpose; the people he dislikes the most are those who rose by family/title/rank which is obviously due to his horrible childhood/father issues that left him realizing that the concept of noble blood is pointless, especially given the fact that his own father made terrible military decisions. 

I feel that Noda-sensei likes to have his humanity bubble up occasionally and Asirpa will be the character who pulls it back to the surface due to her parallels with his brother.

As he is an astute observer of his surroundings and what we know of Lt. Tsurumi’s ability to manipulate people for his best outcomes I hypothesize that he recognized the “deadness” in Ogata and wanted to groom him to be the elite dirty deeds man of his select group from the 7th.  Tsurumi just keep pushing him further, first trying to get at him through his brother and then to assassinate his father.  Tsurumi thought he had groomed the ultimate stealth man for his future jobs.  These two parts of pages from ch. 165 just really highlight how “checked out” he was as a sniper in the trenches.  You could almost hear Ogata’s internal dialogue as “another day, another kill, another paycheck”.

This entire scene is so sterile, he takes his sniping very seriously but he’s so distant that he’s in his no emotion zone.

When ch. 165 gives the flashback with him and his brother discussing their roles on the battlefield and how he can’t get his hands dirty for the sake of his honor and their own father’s crazy ideas, I still feel torn on the situation.  I agree that Ogata’s brother loved and valued him as a human being and as he observed his brother closely (in the revised ch. 103) he did see that his brother had qualities that he lacked.  But I’d be as pissed as I’m guessing Ogata was at how hypocritical this point was to him.  It was almost as though it was egging him on to “go ahead and shoot” just to beat his brother in a philosophical argument to get back at their father. 

While trying to put things in chronological order, I feel that Ogata reached his breaking point with Tsurumi’s manipulation of him after he killed his father.

Here we have him thinking maybe shooting my brother might be a bad idea but i’m still hesitating just sooooo slightly with that just slightly less dead look . . .

to his oh you smooth talking bastard fake smile.  Granted this is from the original ch. 103, but I think it really gets the point across that he knows he’s been played and he’s hyper aware of the power Tsurumi wields over others.

I take it from this point on his goals began to differ and lead to him deserting.  I think it took a long time for him to feel confident that he could leave.  It was clear he at one point did feel intimidated by the power Tsurumi had over him based on how awkward his body language with Tsurumi was in ch. 164.  He’s totally informal when he’s sitting 99.9% of the time, yet he sits in seiza and buttons up his uniform. 

Here is his more informal, I’m totally hogging the heater while observing everyone around me/listening to Tanigaki’s story.

After he leaves the hospital he is now in his “liberated” form which is shown by his longer hair.  According to Noda-sensei in questions from readers in Young Jump that were translated by the peeps over at Kamuy Central, Ogata grew his hair out as he had become liberated.  What he was liberated from was unclear but it was a physical sign that he had changed somehow.  It is clear that his character has a beef with the military hierarchy and how many men died to poor decisions - which we later learn were his father’s to an extent.  This is early on when he’s discussing the type 30 rifle while sniping Tanigaki and how he continues to disagree with the whole “noble blood” line repeated by Tsurumi and backed by Koito to an extent.  With his new hairstyle he definitely expresses himself more to the other characters while he maintains his distance.

His immediate interaction with Hijikata is both pay attention to me and praise me (shooting the watchtower bell/skin on his head) but also, I’m gonna push you and sass you with my confidence b/c I know things.  Plus, he immediately makes a cutting remark about “what happens to your subordinates?”  If he were totally dead on the inside or missing his humanity he wouldn’t ask about the little guys being lead by Hijikata.  Again, I think this hints at his dislike of unnecessary violence.

We know he has issues with crappy fathers/poor leaders of people.  The angry screentones not only when Hijikata cuts off Asirpa from speaking but how he’s like she was about to say my father . . .

As a keen observer of people, he’s looking out for leadership qualities either actively or maybe even passively.  I’d like to make a really big leap for a minute and point out the cover to ch. 71

This cover has a quote from Matthew and features Tsurumi as the false prophet with Tsukishima and Nikaido.  Note that in the “Last Supper” scene here (ch. 81)

Ogata is in the place of Matthew.  If we go with the Asirpa is Jesus hypothesis, saving men with dark pasts to redeem themselves than I don’t think Noda-sensei just picked a quote from Matthew at random. Keep in mind Kiro is Judas, Sugimoto is Peter and Shirashi is John. Also remember that Matthew was a tax collector and not trusted or accepted by others but Asirpa clearly cares about him through the series. This leaves Ogata as the only person to argue against Tsurumi based on his shootout with Tsukishima in the taxidermists place as shown here

He is clearly telling Tsukishima that Tsurumi used these sentimental things to get men to follow him and dedicate themselves to his cause.  We learn much later that there is no way his motivations are based on surpassing his father - that was always a line Tsurumi told others but he does admit the he never knew what Ogata was thinking.

Anyhoo that was my really far reach, but getting back to his idea to keep his distance from people but ultimately wants to be loved aspect.  I’d state that Ogata hides some of his feelings towards others through is constant jests or teasing, despite having a hard time accepting that Tanigaki didn’t kill his comrades (who he def cared about a lot, which seems out of character at first) he gave Tanigaki the nickname “bear cub” and it stuck with others calling him that.  He also snarked at Tanigaki that if he wanted his nose cut off so badly he could do it for him.  I don’t think he meant this but it is clear he hides behind is sassy/sarcastic remarks.  As Tanigaki is the most innocent (and most similar to his brother) i’d say this spills over into his first harsh sadistic attitude towards him “beg for my help!” to “the dog did more than you.” to the harsh but in some ways likely true/protective “go back home”.  He says one thing but his actions speak otherwise just like the gangster son back in Barato.

Despite bitching about Sugimoto slowing them down while fleeing the 7th, he lets Asirpa treat him here

He’s being a bit pissy and I love the arms crossed body posture but you can tell he’s just being pushy to make sure they don’t get caught.

My absolute fav scenes of how he keeps his distance are the beach ones here where everyone holds hands and jumps while he watches over them.

Which then highlights him in the background several panels later while Asirpa and Sugimoto talk about beach kamuy etc.

He frequently is shown with his back towards many other group members, which would imply trust to an extent, he expects them not to stab him in the back so to speak.  When he shoots the herd of reindeer he states that they are just like people with one on the lookout - in the groups that he has been a part of he’s the lookout.

He may be alone and isolated but he’s always playing an important protective role towards others.  I’m not sure to what extent he realizes that he does this but he’s almost always drawn looking back while others are looking forward or looking the opposite direction of the rest observing everything.  He def is a protector of others, especially those who cannot fully protect themselves.

Ever since the beginning of the series we’ve know most character’s motivations for the gold but his remains a complete mystery.  Another tumblr post mentioned it could be the geisha debt that his mom had that he inherited, which makes sense to me, but really we still don’t know why he even joined the military. Being a solider wasn’t going to be enough at the rank of a superior private to pay off that debt . . . . I want that question answered for me - yes, it was clear he was a sharpshooter from a young age but he clearly could have been a successful hunter instead of a solider.  I hope we get answers to this in the manga.

As others have stated, since he was the only character to really respect Asirpa from the get go other than Sugimoto and that they are clear foils of how different people deal with PTSD, our current story arc will hopefully work in how Asirpa will save him by treating him like a real human being and in return he will protect her from older men/the establishment from using her.  For most of the series Ogata and Kiro were separated and we know that he knows more about Kiro than Kiro likely realizes.  The benefit of being a quiet introvert means a lot of the characters don’t notice him or read him as well as they could.

These recent panels highlight how he actually gets Shirashi and Asirpa to realize something is off and it likely has to do with Kiro.  I love how he gets Asirpa to realize they were being targeted for a reason and that stressed out look on Kiro’s face is so perfect.

Ogata knew that both Tsurumi and Hijikata knew of the links to the partisans in the far east and that Wilk and Kiro were linked.  He just needed to clue in the nicer party members to this fact.  He had to betry Sugimoto to get close to Kiro for him to play his hand.  He’ll protect Asirpa b/c that’s what he does.

I could go onto some other points but I should stop here.  Phew.  I think I could leave those for later posts.  Like how he shows affection through teasing ALL the TIME.

[infantacarlota]

hi guys! here’s carlota’s bio + a list of wanted connections. if you’d like to plot please drop me a message and i’ll find you!!  i’m seldom on the discord server bc i get overwhelmed easily/large group chats stress me out, but i love to chat and plot, in fact i’m a sucker for extensive plotting and i do want a bit of everything for carlota so pls throw any and all ideas you have my way. 

- ̗̀✰ •【 LILY JAMES / FEMALE / 27 】announcing the arrival of her royal highness, ( CARLOTA LUÍSA ISABEL ), the ( INFANTA ) of ( PORTUGAL ). I’ve heard that she is ( IMPULSIVE ) & ( PARANOID ) but can also be ( INTUITIVE ) & ( PASSIONATE ). ( CARLOTA ) is arranged to marry ( MICHIEL HUISMAN, BOB MORLEY, ALFONSO HERRERA ). Rumor has it ( SHE'S THE REASON HER BROTHER THE CROWN PRINCE IS IN A COMA ). We hope you enjoy your stay at London!

STATS

name: carlota luísa isabel, house of coimbra, infanta of portugal age: 26 family:

henrique (father, deceased) terezia (mother, deceased) luís (uncle, 52, regent, childless younger brother of henrique)  pedro (brother, 33, in a coma) ____ (brother, 29-31) ____ (brother, 27-29) ____ (brother, 23-24) silvia (sister, 22-23) ____ (brother, 19-20)

relationship status: betrothed to espen jarle lillegarde, crown prince of norway.  language(s) spoken: portuguese (fluent), english (fluent), french (well), spanish (fluent), italian (decently), deutsch(okay-ish), danish (okay-ish) eyes: brown hair: brown physical ailments: not an ailment per se, but she broke her right arm in her youth and it didn't heal properly so it's slightly crooked at the elbow. she's a little self-conscious about it and it aches at times, especially if she has to carry something heavy, but for the moment that's about it. neurological ailments: low key depressed but isn't even close to being aware of it because depression is such a foreign thing to her. this quote explains it nicely:

"Being an extrovert with depression and constantly maintaining a lively personality can sometimes feel like you are lying to the world. It makes depression something only you can deal with, when you can finally take off “the mask” [...] suffering from depression as an extrovert comes down to not being taken seriously. It’s hearing how you must be over-exaggerating your condition because there is no way you can be laughing with friends on the same night you go home and cry yourself to sleep. [...] is knowing that people will make you happy because sometimes being happy by yourself seems like an impossible task. It is having a constant need to be there for everyone but yourself. It is – as crazy as this sounds – feeling as if you aren’t allowed to be depressed [...] You have to be the person people gravitate towards to when they want to have a good time."

smoking: mostly in the past drugs: in the past and here's to hoping it stays there alcohol: in the past: drank a lot and often during her teenage/boarding school years. started drinking way less after that and was primarily a social drinker, but enjoyed a glass of wine every other meal. currently: keeps telling herself she'll have just one or two glasses but ends up drinking the whole bottle. when she's feeling down, it helps her stay bubbly, like people are used to see her. tattoos: pretty much always covered. 1 dainty lavender tattoo under her left breast, 1 small conch shell on the inside of her left arm style: enjoys looking stylish but values comfort above all else. doesn't follow fashion trends but enjoys playing with styles. has worn pant suits, bowties, and ties to several events. she often opts for comfortable flats (even trainers when she was younger) when wearing long dresses that cover her feet.  secret: she’s the reason her brother, the king, is in a coma

personality

sociable, bubbly, energetic, romantic, intuitive, impulsive, kind, compassionate, audacious, youthful, low-key very sad and depressed, curious, passionate, slightly air-headed, well meaning, romantic, at times speaks without thinking, used to be very gullible growing up, insecure, authentic, bad liar, self-deprecating (esp in the past couple years)

BIO (tw: death, drugs):

[ for carlota’s full / proper bio + more in-depth explanations, please click here & check the ‘biography’ tab.]

for nearly half a decade before carlota’s father was born, instability was the norm in portugal. carlota’s father was born just as the conflict was drawing to an end and he   spent his whole life honoring his father’s hard work, heavily focusing on diplomacy, and being slightly ( but understandably ) paranoid about the safety of his family.

like his parents, carlota’s father was fortunate to marry out of love. carlota’s mother isn’t portuguese ( she's a hungarian princess ) nor was she supposed to have become henrique’s wife, but the two had been in love almost since they first met when they were teenagers. at court, some never fully accepted terezia, still, the pair was very happy together. 

carlota’s family was always very close-knit and kinda nosy about each other’s business. she has always enjoyed this greatly as she’s a family and people-person, but at times it felt suffocating, even when she was only a child. 

carlota’s innate almost child-like passion and curiosity for life as well as her good-humored casual demeanor have always been both a blessing and a curse and often landed into trouble. she’s well-meaning, always, but sometimes speaks without thinking or acts impulsively. she’s a little bit air-headed and selfish in this manner, and her emotions and feelings often control her more than she controls them. 

still, she has three older brothers with very strong personalities so from a very early age she’s been trying to keep up with them and showing them that girls can do everything boys can. she’s never been rebellious or assertive by nature, although she likes to make bold choices and statements at times, but having a lot of brothers just forced those sides of her to develop. 

when she was 8, shortly after her youngest brother was born her mother passed away - this was carlota’s first heartbreak  

carlota’s relationship with her father was always...... not complicated, but perhaps filled with misunderstandings and good intentions gone wrong. he kept her at bay a lot because carlota has her mother’s demeanor, and he worried immensely about her future. her father always felt like out of all his children carlota was going to be the one who was going to struggle the most with an arranged marriage so he was always pressuring her to focus on her romantic life in a serious manner which carlota often found bothersome. 

in her teens carlota felt very isolated and out of place. surrounded by people but all alone. that's how she felt.

annnnnnd then her father sent her to boarding school which was never supposed to have happened but he changed his mind thinking it was the best for carlota (spoiler alert - it wasn’t)

carlota was extremely upset and sad over this. being apart from her family and friends she had known all her life brought her great pain and frustration.  she also couldn’t understand her father’s change of heart, and a part of her felt like she had done something deeply wrong. honestly she felt kind of abandoned. 

these years were somewhat tumultuous, especially because she wasn’t making the right kind of friends - the ones that are good for you. this lead her to have made several questionable life choices. she also got in the habit of drinking too much and doing drugs (she never officially went to rehab but she was very close to and she honestly probably should have gone even if only to really file this chapter of her life away).

all of this is, mostly, behind her thought. it took years but she realised she was fostering unhealthy friendships and habits and that the longer it took her to walk away the harder it would become to do so at all. eventually she cut them all out of her life. 

( “what is it with you and your uncontrollable need to be liked?” one of her acquaintances from boarding school asked her once, and she was already a little drunk, so the words didn’t hit her as hard as they normally would have. her shoulders simply rose and fell in a lazy shrug. “i don’t know.” it had been an honest answer, she kept talking anyway, no filter between her thoughts and her mouth. “i guess i - well, i've never been the pretty one, or the smart one, or the brooding one, or the bold one, or the funny one... but i’ve always been good at meeting people so i guess... i guess very early on i just thought ‘maybe i can be the likable one’.” )

her father died of heart decease when she was 21. she always got along with her eldest brother and the two became even closer after their father’s death, however, a couple months before the summit carlota thought she wouldn’t be participating as she had been seeing someone, but the boy ended up deciding that they were better off parting ways. it was all very last minute and out of the blue and he did it via text and she didn’t take the news well in the least so she ended up resorting to finding comfort in bad old habits and companies.

her brother grew increasingly worried and one day the two had a quarrel in the palace’s foyer after carlota showed up to dinner so merrily out of it she could barely stand. at one point he tried to reach for her but she pushed him away - once, twice, trice, and on the forth time he lost his balance and fell down the long imposing staircase.

she was so inebriated that it took her brain moment to register what had happened but once it dawned on her she was immediately struck by a wave of frantic panic and promptly made her way down the staircase ( nearly tripping on her own feet and tumbling down multiple times ). her brother was still conscious when she reached him, falling on her knees by his side, already crying and apologizing. the last thing he told her was to leave so no one would blame her for what had happened. 

carlota is not an agitator. she’s not pro nor against the summit. she dislikes the idea of spending her life with a stranger or someone who won’t love her, but above that at the moment she simply feels a great weight of responsibility towards her brother and is just trying to do what he wanted her to. she’s going with the flow in a dutiful manner, trying to always be on her best behaviour, while at the same time trying to stay as true to herself as possible. 

at the moment, she almost likes that things are being figured out for her. it goes against her usual demeanor, but she has so much on her mind and feels so much guilt that anything that figures out her responsibilities for her is welcome. frankly, she’s walking towards a big depression, but depression isn’t something she has ever experienced before and personally doesn’t think it’s something she herself could experience.   

i want SO MANY THINGS for carlota. good and bad. i want positive character development, i want negative character development. i want to break her and put her together again. i want her to grow, learn, and face past mistakes... and maybe make new ones. 

i’m all about extensive plotting, and i’m in things for the long run, so throw all the ideas at me.

WANTED CONNECTIONS 

FAMILY

siblings  - ill be posting her family request here.

cousins: carlota’s mother wasn’t portuguese, she was likely german, hungarian, belgian, austrian, english, or french. so if your character is from one of those countries and you’d be up for them being related to carlota let me know!!!

ON GOOD TERMS

(open) best friend: someone carlota is very close to at the moment  

(open) childhood friend(s): someone carlota has known pretty much all of her life  

(open) accidental friendship: carlota and this person weren’t supposed to get along because of their personalities but instead of clashing, to everyone’s surprise, they compliment each other nicely  

(open) “a boy tried to make us compete for his attention so we ditched him and became close friends”: self-explanatory lmao i’d love for them to be super close. or maybe he was dating the girl and tried to fool around with carlota so she told the other girl and she dumped and him and her and carlota became close friends. many options.  

(open) exes on good terms: i love this trope - two people who dated but who are still friendly (and possibly super close) 

(open) one time date (positive): carlota and this person went on a date/found themselves on a date but quickly figured out they’d be better off as friends, and they are 

ON BAD TERMS OR IFFY

(open) the guy who ditched her: carlota didn't think she would be participating in the summit as she was beginning to develop a relationship with someone. whether they were officially seeing each other/dating or not is open, but around four months ago he ended what they had, momentarily leaving carlota in a really bad place. i left this super open and vague on purpose, i would love to plot it with whoever takes him.

(open) the boy from the “a boy tried to make us compete for his attention so we ditched him and became close friends” connection: self-explanatory lmao  

(open) betrothal’s romantic interest: i’d obviously love for carlota and her betrothal to be end game (like, romantically, not just being married for appearances) but i’m also big on stuff taking its time and i’d love for her betrothal’s to have a romantic interest (even if it’s onesided and he’s not interested in her - altho he can be obviously). above all, i just want a scene like this one lmao

(open) clashed from the start: clarlota and this person never got along (open)

(open) former teenage-hood friends: carlota and these people used to be close when they were teenagers but aren’t anymore. 

(open) former best friend: carlota and this person used to be very close but something happened that drove them apart. maybe they were part of the same group of friends and when carlota suddenly started bailing on and not wanting to be associated with them the former best friend felt used and betrayed, like they were had only been a “party” friend to carlota 

(open) exes on bad terms: self explanatory  

(open) one time date (negative): carlota and this person went on a date/found themselves on a date and it went awful 

(open) toxic romance: 

NEUTRAL OR UNCLEAR

betrothal: i’d obviously love for carlota and her betrothal to be end game (like, romantically, not just being married for appearances) but obvs that’s not mandatory. his personality is completely open, honestly do with him whatever you wish i just ask that he’s not a very artsy person. as a suggestion, i’d love for his secret to be something like he has toddler from a past fling/relationship, or even if that’s not his secret i honestly just like the idea of him having a secret or not so secret kid. fc suggestions for him are: michiel huisman, bob morley, oliver jackson cohen, and santiago cabrera.

(open) star-crossed: carlota and this character have, or had, feelings for each other but for whatever reason their relationship just can’t work out.  

(open) met in a bar: : this could have happened when they were kids/teens or recently. carlota and this royal met in a bar without knowing of each other’s backgrounds.  

(open) push and pull: : there’s flirtation and mutual interest… and there’s also a lot of annoyance.  

(open) bonded over doing smth they shouldn’t: this could have happened when they were kids/teens or recently. carlota and this person were caught (or nearly caught) doing something they shouldn’t be doing (such as sneaking out or sneaking back in)… individually. it was a chance encounter and their first meeting & can go many ways.  

(open) flirtation: (open)

(open) accidental bonding: this person accidentally confided something in carlota, whether because they were drunk/tipsy, or simply completely saturated and needed to vent. 

(open) betrothal’s ex: id honestly love for carlota to meet an ex of her betrothal and they get along super well. i have several ideas for this tbh but yeah!!