#he has this image of himself. stoic. rational. detached.

[prahacat]

#fml#i can't think about him too much lest i go insane#him and his big stupid castle and no-one to share it with#imagine your social life reduced to nothing but horrid powerful people‚ your psychpathic boss‚ your old family who now hates you and your -#- various apprentices that you occasionally fling lightning at but end up caring for anyway#i think that just does things to your brain.#you build up layers upon layers of awfulness with all sorts of fossils inside them#and in the process you get farther and farther away from your core while also putting more and more pressure on it until it boils#which is why i really like the “he'd rather burn them down than allow them to continue to fester“ part#it's so on point#at his core he's a teacher and someone who cares so much but his circumstances compress those traits into something kinda twisted#and boy you're gonna need a BIG excavator to take some of that pressure off#anyway sorry for the ramble and the sediment metaphor but. ughh this guy#he really gets my little brain gears grinding#meta#count dooku#rael averross#qui-gon#UGHHH (prev tags by @rochenn)

May I ask about your Star Wars fanfics? I wanted you to know I really enjoy them to read on my off time!

May we know your opinions/ headcannons on Dooku and Qui gon's relationship?

How was there dynamic during there early years?

Do you think deep down in when dooku is alone in Sereno, asleep he dreams of seeing his old padawan one last time?

This lyric comes to mind I added on to it.

"Alone and forgotten, i never thought he'd look at me again, but he smiled at me, and I held him.. just like I used to do. Like I used to when he was scarred as a child. Or maybe he was holding me?

Holding me to the light as he used to hold me and look at me, those eyes so full of hope and admiration"

You may absolutely ask me about my Star Wars fics! Thank you for reading my stories! (I swear one day I'm going to finish off those WIPs, aaaaaaaaaa).

Caveat that I'm not as active in the fandom these days (on a bit of Star Wars sabbatical), but I do feel (and I'm someone who melds Master & Apprentice, Jedi Lost, and Dark Rendezvous into canon as I see fit) that in contrast to Dooku's relationship with Rael (which was surprisingly casual, especially as Rael aged. This, if I may be allowed a small tangent, is probably a combination of Rael's aggressive form of charm and Dooku's inexperience and youth)

...but anyway, in comparison to Dooku and Rael, there's this...distance, on the surface, that Dooku keeps from Qui-gon. Their relationship, at least the trappings of it, is more formal, their roles more defined. (This being said, anytime Rael pops by and the three of them are together, those neatly constructed walls start to crumble). This doesn't mean Dooku doesn't care about Qui-gon. He cares, deeply. But as we see in Tales of the Jedi, Qui-gon's apprenticeship years mark the true beginnings of Dooku's disillusionment with the Jedi Order and his slow fall to the Dark Side. And I think part of this detachment from Qui-gon (even as he shows a ferocious protectiveness over him) is, in part, Dooku trying to shield Qui-gon from his more insidious desires and actions. (This backfires, on more than one occasion, when Dooku chokes the crap/lightening attacks/otherwise manhandles out of various enemies who were either threatening his Padawan or were obviously part of the bloating corruption that was metastasizing across the entire Republic).

And to get back to their relationship, we have Dooku being a little more standoff-ish. A little older, a bit more bitter, in general. And young Qui-gon is less outwardly brash than Dooku (at least when he was younger) and Qui-gon is definitely intimidated his new Master. (Although he respects him as a teacher and while Dooku is an exacting, demanding instructor he is also always fair. Whatever his personal troubles are, Dooku is never anything less than a damn fine teacher).

So yes, Dooku cares. Qui-gon's death had no small part in his eventual choice to join the Sith and I have no doubts whatsoever that he dreams both of Qui-gon and Rael regularly as he lies alone in that gigantic, empty bed on Serenno. (I think Dooku, as much as he was trying to manipulate Obi-wan in AotC by bringing up Qui-gon's name, was also being completely honest with Obi-wan in that moment. Actually, he was wholly honest with Obi-wan that entire scene and got shot down due to - at least as Dooku would have seen it - Jedi indoctrination).

And it's this caring that helps to bury Dooku in the end. Caring about his Padawans. Caring about the Republic. About Serenno. About the Jedi. For a man that is so stoic and proper, he is passionate and invested in the future of all the different organizations and governments and societies he's tasked with defending (to the point he'd rather burn them down than allow them to continue to fester). But more than any of that - the Jedi, the Republic, Serenno - Dooku is a teacher. A teacher who is instructing in an intense, one-on-one relationship that puts him in the position of half-mentor/half-parent. We see it when he and Rael embrace after meeting again years later; we see it when Dooku asks an adult Qui-gon for information about this Sith, to protect Qui-gon; we see it when Dooku is forced to turn on Ventress; we see it when he tries to recruit Obi-wan again and again (and, for the record, does not kill him in the bridge scene in RotS when he easily could have crushed Obi-wan with that platform).

This is all to say Dooku cares. And that, to some degree, was exactly the problem.

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards. 

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer. 

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable. 

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief. 

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer. 

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.  

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better. 

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost. 

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you. 

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted. 

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here. 

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence. 

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other. 

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his. 

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself. 

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch. 

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal. 

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you. 

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all. 

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall. 

[cinnbar-bun]

Mystic Messenger: Chess AU

So guys, here’s the AU I’ve been working on for a while! I had some sketches for it and wanted to write some stories with it, and I hope you guys are interested enough in it to want me to continue with it! 

And just real quick, if you are interested in this au and want to use it for inspiration for some of your works, could you please message me or give me credit on your work? I’d really like to see some of them!!

Warning: Contains spoilers regarding the characters!!!

“In this world, not everything is as black and white as it seems.” 

In a land of magic and secrets, two kingdoms struggle with the rift their own mistakes had caused. Brother turned against brother, and the divide has only worsened as time went on. The breaking point was the introduction of a new player, one who’s very identity could ruin or reform the kingdoms. 

The White Kingdom

The King- Jumin Han

A man of calculated and stoic appearance. His very presence sends those near him in awe, and his voice commands respect. Although seemingly cold and detached, he keeps his kingdom’s best interests at heart and does what he must to improve their lifestyle. Guided by the kindness of his queen, he has learned how being a leader and king takes much more than riches and power. So long as he is breathing, he will stop at nothing to reach his goals, all with his friends by his side. Contrary to the previous king, Jumin was difficult to marry off, and because of that, many rumors had circulated concerning his sexuality. Of course, he denied every single one and explained how he simply didn’t care about entering a relationship right now. It all changed once he had met the queen. 

The Queen- MC

A woman of many secrets and mysteries. No one knows how she wound up in the kingdom, how she met the king, and where she is from. Some claim to have never even seen her face, or heard her real name. Her identity is something few truly know, but despite her rather strange appearance, she had quickly gained the affection of her subjects. They might not be able to see her, but they can feel her. Her love and kindness can be felt throughout the land, and many will say that the day she arrived, the kingdom had never looked prettier. Her devout followers would call her an angel, but she merely giggles and claims she is just doing her best. 

The Bishop- 707

A man of many mysteries and a trivial past, he has become a devout follower of God to help those in need. His eccentricities might fool others to believing he doesn’t take his job seriously, but he ignores that in exchange for working in the shadows. He used to work for the Black Kingdom, but left to sort out his own feelings. Now, after having met the Queen, has been devoted to keeping her safe. He dreams of another life in which she could be his, but due to many unfortunate circumstances, he sticks with simply having her company. He isn’t above doing the ‘dirty work’ if it means his Queen is safe. He is the first to protect her, and is usually seen by her side telling her of anything that might be of concern. 

The Bishop- Jaehee Kang

A rather quiet and hardworking woman, who despite being a religious figure, has sometimes been known to help the King. The King, while seemingly uncaring for her, trusts her immensely to help, and she always gives her best effort. She does have plenty of admiration for one of the Knights, Zen, and when not working, usually stops by and watches him train or helps him with anything he may need. While at first suspicious of the Queen, she has since become great friends with her and the two hang out for tea and coffee whenever they can. She confides in her Queen whenever she can, and appreciates her for encouraging her to achieve her dreams. Doesn’t like conflict and is quick to end disputes. 

The Knight- Zen

A passionate and outgoing knight who takes pride in protecting his kingdom. He tends to joke about saving ‘damsels-in-distress’, and many females adore him for his looks. Although he can be considered narcissistic, he hates when people only see his face, not the hard work he contributes. Even though he gets on the ire of the King, both have some begrudging respect for one another. His love for the Queen is what fuels his desire to be better, and he takes his job as protecting her seriously. Zen occasionally forgets himself and gushes about how wonderful she is, and has tried to make songs to showcase his passion for her. Even though he has absolutely no chance with her, he still dreams of one day finding a lover who’ll appreciate him for him, and who he can spend the rest of his life with. He tends to be more brotherly with his fellow knight, Yoosung, and the two tend to spend time with one another, wallowing about how forever alone they’ll be. If he’s not working, he is most likely to be found get drunk at a pub or playing cards with some other knights. 

The Knight- Yoosung Kim

A fresh recruit to the order of knights, admittedly, many don’t know how he got in. Some say the King promised the young knight a chance, but whatever the reason is, many can’t see it. He is prone to get emotional and lonely, and while he appears sunny on the outside, holds a lot of trauma internally. Originally born into the Black Kingdom, he grew up with a loving family and his biggest motivator to become a knight was his cousin Rika. After she committed suicide when she was supposed to become Queen, he cursed the Black King and left to the White Kingdom, where he could start fresh. He may seem childish, but when matters turn dark, he is the first to sacrifice himself and help whoever. Animals seem to flock to him as well, and he says they’re a lot easier to understand than people. He is one the dirtiest knights to bunk with, but Zen manages to stand him. He has grown close to the White Queen and likes to chat with her about anything-leaving many of the servants to compare him to an excited puppy. He has much to learn, but with his kind heart, he is sure to become an excellent knight. 

The Black Kingdom

The King- V

A rather quiet man who grew up as childhood friends with the White King. He seemed to be promising, and many looked up to him to help them. The stress of being king didn’t deter him until he met Rika. The couple was to be engaged and married soon, but during that time many things changed about him. His sight had grown increasingly worse and his betrothed had become more unstable. Combined with the lack of trust between him and Jumin, a small rift formed. No longer was he the bright monarch his people could count on, but he submitted to the Black Queen and became a hallow shell of his former self. The sins he had committed will forever haunt him, as he tries to salvage whatever bit of humanity was left in himself and his queen. The supposed “suicide” of his queen only made him even more of a puppet to her schemes, and he prays for a day in which things could return to normal. 

The Queen-Rika

A once caring woman who became corrupted by the image she had to uphold. Hated from birth, she grew attached to V and wanted him to save her. She did her best to try and stay sane by helping others, but they had grown so dependent on her as they called her their ‘savior’. With no way to find an outlet, she began taking her pain out on V, the one thing that mattered in her life. She needed to be needed and devised a plan with V to stage her suicide. After her ‘death’ she grew a cult following behind the scenes to recruit more followers. She is the puppet-master, running both the cult and the kingdom with her iron fist. Her soft voice and words can lull anyone to her beck and call, as she tries to overtake the land to become the savior everyone wanted her to be. Her original goals and morals lost, she has abandoned rational thought in exchange for complete devotion to her and her ideals. There is absolutely NOTHING that will stop her from getting her way. 

The Pawn- Unknown

The Queen’s most prized player. Mistakenly thinking he was abandoned by his brother, he was quick to fall into Rika’s divisive hands. Abused and reduced to nothing more than her personal pawn, he forgot who he truly was. His emotions numbed by the elixirs, he cannot remember much of himself except the name, ‘Saeyoung’, and a constant feeling of misery and pain. He carries out all her duties and takes his aggression out on supposed traitors. Unknown has difficulty understanding his own self and the world around him, instead longing for a place called ‘paradise’. He has no clue of what it will look like, but he has a feeling that if he kidnaps the White Queen, she’ll be the answer to what he’s looking for. 

Unknown Pieces

Killer Queen

Her appearance is similar to that of the White Queen, although that’s where the similarities end. She is a conniving and selfish woman, who craves whatever her hearts desire is at the time. Nothing can stand in between her and her beloved, and she’ll make sure they feel absolute hell. She is an anomaly, a figure who had no previous background or history. As the White Queen becomes more brilliant, the Killer Queen becomes more repulsive and destructive. If the two halves were to meet...it is unknown what would happen, but the very fabric of the universe could possibly tear in two.