#it was cause of her outfit colors but that’s more indicative of being a power ranger

[takingback-thepenguin]

So I dreamt that Ruth Fleming was The Flash. Once again, not sure what that means but damn I’d love to see that story.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing. 

He is lucky. 

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door. 

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.  

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full. 

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again. 

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again. 

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh. 

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring. 

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of… 

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you. 

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons. 

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily. 

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile. 

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same. 

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.” 

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes. 

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles. 

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth. 

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue. 

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff. 

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time. 

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds. 

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly. 

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate. 

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face. 

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation. 

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head. 

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.” 

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling. 

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair. 

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question. 

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist. 

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets. 

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close. 

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.” 

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you. 

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head. 

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure. 

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left. 

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink. 

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick. 

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions. 

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is. 

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully. 

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread. 

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

 The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?” 

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still. 

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber. 

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment. 

“What?” you finally ask. 

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp. 

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one. 

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him. 

“Marcus?” 

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop. 

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously. 

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze. 

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you. 

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you. 

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop. 

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself. 

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly. 

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling. 

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you. 

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes. 

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods. 

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you. 

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?” 

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything. 

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly. 

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully. 

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours. 

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction. 

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds. 

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain. 

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again. 

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again. 

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear. 

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–” 

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. 

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–” 

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves. 

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. 

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you. 

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.” 

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?” 

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like. 

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly. 

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful. 

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly. 

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer. 

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering. 

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side. 

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow. 

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile. 

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. 

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion. 

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up. 

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats. 

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.  

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones. 

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

[taiblogcomics]

Colour Me Sad

Hey there, crumb dumpsters. It's February now, huh? Or, wait, was it already February last week…? It all kind of runs together, doesn't it? Ah, well, let's just get into it.

Here's the cover:

Ah, good, another really nice cover. I'm glad to get to show you her red outfit, because it's pretty cool. The best covers of this series have all been the most magical-girl-focused ones, haven't they? Maybe that's a lesson other comics need to take to heart. I mean, I'd read Batman more if he was a magical girl, wouldn't you~? Anyways, cool cover, and cool outfit for someone who's essentially a magical girl track-and-fielder~

Our story so far: Real world girl Wisp used her friend Willow's security system to fight shadow monsters and got sent to the Rainbow Lands, where she took up the role of legendary hero, Rainbow Brite. The King of Shadows is stealing all colour from the world, so she has to unite the seven Color Guardians to reignite Rainbow Castle. She, her sprite friend Twinkle, and Color Guard Red Flare are in the land of Red Mesas to do exactly that: rescue another Color Guard from the dungeons. But first, they gotta fight an evil robot named Herky. Excellent!

Herky is a robot with one objective: grab the intruders. He's already got Red Flare in his grip, but Wisp is a bit more clever. Recall that Red Flare thinks his power of super speed is only good for running away. Wisp, however, is a little more clever, and able to use it offensively. She first runs deeper into the cave so she can use the tunnel to dodge an extended fist, and then loops around so she runs behind the various lizard minions, while Herky punches and knocks them all out. See how super speed can be the best power~?

Herky, frustrated now, activates his ultimate move: spin mode. Fall before the unchecked might of… the windmill! Red Flare quickly becomes ill, while Wisp just shows her skill at jumprope. Finally, Herky gives up on capturing her, and goes instead for outright attacking. He slams the ground, which causes the sands to ripple enough to knock Wisp off her feet. Herky's fist comes down, and she's knocked out. The next time we see our heroes, they're undeground, in the prison cells set below the mine. Captured…

Red Flare is depowered and Wisp is unconscious, but she's being tended to by someone off-screen. The dialogue indicates it's the green Color Guardian. While they tend to Wisp (with the help of Twinkle and the green sprite, Lucky), Red Flare gushes about Wisp's performance. Red Flare's own red Sprite, Romeo, is also here. Having seen her in action now, he's definitely convinced she's the real deal for Rainbow Brite now. Twinkle backs him up, telling Lucky all about their adventures so far. They're also preparing some bandages for the unconscious Wisp.

Wisp doesn't stay that way for long, though, since she's the main character and all. She wakes up, and almost screams. And here's where we get our first look at the green Color Guard. Now, Red Flare is just a human boy with spiky black hair. Green, on the other hand, has bark-brown skin covered in swirl patterns, and leaf-like green hair. She has two small branch-like horns just above her eyebrows, and her eyes have large black irises. She introduces herself as Patty, claiming her real name is too hard to pronounce with human mouthparts.

Yep, remember when Twinkle explained that Rainbow Land provides colour for all the other worlds? Yep, that was confirming the existence of aliens. When choosing Color Guard candidates, why not pick from the best in all the universe? Wisp is pretty stunned by the revelation, even having been in Rainbow Land with a magical Sprite for about a day or so now. However, while she's yelling about this, another voice rudely tells her to keep it down, as some folks are trying to sleep. And then from nothing, a fourth Sprite appears. I almost said "third", because Romeo has not contributed one lick to the conversation so far.

This is Gloomy, a dark-coloured Sprite, who's also called an Envy or N.V.--a Non-Visible. Colour extends beyond the spectrum of what we can see, you know! Gloomy is the Sprite for Ultraviolet. He's kind of understandably crabby because most folks can't even perceive him. It's hard to invite someone to a picnic if you don't even know if they're in attendance. Just like he's crabby now because they're interrupting his nap. Twinkle points out that he's not even locked up in a cell like they are, but he demands they be the ones to leave.

Wisp tries talking to him, but he's no less patient with her. He already knows who she is, because he knows Twinkle's own backstory. Twinkle used to get bullied because he was a white Sprite. But there's no such thing as a white Sprite. He doesn't know what land he belongs to or what his purpose is. So he poured himself into studying, and that's how he discovered the history of white Sprites and the legends of Rainbow Brite. He's been waiting all his life for Rainbow Brite to appear, so he'd finally have a purpose. And now he's found her!

Wisp calls Gloomy out for being a bully, since he doesn't see her saving anybody from that side of the cage. At least she tried! At least Twinkle tried, and he had to go all the way to another world. And Lucky and Romeo are here, too! Where's Gloomy's Color Guard, after all? Gloomy replies that it takes a certain kind of person to be the Ultraviolet Guard, and while he's listing off virtues, he catches wind of an unusual scent on Wisp. No one else can detect it, but he asks if she was wearing other clothing today. She mentions her friend Willow's jacket from earlier, and this is Gloomy's eureka moment.

Gloomy disappears, and they're not sure if he just turned invisible or not. He hasn't--we cut back to Earth. Like I said, it's been at least a day since Wisp and Twinkle met, and both Wisp's and Willow's families are at the police, trying to nail down their story of what happened to Wisp the previous night. Willow could see the shadows same as Wisp, but none of the adults could. All they know is Wisp disappeared some time after the alarm was tripped. The cops send Willow out into the hall so they can talk to her parents alone.

Frustrated, she storms out, pouting at how they don't believe her. If she'd made up the story, she'd have at least made up a better ending. But there is someone who believes her. Gloomy appears, and she recognises him as the same sort of creature accompanying Wisp when she disappeared. He tells her Wisp is in trouble, and she's the only one who can help now. But they have to hurry, or they'll miss the moment. He ushers her outside, to her confusion, and has her stand in a specific place. No time to explain! And the comic ends as a lightning bolt comes down from the heavens and strikes Willow! SHAZAM!

And I do mean the comic ends. Not just the issue. Yes, it is my sad duty now to reveal to you that, as good as this series was, it only ever got these five issues. This one came out five years ago this very month, so the chances of it getting picked back up are pretty slim now. As I mentioned at the start, this was an experiment in some way. We've seen disappointing comics before. Mostly because the comics were awful. Here, I wanted to show you that disappointment can come from good comics too~

So, yeah! We'll never see Wisp and friends get out of that prison. We'll never see the other members of the Color Guard or find out what kind of powers and outfits Wisp could draw from them. I think the ending here was setting up Willow to become Stormy, but we'll never see that either. We'll never even see more of these gorgeous covers! Isn't that just... unfortunate? I wish this could've gone on for so many more issues. However many it took to tell its tale.

Because let's face it, the one thing this series was bad at was pacing. It's a lot of exposition. It really has a huge backstory and a load of worldbuilding it wants to share. And it's good stuff! It's very interesting and enjoyable! But it is paced for a very long and ongoing book, and probably would've worked better as a graphic novel instead of an ongoing series. It's a real shame. Everybody who's also had a show cancelled early (especially nowadays in the streaming age) shares this pain. I hope this at least puts a little more word out there that this existed, for however brief a time, so you can hold it in your hearts with me~

[rebelquilled]

VASTAYAN MAGIC

magic for the vastaya is almost limitless but the way they use and work with it is limiting, essentially. when magic is abundant enough and the vastayan wielding it is in good health, they can accomplish pretty much anything they desire... but it is simply not easy. xayah could use magic to create shields or heal as rakan does, rakan could make knives out of his feathers, they could change forms like neeko, etc. but this is all complicated... unlike human mages/entities who use staffs, wands, or work with very specific types of magic sources ( ie zoe, diana, etc )... the way vastaya work with magic is essentially cooperatively. they need magic to survive, its existence literally runs through their entire being. it's a part of them. because of this, it's an extension of themselves. it works with their personalities, behaviors, dreams, desires, interests, and their animal traits. xayah and rakan will always have it easier to work with feathers rather than shifting ( though they can canonically shift and change forms ) while neeko will always do better with shifting than working with feathers... in large part due to their animal traits, heritages, and personalities. all vastaya can shift as said in multiple sources, but neeko's connected to the chameleon and her tribe is one of the more ancient ones alongside ahri's ( for the sake of ease, ahri will always be considered vastaya in my headcanons but i know not everyone agrees with that change so it's flexible and i don't necessarily make it canon in interactions btw ). ahri's tails are sort of an expression of her tribe's shifting abilities, but in the end they're still limited themselves. so, basically, tl;dr this shows how animal traits/connections can play a factor. as for personalities... rakan's love of dancing and helping allows his magic to far more easily work with him to throw his opponents around like a dance or heal his allies or shield them... xayah's passionate pursuit of her goals and values makes her like a knife thrown at a target, and her abilities reflect this. the magic feeds off their core selves and manifests as these specific attributes that work far better by individual than trying to branch into other things. again, they can go into other magic and talents but... because they don't work with their personalities and the like so well, this causes it to be far trickier. with abundant magic, we've seen xayah demonstrate the ability to levitate as one example of how the magic adapts to their beings and situations. rakan is known for changing the colors of his cloak to match outfits and surroundings when he can ( not a full shift, just a color change, so easier than shifting... and it just melds with his love of fashion and decor ). this also reflects how many vastaya don't even seem to use much magic at all, indicating that it manifests more so for those who practice with it or seek its power for their goals. not to say that they then don't have magic at all... they do... but they're more comfortable taking the day to day without it because it giving them life is enough for their desires ( especially because many vastayan seem to have been largely peaceful tribes and thus didn't take to magic for violence or fighting and rather just day to day activities like cooking and cleaning ). basically long story short... vastayan magic is widely powerful, widely unique, and all vastaya have far more abilities than they seem... but they're generally bound to the magic that works as the extensions of themselves and their beings, creating these more limited skillsets that we see in each tribe and individual. unlike mages or the humans of piltover who can use staffs and gems, etc. to control magic, vastaya work alongside it and it flows with them rather than they guide it in any shape or form.

[thiscrimsonsoul]

Meta: Signs of the Darkhold’s Corruption in Wanda’s Aesthetic

{out of paprikash} I’ve been thinking a lot about the aesthetic changes in Wanda’s outfit from the end of WandaVision to Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. There are some interesting things to take in, some likely intentional and some... maybe I’m just reading too much into, heh. But all of them, to me, were indicative of the spiritual and physical corruption Wanda was going through as a result of the Darkhold’s compulsive hold on her. I realized I’ve been hoarding a lot of headcanons regarding this topic and I thought I would share them, in case anyone else thought they were interesting or wanted to build upon them for their own interpretation of Wanda.

Let’s just compare the two outfits for a moment. There are two changes I’m sure were not accidents at all, namely her makeup and the sprawling black shatter or spider-web-like pattern radiating out from her heart. One change, that of her longer sleeves, was probably just a random wardrobe difference, but it could also be creatively interpreted as well.

The sleeves in my opinion gave a feel of the outfit expanding, spreading out to cover more of her body. This felt like a symbolic representation of the Scarlet Witch persona taking over more of Wanda’s psyche, and her witchcraft abilities expanding. Her costume/outfit/uniform, however you want to call it, ceased to be just wardrobe for me once Wanda fully became the Scarlet Witch. After that, the outfit felt almost like a living organism, or at least a metaphor for one and for her transition into the Scarlet Witch. The outfit changed, both in expanse and aesthetic, as the kind of witch she was morally and the scope of her power also changed.

On to the more intentional changes that were probably meant to mean something by the creators of the movie... The creeping shatter pattern that develops on the bodice portion of her outfit to me looks like something seeping out of her heart, or at least out from over where it lies. The pattern stretches over her entire outfit, but the origin of the blackness is definitely positioned right over her heart. I took this to be a visual representation of Wanda being corrupted, and it started in her heart, her emotions. The Darkhold put down roots there, soured it, and from there, its influence spread. 

Wanda’s makeup changes, the way her face is shadowed to make her seem more gaunt, and the darker coloration around her eyes, is likely just to make her look more “evil.” However, it could also be the signs of her being physically affected by the Darkhold. She looks unwell to me. Especially later in the film when she had some serious bags and lines under her eyes. Compare this look to her WandaVision look, and she definitely looked healthier before. I interpreted this as part of my overall interpretation of how the Darkhold’s corruption works with Wanda, namely that it works like a very addictive drug. The more she is affected mentally and emotionally, the more she suffers physically as well. It’s slowly killing her. I’ll come back to that headcanon in a bit...

And then of course there are her blackened fingertips, which happened as a result of her continued use of the Darkhold. This is completely random, but an interesting thought occurred to me. I’m sure the whole blackened fingers thing was again just meant to make her (and other evil spellcasters like Agatha) seem more “evil,” but... it’s also what really advanced frostbite looks like. The Darkhold is of course connected to the frozen mountain of Wundagore, so the fact that the use of a book connected to and maybe even originally made on a frozen mountain gives the user frostbitten fingertips is... interesting.

Or, there could be another interpretation. Her fingers also look like the beginnings of rot, as in how a corpse would rot. This could be meant to symbolize the very literal negative impacts on Wanda’s physical health that her use of the Darkhold is causing, or it could be a symbolic sort of... using this book puts the caster closer to death. She’s being brought closer to the state of death and those who are dead. Closer to the “veil,” as it were. It makes a bit of sense considering there’s plenty of necromantic spells contained within the Darkhold, as well as lethal spells. And since her hands are where her magic emanates from and what she uses to bring it forth into the world, it also makes sense that her hands would be the first to be affected by this deathly transformation. The book is very much associated with death, so the blackening of fingers and hands could be a symbolic representation of that, or a very real physical affect that a living person would experience while blurring that line between the living and the dead. Wanda is being touched by death which, considering how unwell she looks otherwise, further supports the theory I mentioned earlier that the book is slowly killing her. It’s the kind of gradual death that takes years, little by little, wasting the person away.

Wanda’s outfit and physical appearance are therefore like visual gauges of her health, morality, mental state, etc. Were she to continue on past the events of DSMoM and completely “detox” from the Darkhold’s influence, I believe her physical appearance and the condition of her outfit would return to the look she had in WandaVision. 

[flickeringart]

Minor aspects

While the nature of the major aspects in astrology is quite straightforward and has been covered more than sufficiently, there’s still a lot of fog surrounding the nature of the minor ones. There are a lot of minor aspects that can be taken into consideration when interpreting a chart… however, since they are labeled minor they won’t be as obvious and much more difficult to spot in one’s own life. Note that this doesn't mean that they aren't impactful. There’s a lot of speculation and vague terms used when describing them. It seems that every minor aspect is said to have a “spiritual/creative dimension” as if that is supposed to clear up any of the mystery surrounding them. Perhaps, on one level, we don’t want to pin them down too much because certainty is the enemy of exploration. Or perhaps it’s the case that the aspects themselves don’t want to be pinned down? There’s an appeal in keeping certain things mysterious in our lives, to avoid defining and putting rigid labels on phenomena. It makes life alive and beautiful. Many people dismiss astrology is because they are afraid that they’re going to be reduced to a set of characteristics and have their personality mapped up to the point of being able to predict and foresee patterns of behavior and fated themes. The fear of knowledge is not irrational; it is probably healthy to an extent. Knowing too much can be dangerous and rob life of its magic. “Curiosity killed the cat”, as the saying goes. However, this is not the whole truth because curiosity also leads to expansion and better understanding, so let’s not be afraid to concretize these aspects, it's not the same as "killing" their potential. Life is never completely in our hands anyway, there's no risk of knowing it all.

Quintile (72°)/Bi-quintile (144°)

These aspects are said to have something to do with individual style and quality of creative work. It is suggested that these aspects say something about a mental-creative process of imposing one’s mind on a particular subject. It is also linked to talent and gifts the individual would possess that have not been actively learned. Basically, it seems to be indicative of the particular way a person would approach a subject. For example, the quintile would not describe the activity itself - the activity could be painting, knitting, running, cleaning or whatever – the quintile/bi-quintile would point to the way the person approaches the activity.

For example, Ted Bundy (whose chart I’ve explored a bit here), has Neptune bi-quintile the MC. Neptune, being the planet of illusion hints to Bundy’s quality of being a chameleon, deceiving the public as part of his personal style.

Prince Harry, (whose chart I’ve touched upon before), has his Moon bi-quintile Neptune. The Moon can be indicative of the mother figure, and his mother Princess Diana certainly had an elusive style and charm that was a bit deceptive and seductive. Of course, he would have the same thing going in his own life but it would perhaps be difficult for us to spot. He also has Moon quintile Venus and he definitely has a style/quality of emotional-physical comfort. He has Pluto quintile the AC, which would point to a style of showing up in the world that is powerful and intense. He has a tendency to come off as destructive and chaotic at times. There’s also a quintile aspect forming between Mercury in the 8th house and the MC which would hint to a public image that is colored by the “taboo” things he has said about his family in the recent present, but also in the past. He’s a public image that is aligning with the style of the playful amoral trickster.

As I’m going with charts I’ve already explored, let’s look at the quintiles in Meghan Markle’s chart. Her Venus is quintile Uranus and it perfectly describes her style of “wokeism”, that is, appearing to be objective and intelligent about feelings and affective values. She has a style of being “the loving humanitarian”. Whether she is this way in an actual sense is debatable. The quintile aspect is describing the quality and style not the actuality. But, it is disturbingly close to reality that it somehow becomes reality. It’s like the actor who adopts another energy signature in order to portray a different person. It doesn’t really matter if a person is rotten at the core - if he has a loving way of being, what difference does it make? The style is real enough to not reflect and give the impression of love.

Semi-square (45°) / Sesquiquadrate (135°)

These aspects are said to precipitate events. The nature of these two aspects is more immediate than the square aspect (which causes tension and doubt and needs constant navigation). The conflict represented is usually unconscious and is therefore not easy to identify. However, as these conflicts tend to manifest quite abruptly, we can take a look at the concrete problems the person faces. The planets connected by a semi-square/sesquiquadrate aspect will be in conflict but force some kind of release (that may result in an accident because of it’s autonomous/unconscious function).

I have Saturn sesquiquadrate my Moon. Since I tend to unconsciously block my emotional responses, the pressure builds and I am “forced” to get out of a situation, “forced to listen to my emotions”. I have encountered the theory that the sesquiquadrate in particular is manifesting as something that is looked down upon societally. This would make sense considering the aspect forces a breakout of one of the planets and nothing that is immediate and abrupt is ever favorably looked upon when it comes to social-societal structure and predictability. I have been meaning to take on commitments that would further my status in society in terms of formal education (Saturn in the 9th conjunct the MC) but I have not been able to do it without considerable decline in my emotional well-being. So, I have been “thrown out” by unconscious forces every time I’ve tried.

My sister has her Venus sesquiquadrate Saturn. She’s known for her deliberate and strategic way of dressing. She plans her outfits carefully, there’s nothing haphazard about the way she presents herself. However, she has Lilith conjunct Venus so she can push the limits and simply do what she pleases sometimes as well when the pressure of Saturn becomes too much. But, this often causes external judgment. A relative of mine has her Sun semi-square Venus. I can tell that she’s highly aware of her appearance. She is very pretty but there’s always something that is a bit off between what she wears and her self-expression. It’s like it doesn’t quite fit and it’s irritating.

To get back to the celebrities, Meghan Markle has Neptune sesquiquadrate Mercury. Is it possible that this forces distortion and vagueness in opinion and communication? It would certainly fit the bill. She also has Uranus sesquiquadrate Mars. She simply has to “break out of her confining situations”, cut people out of her life and move on in her own way. Uranus is also sesquiquadrate her MC, which seems to point to her unconscious pull to “do what she wants to do” at the detriment of her public image and reputation. Notably, Uranus sits in her 5th house of personal enjoyment and creation.

Prince Harry has a semi-square between Mars and Pluto. When he is angry it blossoms into rage and he can’t see straight. It has gotten him into quite a lot of trouble and societal-social disapproval. It seems that this is a common theme with the sesquiquadrate and semi-square. He also has his Moon sesquiquadrate Jupiter. Isn’t it the case that he tends to indulge in a way that makes him look bad in society?

Quincunx (150°)

This aspect is typically found between planets incompatible by element and mode. Basically, they have nothing in common and have a hard time cooperating, which will cause minor stress in the individual because of necessity to work around the incompatibilities. The planets are not in direct conflict but they are uncomfortable with each other.

For example, I have my Moon quincunx Mercury. Every time I sit down to write I’m mildly disturbed by little things like an aching back, a headache, restless legs or whatever. It’s not very comfortable for me but I can still keep with it, however it might take a toll on me health wise. The quincunx has been related to health issues because of the mild stress that it causes. It is manageable and one is usually able to cope with the stress, but it’s not very pleasant. Because it is not as demanding as more disturbing conflicts in one’s life, it’s in the background causing irritation.

Meghan Markle’s Venus makes a quincunx aspect to her MC. This suggests that she has a hard time reflecting her value on a public level, it’s as if how she’s perceived publicly disturbs her sense of ease and comfort. She has an Aries MC with a Virgo Venus and she’s continuously depicted as a bully these days, as some kind a selfish and aggressive bitch (the more negative attributes of Aries). This must be undermining her self-worth immensely, however, it’s perhaps too minor of a problem to do anything about. It is still there nonetheless, harping on in the background, breaking her down and causing slow disintegration…

Semi-sextile (30°)

Planets forming semi-sextile aspects are said to be able to aid each other, to have a better connection than if they had no link at all. Usually one planet is in the sign that comes before the sign of the other; in other words, a semi-sextile might be forming between Mars in Aries and Venus in Taurus. The semi-sextile usually connects consecutive sign like this, but planets could be in semi-sextile in the same sign, like Mars in 0° Taurus semi-sextile Venus in 30° Taurus. In any case, the planet placed at an earlier degree or in the earlier sign can draw on qualities of the planet in the later degree or the later sign and vice versa. For example, Prince Harry’s Venus in Libra is semi-sextile his MC. He can draw on his sense of harmony a diplomacy to benefit his public image. His Mars in Sagittarius is also semi-sextile his MC, which makes it so that he can draw from his Martial qualities of energy and action to influence his career and success.

Parallel/Contra-parallel

These are called aspects in declination because they are measured by latitude and not by longitude. This essentially means that two planetary bodies can aspect each other in a certain way measuring the distance between them north-south of the celestial equator. Two planets at the same degree north and south of the equator form a parallel aspect and can be interpreted the same as a conjunction (some say that it's more obscure like a quincunx/semi-square). Two planets opposite each other north and south form a contra-parallel aspect and can be interpreted as an opposition (some say that it's basically the same as the parallel though).

I have found, looking at my own chart that these aspects only confirms already existing aspects measured by longitude or it confirms the sign that a specific angle is in. For example, my MC is in Aries and it is also parallel Mars. Mars is the ruler of Aries so it emphasizes my already martial MC. My Sun is conjunct Saturn and it’s also parallel Saturn. My sister has a Scorpio MC and it’s also parallel Pluto, the natural ruler of Scorpio. For example, my sister has a wide Moon-Mars conjunction (6°) but they are also in contra-parallel. How is this supposed to be interpreted? I would simply see it as Moon-Mars is connected strongly despite the orb being a little wide with the conjunction.

However, it’s not always the case that parallel and contra-parallel aspects only confirms already existing influences. They can also add themes and connections. My sister doesn’t have any longitude aspects between Saturn and Uranus but they are contra-parallel to each other.

Septile (51.43° - a 1/7 of the 360°)

It is said to indicate a hidden flow of energy between the planets involved, an inner sensitivity to the spiritual dimension of the planets. Another description I have come across is that the planets “darkly interact” and there’s an occult theme surrounding the connection.

I have Venus septile Jupiter in my own chart. Going by the said method of interpretation, it would mean that I have sensitivity to the hidden wealth and underlying beauty and abundance in life. I think it is quite accurate.

Novile (40° - 1/9 of the 360°)

Is said to be describing a contact of perfection/idealization. It also seems to have something to do with spiritual awakening and growth, lack of fear and freedom.

Having Sun novile Saturn for example could be interpreted as a feeling of communion with the world and life itself through responsibility and the control one can exercise through self-expression.

----

There are of course other minor aspects to explore, but I'll stop here for now.

[vindelllas]

the beauty of punarvasu 🦋🏹

🏹 kali uchis: punarvasu surya

🦋 punarvasu natives, such as mariah carey* and kali uchis, tend to be obsessed with butterflies and their imagery. butterflies are representative of the air/ether element. the deity of the punarvasu nakshatra is aditi, the mother of gods and the goddess of space and the ether element. we tend to see many butterfly-like qualities about punarvasu natives. for example, many natives may be naturally quite restless and finicky and always feel the need to move or travel to satisfy their insatiable appetite for new experiences (similar to the monach butterfly’s migratory nature). this nakshatra being the vimshottari birth of jupiter, causes many natives to want to expand throughout multiple areas of life too quickly and without proper judgment before hand. their aspirations may quickly multiply and quickly reced at a later date. coming and going, flying up and down just like a butterfly. because this nakshatra tends to struggle with commitment and maintaining a steady, continual frequency, their hardest feat in life may be, what i like to refer to as, the chrysalis period. the chrysalis period in life is where many jupiter natives are called to go through multiple transformations and changes in their lives before they see the reward of finding who their true being/self is. they go through life like a caterpillar yearning to become a great being one day, going through the chrysalis of transformation, and, solely after the gruesome time commitment of the chrysalis, typically becoming the best at what they do.

🏹sofia vergara (punarvasu chandra and surya): upper photo

🏹 penelope cruz (punarvasu chandra): lower photo

🌬 the appearances of jupiter dominant individuals are very unique. it is hard to pinpoint the general consensus of jupitarian women’s looks because jupiter really bestows its natives with originality and niche looks specific to the native, much like the big planet of restriction: saturn. first let’s take a look into the two rashis of this nakshatra: gemini and cancer. gemini is ruled by mercury, giving natives a rather elvish and smaller appearance (due to mercury ruling the lower abdomen and bestowing its natives with a generally high metabolism). cancer is ruled by the moon giving natives a yin, curvy, and busty (due to chandra ruling the chest) figure. juxtaposed with the expanisive/yang nature of jupiter gives natives larger features, like big lips and bigger/airy (ether) eyes.

🐈 when researching the appearance of natives, i also like to take into account their nakshatra’s yoni. this is because i believe the yoni of the native somewhat glosses over the planetary dominance of the individual. for example, rat yonis tend to have a pinched face like many rodents, serpent yonis tend to have intoxicating eyes resembling that of snakes, rabbit yonis tend to have prominent, apple-y cheeks like bunnies, etc.. punarvasu, being the feminine feline (female cat) yoni adds somewhat feline features, like arched brows, almond shaped eyes, and overall much emphasis on the features nearing the orbital bone. similar to how cats typically have rich iris coloring to contrast their fur coat and pronounced whiskers where eyebrows would lie on humans.

🍋 jupitarian women also tend to have blonde/yellow undertone hair, this is likely due to jupiter being ruled by the color yellow and remedied by wearing gold/donating yellow objects (i.e. bananas/saffron). overall, they are the best planetary type for those wishing to dye, bleach, or wear wigs of the color blonde. blonde can truly compliment their ethereal looks and remedy jupiter, i.e. shakira (punarvasu native) going blonde and being primarily recognized for her artificially blonde hair.

🏹shakira (punarvasu chandra): left photo

🏹 left eye (punarvasu chandra): middle photo

🏹 mariah carey (punarvasu chandra)*: right photo

🎙punarvasu is heavily prominent in the music industry, from mariah carey* and shakira to eartha kitt and nina simone. i believe this is due to jupiter’s overall auspicious energy. early we reviewed the chrysalis stage of jupiter, after said stage, we see jupiter natives being bestowed with great fortune and fame for their efforts. we also see this musical prevalence with vishakha (another nakshatra under jupiter’s rulership), many famous singers are also born under this star. such as miley cyrus, beyonce, katy perry and more! if we take a step back and look at jupiter and the houses jupiter rules, we can get a better understanding of why. jupiter rules two rashis: sagittarius and pisces. sagittarius is the natural ninth house and pisces is the natural twelfth house of the zodiac. the ninth house pertains to honesty, principles, dreams, and intuition. it is considered to be the dharma bhava and rules one’s religious instincts, good karma, dharma, ethics, higher learnings, one’s inclination towards good deeds and charity. it is essentially a house influenced by luck, fortune, and favors. the twelfth house is the ending of one’s life cycle and the beginning of their spiritual journey. it is often considered to be the house of unconsciousness, the undoing of self, and imprisonment. this is the essence of jupiter, brihaspati challenges your wisdom and rewards you when he deems fit (9th house) and if you prove to be unsuccessful, this could be your undoing and call to ground yourself (12th house). time and time again we see these jupitarian women succeed in their respective industries and devote themselves to philanthropy and causes pertaining to empowerment, such as miley cyrus’ hippie foundation and her being very vocal about her feminist ideologies. we see jupiter women gravitating towards music almost as a form of spiritual expression (twelfth house) and a channel to express their immense lyricism (ninth house pertaining to wisdom). even in the later years of their career, we still see women like mariah carey* and shakira continue to make music and receiving immense credit and followings for doing so.

🏹 phoebe tonkin (punarvasu surya): upper photo

🏹 meghan markle (punarvasu lagna): lower photo

🏹 in ardra, we saw the process of forming the rational mind and free will after rohini’s rejection of bhrama’s pursuits and fearfully running away (mrigashira). we see punarvasu acts as the bridge between communications, mental intelligence, and journeys (third house/gemini) and peace of mind, motherhood, and domesticity (fourth house/cancer). this bridges the elements of ether and water and generally creates a harmonious, caring, and auspicious individual. these same traits are also abundant in the following nakshatra: pushya. think of punarvasu as the cosmic mother (aditi/4th house) who has gained immense knowledge and wisdom through life (brihaspati/3rd house) and the beginning of domesticity and motherhood, whereas pushya is the nourisher and the nourishing milk the mother provides (brihaspati and the 4th house combined).

🦢 due to the overall motherly nature of punarvasu, we also see this natural purity to the natives. hence, why many punarvasu women wear white (the color associated with purity). looking at the street style of punarvasu natives, i saw a lot of the typical colorful and eclectic styles jupitarian women like to wear. however with punarvasu, i saw a more subdued version of the typical jupitarian style. i noticed lots of sweaters, semi-tailored/fitted jeans and pants, flowy and distressed shirts, and overwear. i would describe a typical punarvasu outfit to consist of gold jewelry (a nod to the jupitarian rulership of gold), distressed and relaxed clothing (symbolic of the yang energy of jupiter), and lots of primarily white, lead, and black clothing with colorful embellishments. as previously mentioned, white is symbolic of the purity of punarvasu, lead is considered to be the auspicious color of this nakshatra, and black is indicative of the spiritual qualities and the yang manifestation of jupiter himself.

🏹 romee strijd (punarvasu surya): left photo

🏹 alessandra ambrosio (punarvasu chandra): right photo

🌱 punarvasu reminds me of the painting “garden of earthly delights” by hieronymus bosch. a painting primarily about the dichotomy between heaven and hell and the road that lies between it. it is like the greenery that is rebuilt after the purposeful destruction of ardra. the painting depicts succulent strawberries, palaces, shimmering crystals, and seed pods ready to burst. surrounded by fountains of clear azul water flowing directly into the mouths of what many believe to be adam and eve, plucked fruits, and duos caressing inside glistening bubbles, ajar clam shells, and ripened nectarines, indicative of the journey of all nature, planetary vimshottari birth nakshatras and the cosmic blessings of aditi. this fruitful abundance, combined with their lovely, nurturing nature, is a resemblance of the left (heaven) side of the painting, the jupitarian chrysalis period is the middle (worldly) board of the painting, and the dangerously falling susceptible to the influences of others is the right (hell) side of the painting.

🌳 punarvasu is of the vasutva prapana shakti, meaning “the power to gain substance”. in general, it is easy for them to get inspired by their creative ideas and plans, but they must learn to bring their ideas to fruition and into reality. because when they do, great things happen, i.e. punarvasu natives like the singer nina simone or the victoria secret supermodel alessandra ambrosio being highly successful and regarded in their respective industries. i cannot stress this is enough: while punarvasus are extremely talented and abundant looks and career wise, like all jupitarian women, they must learn to heal from the trials and tribulations of their lives (the garden of earthly delights). to help aid natives lying in the cancer rashi, i recommend meditation. for those lying in the gemini rashi, it is of the utmost importance for them to ground themselves and not allow the fickle nature of air to overun themselves.

as always, i am open to any constructive criticism! i tried to touch on both the appearance, fashion, and symbolism of punarvasu and i hope i did these natives justice! in my opinion, this nakshatra is truly criminally underrated. punarvasu is so angelic, expansive and gracious 💫 if you are looking for more information about punarvasu, get to know the overrulers and supreme deities of mercury, vishnu (the maintainer) and narayana (the cosmic person), the moon, apas (the water goddess) and parvati (the supreme goddess), and jupiter, indra (the king of the gods) and bhrama (the law giver)!! if any of my placements or information is incorrect please feel free to let me know! also, i am fully aware of the origins of vedic astrology and if i was in anyway disrespectful to hindu culture, i will take down this post immediately xx

* the wonderful @/starlitebimbo and @/venusianvirago on twitter informed me that mariah carey has two birth dates and may either be a punarvasu or anuradha moon!

**all of these placements were found using astrotheme/.com and/or astro-charts/.com. it is important to note that some chandra (moon) placements may be off by up to 6 degrees and lagnas (risings) as well, due to the fact that many websites do not have 100% accurate birth times for the given celebrities.

**i take absolutely no credit for the invention of vedic astrology-based appearance profiles. please watch claire nakti on youtube or look into @/cn0bles, @/lovejustlied, @/dh4nishta, and @/vanillemercure on twitter for more in-depth analysis on vedic astrology xx

[kristal-dawn-art]

Jujutsu Kaisen OC Reika

I couldn’t resist, so here’s my OC for JJK. 

Name: Kougetsu Reika (紅月霊花) Alias: Rei Species: Human; sorcerer Birthday: August 30 Zodiac sign: Virgo Age: 16 Gender: Female Height/Weight: 163cm/ (5’4” Hair/Eye Color: Deep auburn/dark gold Status: Alive Relatives: Kougetsu Toshihiro (father); Kougetsu Mika (mother); Gojou Satoru (distant relative); Okkotsu Yuta (distant relative)  Occupation: Student/Jujutsu Sorcerer Affiliation: Kougetsu Clan; later Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School

More info under the cut XD; 

Appearance: Reika has fair skin, dark golden eyes, and deep auburn hair that she wears in a side ponytail with a 3-part fringe. She favors comfortable clothing that is easy to move in, with a typical outfit consisting of a purple shirt paired with a gray-and-pink jacket, denim skirt, dark leggings and running shoes. Her school uniform consists of a purple tank top tucked into a short pleated uniform skirt. Leggings, running shoes, and a short-sleeve uniform jacket complete the look.

Personality: Reika enjoys observing others as much as she loves interacting with them - well, as much as she can observe given her situation - and because of how sheltered she’d been before enrolling at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School (aka Jujutsu Tech), she jumps at the chance to befriend someone. She’s fairly straightforward in her words and actions, whichever is more appropriate in a given situation. While not too much of a conversationalist, she’s happy to keep someone company, if she feels they need it. 

For the most part, she wears her emotions on her sleeve, and her tone of voice is a very good indicator of how she’s feeling. Rarely does she feel the need to hide her emotions, but when she does, she does it fairly well. Being a studious sort, she dislikes it when someone interrupts another person while they’re explaining something, and will often clap a hand over the offending party’s mouth.

She’s not that good at picking up on tension in a room, so to speak, but she can make a good guess at how people are feeling, and if they’re feeling down, she’ll try to help them feel better. Overall, she likes knowing she can help others, and is happy to play the support role whenever on assignment. She also hates ‘seeing’ someone get hurt, whether or not they show they’re in pain. Even while worrying for someone, she’s able to keep a cool head, and will choose her next actions in such a way that she’ll have time to tend to the injured person if necessary.

ABILITIES AND POWERS

Overall skill level: At present, Reika is a strong Grade 2 sorcerer, though her precise control of and sensitivity to cursed energy, plus the speed at which she masters different forms and applications of her inherited technique makes it possible for her to move on to being at least a semi-Grade 1. 

Extreme sensitivity and energy control: Because she is both deaf and blind, Reika’s other senses plus her ability to sense cursed energy are all highly enhanced. She can feel movement through minute changes in air pressure and thanks to her Curse Sensing, and reading the flow of another’s cursed energy tells her also how much was expended. Training also helped her get a feel for how much energy she has to use to get a certain effect.

Enhanced mobility: Reika’s training to use cursed energy to fuel her movements has improved her speed and reflexes. So while not as fast as individuals like Yuuji or Maki who have innate physical talent, Reika is still able to move very well in combat, with little to no wasted movement. 

Competent combatant: Even though her training and her personal preference had her focus on defensive applications of her technique, she can still do a reasonable amount of damage when necessary and thus can hold her own reasonably well.

JUJUTSU Cursed Energy Manipulation Great Cursed Energy: Reika’s inherited technique, overall, takes much cursed energy to use, even if the individual techniques don’t use a lot. Training further helped Reika learn to conserve her energy and use the appropriate technique for a situation. This, combined with the overall effect of the Kougetsu clan’s inherited technique, means that Reika has a high amount of cursed energy to work with at any given time. Drawn-out fights are challenging for her, but alternating between manipulating her opponent’s energy and her own can help her last longer, though not without taking a toll on her body.

Inherited Technique Hands of Tsukuyomi. Believed to be an offshoot of Limitless, this technique hinges on users being able to manipulate both their own cursed energy and an opponent’s to achieve a variety of effects. At its most basic and on the surface level, Hands of Tsukuyomi can disguise or suppress the user’s cursed energy, allowing them to pass as civilians. Users may also gain enhanced speed and mobility by fueling their movements with cursed energy, and increasing the impact of any physical attacks they may employ. The technique’s more advanced forms let users divert cursed energy, absorb it, and amplify the effects of an ally’s technique. Extremely advanced applications of the technique see users manipulating light to distort what opponents see, and even unleashing a barrage of compressed light over a desired area.

All forms fall under one of four phases, each one focusing on a particular general effect. Full Moon focuses on amplification, Waning Moon covers absorption, Crescent Moon deals with redirection, and New Moon focuses on negation. Regardless of form, the user needs precise control to achieve the desired effect. Only a handful of users are able to use more than 2 phases, and while they can and do master at least one, true Hands of Tsukuyomi masters are able to use forms from all four, flowing from one to another depending on the situation. Reika herself is regarded by her family to be a highly gifted user as she is only one of three Kougetsu sorcerers so far who have learned to use Hands of Tsukuyomi to heal themselves and others. 

In most cases, activating a technique requires a specific series of hand seals from a fixed set of 12, based on the lunar zodiac, and the user concentrating on the desired effect, including range (if any) and the target. The only techniques so far that don’t require these seals are Reika’s Curse Sensing, Tidal Flow, and Shroud.

Benefits: 

Users being able to reflect an opponent’s cursed energy and any effects of these back at the original user (e.g. a user would be able to deflect Mahito’s “Idle Transformation” and possibly cause him to transform instead into a form he wasn’t planning) along with the precise control of their own cursed energy allows them to last longer in combat, compared to if they were to rely on their cursed energy alone. 

Users are also able to increase the effectiveness, strength, range, or duration of techniques when using more energy than typically required. For instance, users can move twice as fast when fueling their movements, or reflect more than one cursed technique simultaneously.  

Drawbacks:

The stronger the opponent, the more difficult it is to make their technique rebound completely; the user will either have to use more cursed energy, or deal with the technique in a different way (absorb or negate it). 

The more powerful forms take longer to master and use up a lot of cursed energy, so if they’re countered or don’t work out as well, the user may be worse off than if they hadn’t used said forms.

Overuse causes users to suffer from paralysis in one or two limbs, an inability to speak, blurred vision, muscle pain, or a combination of any of those. The more powerful the form that was last used, the bigger the toll it takes on the body. In the worst-case scenario, a user may pass out from the physical and mental strain.

Techniques:

Full Moon: Zenith (満月: 天頂 ; Mangetsu: Tenchou) After activating the technique, Reika lays a hand on an ally and channels some of her cursed energy into them the moment they deploy a technique of their own, thereby strengthening it (e.g. Fushiguro’s shikigami will be harder to destroy) or amplifying the effect (e.g. Inumaki’s cursed speech won’t create as much of a backlash).

Full Moon: Moonbeam (満月: 月光; Mangetsu: Gekkou) Reika compresses light and unleashes it in a barrage of beams that she can direct freely, and even redirect if they haven’t made contact yet. The bigger the area of effect, the fewer the projectiles launched.

Waning Moon: Afterimage (下弦の月: 残像 ; Kagen no Tsuki: Zanzou) -description to be added-

Waning Moon: Kaleidoscope (下弦の月: 万華鏡; Kagen no Tsuki: Mangekyou) Reika alters the surroundings to conceal her and her allies’ location while also setting up a protective barrier. While active, the barrier absorbs the energy from cursed techniques targeting her or her ally, creating a well for Reika to tap into later. This takes a lot of concentration, so if she’s distracted, the barrier fails to absorb the energy, thus exposing the illusion.

Crescent Moon: Mirror (三日月: 鏡; Mikazuki: Kagami) Reika controls the trajectory (?) of another individual’s cursed energy, turning it back on them or onto a different target. The effect is usually instantaneous and she doesn’t have to keep the technique activated, unless the user is of a higher grade. When that happens, she needs to keep it active until the redirected energy hits the new target. This technique doesn’t work against special-grade opponents, though, and is tricky to use when there are more than two opponents.

Crescent Moon: Haze (三日月: 朧; Mikazuki: Oboro) A more advanced form that Reika is still trying to master. In theory, she would be able to arrest the flow of cursed energy from multiple targets, making it appear as if their techniques were deactivated. Then, she’d redirect the trajectory of each one (e.g have Kamo’s arrows target someone else, or make Hanami’s plants grow in a different direction) before letting the attacks go through to their new targets. Reika left Jujutsu Tech not long after enrolling to learn this technique from a relative.

New Moon: Disruption (新月: 破壊; Shingetsu: Hakai) This technique enables Reika to negate or forcibly deactivate a technique deployed by someone else. However, both her feet need to be planted - similar to the Simple Domain - and the user whose technique she wishes to deactivate must be within 10 meters of her. 

New Moon: Umbra (新月: 本影; Shingetsu: Honei) An advanced version of Disruption that Reika is still trying to master, it functions similarly to a Simple Domain, but instead of requiring the feet to stay set at the point the technique was deployed, it calls for Reika to keep her hands in the necessary seal and concentrating on keeping the flow of energy around her constant. Its range is just 3 meters, but Reika doesn’t need to stay grounded, so it’s more versatile and can be activated even in the air. This is another technique that Reika had to learn from a relative.

Others: 

Energy Sensing. Reika’s energy grid that she uses primarily for navigation, but can be used in combat and to sense approaching cursed spirits. Reika can quickly react to whatever information she gets from it. 

Tidal Flow. Reika uses cursed energy to enhance her actions in combat. 

Tidal Strike. Reika channels cursed energy into her hands or feet and compresses it for precise strikes; the effect is more slicing or piercing compared to the blunt force from, say, Itadori’s.

Shroud. A reversed curse technique involving Reika surrounding herself or others with negative cursed energy to heal injuries.

Barrier Techniques Eclipsing Light (食の光; Shoku no Hikari) Reika creates a protective barrier of compressed light around her and the target. While active, the barrier steadily absorbs the target’s cursed energy, preventing them from using any techniques. She then reverses the flow of the energy, releasing it in either a barrage of multiple projectiles from above or as a single, focused beam originating from her outstretched palms. The domain is still incomplete. 

Story: The only child of the current head of the Kougetsu Family, Reika was born both blind and deaf, which made both her parents reluctant to have her train as a sorcerer, even if she later proved to inherit their clan’s Cursed Technique.

As time passed, it became obvious that the little girl’s other senses were enhanced. Using vibrations in the ground and in the air, she was able to tell when someone nearby was talking or when something was being moved. She proved herself capable of using and controlling cursed energy earlier than other young sorcerers, soon figuring out how to lay strings of energy out in a grid pattern and using that to ‘see’ her surroundings. 

Because of her clan’s stance on sorcerer society and her parents’ protectiveness, she lived a sheltered life, rarely leaving the family compound and interacting only with family members and teachers brought in to tutor her. Eventually, however, Reika asked that she train in both hand-to-hand combat and the use of her Inherited Technique, arguing that she needed to be able to rely on herself as well, not just on family members, to keep herself safe. Toshihiro and Mika agreed, making sure she learned to suppress her cursed energy so she’d appear as a civilian to any sorcerers and cursed spirits, even when using her energy grid to navigate. The last thing they wanted was for their only child to be endangered, or to draw the attention of other sorcerers.

As her skills improved, Reika took to going out on her own to explore the city, eventually encountering cursed spirits. The harmless ones she left alone, but not the more threatening ones. She often led these back to the Kougetsu family compound for more experienced sorcerers to exorcise. At some point, however, she grew confident enough in her abilities and began exorcising spirits herself when she perceived they had less energy than she did and she could do so without endangering civilians. 

During one such outing, Gojou witnessed her luring a cursed spirit into an alley before exorcising it, and became intrigued when he learned the younger one could neither see nor hear - likely a result of a Heavenly Restriction. When his superiors learned of Reika, they called for her enrollment at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School, reasoning that she’d need field training her family might be unable to provide. Reika’s parents were reluctant to let her go, but the young teen was eager to leave. For her, it was a chance to live away from her protective family members, to test her abilities as much as possible while keeping others safe - civilian or sorcerer - and to learn more about her role as a sorcerer. She entered Jujutsu Tech soon after the Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event.

Trivia

Reika has to touch someone’s face or throat to be able to tell what they’re saying, using the vibrations to interpret the words. Otherwise, someone needs to sign into her palm to give her information directly. 

The Kougetsu Clan doesn’t condone the way sorcerers in Japan are treated, or how the society functions as a whole. Because of this, Kougetsu sorcerers went largely unregistered for 5 generations, their technique relatively unknown. Reika enrolling at Jujutsu Tech broke this pattern.

Reika aspires to be like Maki when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. 

When meeting someone for the first time, she asks if she can touch their face. To her, Gojou has a lively face, Fushiguro and Itadori both have kind faces, while Kugisaki’s is determined. Panda’s is friendly, Maki’s is strong, and Inumaki’s is gentle.

Reika says that different colors feel different to her, and she picks out clothing based on that. 

Seiyuu/VA: Nitta Emi (JPN)/Cherami Leigh (ENG)

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Is That...?

Title: Is That...?

Pairing: Loki x Avenger!Reader

Requested?: Yes! @wolfiegal98​ I hope you like it love!

Word Count: 6,200 ish

Warnings: Cursing, fighting, mentions of past death

Summary: Loosely follows the plot of Thor Ragnarok. What will happen when the reader finds out that Loki has actually been alive for the past 4 years? Angst and Fluff.

Author's Note: I sincerely hope this makes sense 😂 I picture the reader to be a mutant in this, capable of controlling the air, water, and fire around her, but it's not really explained well because this was already like 6k. P.s., its not my GIF!

“Stephen?” you called curiously, not moving to get up in the slightest. In all honesty, it baffled you that after almost a year of studying under him that you still had nearly no ability to navigate the Sanctum, but it felt like there was little you could do to change that. As much as you enjoyed spending time with the good Doctor, you absolutely loathed trying to find anything in this maze of a building -- you'd figured out pretty quickly that it was much easier to simply yell for him rather than attempt to find anything yourself. 

“In the front.”

You yelped as the disembodied head of your mentor popped momentarily through one of his glowy, orange portals before disappearing again. 

Forget trying to find your way around this place, you’d never get used to that. 

Rolling your eyes, a wave of your hand produced a gust of wind that weightlessly lifted you from your seat and carried you to the front. 

"You know you don't have to scare the shit out of me every time I--"

Your complaint died in your throat before you managed to finish your thought. The wind that’d been carrying you died down immediately and your feet landed on the floor with a light thump. 

Standing near Stephen was a certain blond-haired Asgardian. He was holding an umbrella, and wearing what you could only imagine was an outfit meant to help him blend in with human beings -- as if that were possible. You blinked, brain taking only a split-second to process the sight in front of you before your face cracked into a huge smile. 

"Thor!" you greeted happily before launching yourself into the god's already open arms. Thor chuckled amusedly as he embraced you tightly. 

"Hello to you as well Lady Y/N," he grinned, flashing his thousand-watt smile down towards you. You grinned as you pulled yourself out of his arms, feeling thoroughly surprised and delighted. 

"Where have you been? It's been, what like 2 years?" you questioned breathlessly as you punched him squarely on the arm in playful irritation. He only grinned wider, body not moving an inch as you hit him. 

“Eh you know, here and there,” he shrugged. “Saved a couple of planets from destruction, things like that.”

“Still modest as ever I see,” you giggled. 

“Yes, and I see you’ve been working on things since I've left,” Thor complimented. “Your control is quite impressive.”

“That’s not all I can do either,” you teased smugly. Thor chuckled amicably, one brow raised in interest. It was true, working closely with Stephen for the past year had not only massively helped you learn how to use your powers, but had led you to actually discovering some you’d never known you had. 

"Anyways. Thor is here to locate his father," Stephen interjected. "I was just about to send him on his way."

Your brows immediately dipped into a frown, eyes raking over the men in hopes that their faces would yield some sort of explanation. Though Strange's face remained impassive, Thor's expression at once became more solemn. 

"Odin's here? Like on Earth?" you questioned curiously. Thor merely nodded, eyes casting downwards as if to purposely avoid your gaze. As your mind ran wild with the new information, you internally wondered what the Asgardian king could possibly be doing on Earth. Moreover, you didn't understand why his presence would cause Thor to require Stephen's help. Eyebrow raised in suspicion, you crossed your arms and urged the men with a silent look to explain further. 

"Yes, in a place called Norway apparently. It's kind of a long story," Thor drawled. "One with many more questions than answers I'm afraid. I should probably be going to fetch him now."

Stephan nodded waving his arms nonchalantly and opening a portal, but you remained still, wondering what it was that they both knew that you were missing. 

"And I suppose I'll be needing my brother back," he finished, looking towards Stephen expectantly. 

"Your what now?" you choked. 

"Oh yeah, right," Stephen hummed.

He waved his hands above his head and another portal opened. You heard screaming coming from above, and not a second later a man fell straight out onto the Sanctum's floor with an echoing thud. Your jaw dropped.

It couldn't be. 

"I have been falling for thirty minutes!" the man roared from the ground, fists clenched and posture rigid.  

If you weren't so thoroughly consumed by your complete confusion and the small, futile feelings of hope growing within your chest, you might've laughed at the familiar voice's indignant cry.

"Is that…" you managed to ask weakly, your body completely frozen as your brain worked in overdrive trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The man stood slowly to his feet as you vaguely heard Thor and Stephen talking next to you. It felt like all the breath in your body had been stolen from you, unable to believe the sight before you. 

It was him. 

Loki, the god of mischief, stood just a few feet from you, huffing and dusting himself off. 

Loki who'd been dead for the better part of 4 years. 

Loki. 

"I-- he -- but he's -- what," you spluttered helplessly. Loki's eyes flashed to your face as you spoke. A look of utter shock filtered through his blue-green irises as he caught sight of your frozen form, and his pale face rapidly lost what little color it'd had to begin with. You whimpered pathetically. It felt like your brain might actually be imploding from its inability to process what was happening right now. "You--"

"Darling," Loki breathed, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. You gaped, mouth hanging wide open. 

"Uhm yes, quick update Loki is alive," Thor announced with a quick clap of his hands. "And while I'm sure the two of you have much to discuss we really need to be--" 

"You-- asshole."

"Y/N--"

"You absolute FUCKING ASSHOLE," you screeched, body suddenly erupting into a kind of fury the likes of which you'd never experienced. "YOU LET EVERYONE -- LET ME -- THINK THAT YOU WERE DEAD FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS, AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO SHOW UP HERE NOW?"

You could feel your powers surging to the surface, the unbridled rage practically begging to be set free as you crossed the large gap between your bodies in mere seconds. Too livid to even let your natural instincts take over, you simply begin pounding your fists against every available inch of the now-cowering god's body. 

"What in FUCKS name are you even doing here, you lying, evil piece of SHIT?" your fists pounded relentlessly against Loki, primal screams of pure anger ripping from your throat as you did. Eventually, you felt your body being pulled away, a giant pair of hands gripping your waist tightly. 

"Alright now, that's probably enough," Thor's booming chuckle broke through the rhythmic, deafening pounding of your racing heartbeat in your ears. He caged your body against his with seemingly very little effort, expression wholly amused at your reaction. 

You thrashed wildly against his hold, rage still searing through your every pore like a wave of molten hot lava. Your irses began to turn red and your fingertips sparked with little bursts of flame. Falling still for only a moment, your hands darted out, grasping one of Thor’s forearms tightly as your palms glowed with a brilliant, vibrant blue. Thor growled in pain as your heated skin gripped his flesh, arms instantly releasing you as he cradled his burnt limb gingerly. 

"Since when can you do that?" Thor demanded, looking very much like he was in shock. 

Smiling smugly, your hands became engulfed in flames and you turned your attention back to Loki. 

"Told you I'd learned some new tricks," you growled before lunging towards Loki. You only made it a half a step before an invisible force held you in place. 

“How many times do I have to tell you Y/N, no fire in the Sanctum!” Stephen scolded sternly before a flick of his hand sent you, Thor, and Loki straight through the portal. 

You landed with a soft thump and found yourself rolling across grass, any sight of the Sanctum completely gone. Groaning a little at the pain in your side from the way you'd fallen, your eyes roamed over the field with confusion. 

“You can come back when you’re done with your little tantrum,” Strange’s voice echoed in your head from afar. You huffed in disbelief as your surroundings became clear. 

He’d sent you to fucking Norway. 

“Y/N,” Loki called quietly. 

Residual anger bubbled up in your chest once more at the sound of his voice. You turned to find him standing a few yards away, hands raised in surrender once more and handsome features cautiously scanning your face. 

“I must explai--,”

“Loki.” Thor cut his brother off sharply, staring towards the cliff. Loki’s eyes travelled to meet his brother’s gaze, breath catching in his throat once he noted Odin’s seated form on a large rock near the coastline. Thor began to walk purposefully over to his father, but Loki's attention turned back to you. You huffed loudly as you stared furiously into his pleading eyes, your body not moving an inch. After a few moments of intense eye contact you cocked your head towards Odin, indicating that he should proceed. Loki nodded tensely in thanks before striding off to where his father and brother sat. 

Letting out a massive sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair once you were left standing alone. A tiny flash of guilt started to fill your tummy as you watched the men murmur amongst themselves. Deciding it was probably best to give them a little privacy, you turned away, awkwardly fiddling with the rings on your fingers as you waited for them to finish speaking. 

Your mind felt like it was practically buzzing with thoughts as you tried to process everything that'd just happened. Thor's abrupt reappearance, the fact that your mentor had basically banished you to Norway, the nagging question of why Odin was even on this planet, and of course there was the small detail of Loki being back from the dead. 

Again. 

Though you probably should've been trying to figure out what kind of otherworldly threat could've brought the Asgardian king down from his golden palace, you found the majority of your thoughts turning to his adoptive son. 

Along with Thor, you'd been tasked with escorting Loki back to Asgard after the battle of New York to ensure his unhindered return. Finding yourself wholly fascinated by the entirely new and exciting planet, you'd stayed for much longer than anyone thought you would. You were so interested, in fact, that you ended up staying on Asgard for almost a year. The team back in Stark Tower thought you were crazy for staying as long as you did. 

If they only knew how you'd been occupying your time in Asgard. They'd probably would've had you committed. 

You wound up spending large portions of your time with a certain prisoner -- a fact that you hid from everyone for a long time. At first it was simply to ensure that it was indeed still Loki within his cell and not another illusion, but over time it evolved into something else entirely. Something more. 

He started to help you learn about your powers, even showing you that you could do more than just manipulate the air. Together you explored your control over fire and water in small doses, and in turn, you became someone he could talk to -- to pass the time with. The more you learned about Asgardian culture the more time you spent down with Loki, talking about anything and everything you could think of. It wasn’t long before you found yourself harboring a secret crush on the exiled prince, slowly but surely learning to trust him and him you. You were never truly sure if he felt the same -- true he referred to you as his "darling" or "pet" more than your own name, but you could never be sure he wasn't tricking you. As time passed you fell more deeply in love with the god, and you questioned his affections less and less. The two of you never discussed your relationship aloud, but something deep in his eyes told you he just might return your feelings.

You stayed in Asgard so long that you were still around when Jane became possessed by the Aether. You and Thor worked together to free Loki from his cell, and later you wound up on Svartalfheim in an attempt to save Jane’s life. 

You’d fought alongside them, and watched helplessly as Loki died right before your eyes. For all he taught you in the past months, your skills were just too weak still to stop the chaos that was raging around you.

 You weren’t strong enough to keep him safe. 

You’d clutched his hand as he groaned in pain, the cascade of tears falling from your eyes blurring the horrific sight. Even so, the image of his motionless, frail body lying on the ground had been burned into your memory ever since. 

You returned back to Earth immediately after that, all interest in Asgard gone. You’d spent the last few years trying futilely to distract yourself by working with the Avengers, which eventually led to you studying under Dr. Strange. You trained everyday, fighting to gain some semblance of control over your abilities and determined to never let anything like what happened in Svartalfheim happen again.

Your head began to ache from the seemingly constant torrent of questions flowing through your brain. How had he survived? Why had he tricked everyone into thinking he was dead? Where had he been all this time? And most importantly, why hadn’t he come to see you? 

A pang of rejection ripped through your chest as your brain fought to reconcile Loki’s actions with the sweet, caring man you came to know on Asgard. Surely you must have been mistaken-- a silly girl falling for the handsome god's tricks like a fool. No one who cared for you would leave you like that. 

The low, rumbling sounds of thunder booming overhead brought you out of your thoughts. You were on your feet in an instant, body tensing and eyes flashing over to the brothers. A fleeting rush of confusion washed over you as you noted Odin’s absence, but you weren't given much time to think about it. 

Thor and Loki stomped towards you with their gazes trained on something behind you. A bolt of lightning and a flash of green enveloping them respectively, the two of them simultaneously donned their battle gear. You rolled your eyes. 

"So dramatic," you mumbled to yourself as you turned to face whatever it was they were heading towards. 

-----------------------------------

"YOU TINY AVENGER!"

Your head snapped up instantly, body tensing as you were abruptly ripped out of your sleep by Hulk's roar. You groaned, rolling to your side and thrusting your sweaty face deeper into your pillow. Sleep had never come easy to you, and even though your dreams for the past 2 weeks had all been the same gut-wrenching memory, that didn't make your abrupt wake up call any more welcome. 

You'd found Bru-Hulk almost immediately after arriving on Sakaar, seeing as the bifrost had spit you out straight into the colosseum in the middle of one of his death matches. You, having very little knowledge of how the bifrost mechanics worked, had absolutely no clue where you were. 

To say you'd been confused was the understatement of the millennium. 

Disoriented and probably concussed from your not-so-graceful entrance, you weren't left with much time to acclimate yourself from your surroundings before two guards had tackled you to the ground and stuck some kind of taser in your neck. Terrified, you'd tried to fight back, but you were too weak; one press of button later and you were incapacitated in an instant.The pain that seared through you from that wretched torture machine left you unable to do anything other than writhe helplessly in the dirt. Your screams of utter agony were enough to finally pull Hulk's attention away from his fight. He'd gone into a rage as soon as he realized it was you, turning on the guards instantly. 

It'd been 2 weeks since then, and with no signs of either Thor or Loki you'd essentially turned into the Hulk's personal babysitter. Apparently he was too big to be fit with one of those taser-disc things and his tantrum didn't end after he'd dismembered those guards. Evidently Hulk had thrown a fit -- in the way only he really could-- and wouldn't stop until some man called the 'Grandmaster' allowed you to stay with him. In exchange for your new home, you'd been tasked with calming him down whenever necessary.

Which, you'd quickly learned, was pretty much a 24/7 job.

Grumbling and cursing under your breath, you flung your legs out of bed and stomped into the next room in a huff. You were fully prepared to give Hulk a piece of your mind, but the sight of another person in his massive room was enough to stop you dead in your tracks. Sitting next to Hulk on the steps that led up to his massive bed was a figure that made your stomach flutter with hope. Unsure and not trusting your eyes, you spoke up as you cautiously approached the pair. 

“Thor?”

He turned his head at your call, a look of utter shock taking over his features as he recognized you. 

"Y/N!"

He jumped to his feet, making quick work of the small space that separated the two of you and immediately pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. 

"I can't believe you're here, I was so worried when I saw that she-beast knock you out of the bifrost, you have no idea," he breathed, face buried deep into your neck. You could only squeak in reply. His arms were wrapped so tightly around you that speaking wasn't exactly possible.

"Thor," you wheezed. "Can't...breathe."

Thor let you go instantly, sending you a sheepish expression as you coughed and tried to catch your breath. You doubled over and put your hands on your knees as you fought to regulate your breathing. Thor apologized, clapping a hand on your back in an awkward attempt at comfort. After a moment or two you straightened up a little bit and opened your mouth to dismiss his apologies, but Hulk beat you to the punch. 

Literally. 

A single swing from him was all it took to send Thor careening into the far wall. He crashed into the structure so hard that you felt the floor rattle beneath you, before falling into a heap surrounded by chunks of the crumbling plaster. Your jaw dropped. 

"THOR NO HURT FRIEND," Hulk roared, stepping in front of you protectively. You quickly sidestepped his giant frame and ran to Thor before crouching down. 

"Hulk no," you scolded. "He wasn't hurting me on purpose, he was just surprised! Are you okay Thor?"

"Perfectly fine," he groaned, standing quickly while swiping some of the remaining wall debris from his shoulders and stretching out his neck. "Unfortunately that's not the first time he's done that today."

"Hrrmph," Hulk pouted, stomping his foot. "Thor no hurt friend."

"It's okay buddy, I'm okay," you soothed, hand rubbing small circles on one of his massive arms. 

"Yes, well," Thor grumbled, clearly miffed that your attention and sympathy had been stolen from him so quickly. "Regardless, Y/N we have to get back to Asgard as soon as possible. Hela will destroy everything if we don't stop her."

You nodded tensely. A shiver ran its course down the entire length of your spine at the mention of his demonic sister. 

"Obviously, but I have absolutely no idea how we're gonna do that," you replied solemnly, crossing your arms. "My knowledge of inter-world travel begins and ends with the bifrost, and since I'm assuming that's out I have absolutely no suggestions."

Thor grinned. 

-----------------------------------

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of,” you mumbled to yourself as you fiddled around with the controls of the ship that Valkyrie told you to get. You'd been sitting in the cockpit for an insane amount of time waiting for Thor. You'd gotten separated from him and Bruce in the massive parade after the whole Quinjet fiasco, but thankfully Valkyrie had found you later and given you the rundown of their plan. 

A plan which seemed questionable at best, seeing as you'd been waiting for the past hour for a certain blond-haired god to show up. 

Huffing in irritation, you poised your fingers above the controls and started the massive engines. You were about to fly off in search of your moron friends when you heard a commotion down below. 

"Get help please!" 

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sound of the familiar voice’s cry. 

"Thor?" you questioned to yourself quietly, heart rate picking up speed as you anxiously darted off the ship. "Thor? Is that you, what's happening?"

"Ahhh Y/N!" he grinned widely as you approached. "Perfect timing, I see Valkyrie has given us the same task."

You rolled your eyes.

"Actually I've been here a while now, what took you so lo--," you cut yourself off as you noticed Loki sprawled out on the ground behind Thor, paralyzed as one of the obedience disks tased him constantly. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Thor followed your gaze to his brother curiously, as if he'd forgotten he was even there. 

"Ah, yes. I found out Loki is also here. Surprise?" he ventured chuckling. "However since he seems to only wish to do us harm, I've elected to leave him here." 

You glanced down, a pang of guilt striking you deep in your stomach at the look of pure agony etched across Loki's handsome features. You'd be lying if you didn't also feel a little bit smug at his evident discomfort, but even with all the pain he'd put you through you couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of sympathy. His eyes locked onto your face, the blue-green orbs teaming with shock and a glimmer of an emotion you couldn’t quite place. He rolled his head desperately towards your frozen body as a wave of deja vu overcame your already overloaded mind. You stared deeply into his pain-ravaged expression, a single thought piercing through your chest as you studied his eyes. 

He hadn't known you were here. 

"At any rate, I imagine now would be as good a time as any to take our leave," Thor interrupted your mental musings. "Which was the ship she told us to get?"

You numbly pointed to the ship behind you, unable to tear your eyes away from the face of the man you'd thought dead for the second time in less than a month. Thor looked between you and his adoptive brother thoughtfully for a beat before comfortingly clapping a massive hand on your shoulder. The kind gesture was enough to snap you out of the daze you'd been in, and you shook your head to try and clear the tyranny of thoughts rumbling around in your brain. 

You began walking robotically towards the ship, but Thor's hand gripped your shoulder harder, forcing you to stop. You looked up at him with a questioning glance, confused. 

"I know we aren't exactly the closest of friends," he started, awkwardly clearing his throat. "But, as someone who's a bit too familiar with loss, I think some closure is in order here, hmm?"

You opened your mouth, eager to refute the insinuation, but Thor raised his hand to stop you before the words could come out. 

“I’ve seen the way you two look at one another. Please, for your sake, say your piece now because it's the last chance you may ever get.”

Your mouth clamped shut. Swallowing thickly, your eyes darted from Thor's stern yet compassionate face to Loki's paralyzed form and back. You nodded once. 

Thor smiled softly at the two of you, rubbing a small circle against your shoulder with his hand before jogging away. You took a deep breath and crouched down beside Loki's still twitching body. 

"There's so much to say," you started, looking off into the distance. You knew the moment you looked at him that it’d all be over, and so you stubbornly turned your face away from him and fixed your gaze on the far wall. "I honestly don't even know where to begin. Mostly I have a lot of questions. How could you forget me so easily? Why would you just let me think that you were dead? D-did you ever care about me?"

Though his body was still completely immobilized, Loki's eyes were locked onto your face with rapt attention as you spoke. With each pained word and crack in your voice a sharp pain like a knife stabbed through his heart and drove itself deeper and deeper. 

"Even if you could answer I doubt it'd mean anything," you continued, swiping a lone tear from your cheek. "I spent 4 years thinking you were gone. 4 years of grief and misery that I thought would be the worst pain I'd ever feel. But I was wrong -- knowing now that you were out there all that time, and that you didn't care enough about me to stick around? That's the worst kind of pain. The gnawing, hollowing ache of knowing that you love someone who's never going to love you back."

His eyes had never been wider as you paused briefly and let out a sob. Tears slipped down his cheeks in a mirror image of yours, and his body began twisting, desperately trying to get closer to you. You couldn’t see, but his fingers were twitching and clawing at the ground in a futile effort to connect his skin to yours. You sniffled and wiped your nose as you shakily stood to your feet, completely oblivious to his desperation. You started to walk back to the ship, pausing only for a moment to turn and make one last statement. 

"I'm not going to wait, and I'm not going to wonder why anymore. Because the truth of it is, I'm just a stupid girl who fell in love with a liar. And I know I’m always going to love you, but I refuse to let you define me any longer." 

-----------------------------------

You grunted in pain as the sword of one of the many undead Asgardian warriors sliced through your arm. Scoffing, you thrust your flaming fist straight into its stupid, skeletal face and sent it flying off of the bridge. Gently touching your fingertips to your bicep and grimacing when you pulled them back bloody, you turned to face Heimdal. 

“There’s too many of them,” you cried, conjuring a gust of wind that knocked a group of the soldiers flying into the water below. Heimdal didn’t answer, too busy fighting to keep some distance between the Asgardian crowd and the army. Wiping a bloody hand across your forehead, you noticed the soldiers that you’d knocked into the water starting to claw their way back up into the fray. Groaning, you closed your eyes and concentrated until the water below became wild. The waves began thrashing around furiously, the tallest one knocking the skeletal bodies back down into the storm below. 

Exhausted, you fell to your knees. You weren’t used to using your powers on this kind of scale, and you hardly ever exercised your control over water. Much preferring to use fire or wind, you'd never tried to manipulate an amount of water so large before. Stars danced in front of your eyes and you felt weaker than you had in years. The thudding vibrations of running boots and the clanging of swords filled your ears as you panted, and for a moment you lost all hope.

Until a firm, yet gentle hand placed itself under your chin, forcing you to look up. 

"Now, now sweetling," a low voice practically purred in your ear, and you felt yourself being lifted up from the ground. "This is no place to rest." 

You looked up to find the blueish-greenish eyes that'd haunted your dreams for the past 5 years staring down at you. 

Loki. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight, a shiver running through your entire body at the sensation of being in his arms. The way his eyes bored into yours, it felt like you couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. You were locked into place, utterly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. He raised a hand, fingers hesitating for only a split second before they nimbly swept a piece of your hair off of your face. You couldn't help but lean your face into his palm that rested on your cheek, allowing yourself to forget everything else that wasn't the feel of his skin on yours for just a moment. 

But only for a moment. 

You were abruptly brought back down to earth-- or rather Asgard you supposed-- with a sensation like an earthquake vibrating upwards from your boots and the low-rumbling sound of thunder filling your ears. You straightened up in just enough time to see Thor launch himself into the fray, massive surges of lightning engulfing him. You grinned, the sight of your blonde friend looking more god-like than he had in weeks caused a surge of energy to roll through your body like one of his bolts of electricity. Suddenly re-energized and ready to fight alongside your blonde companion, you hopped to your feet. Sending Loki one last determined look, you ran head first into the battle, fists ablaze. 

Savagely ripping through soldier after soldier, your red eyes were focused completely on the fight all around you. You almost didn't hear Loki as he yelled over the din of the battle.  

"I did it for you, you know," he grunted as he too slashed through the seemingly never-ending torrent of Hela's army. "Staying away. It was what I thought was best."

"Seriously? We're going to do this now?" came your incredulous reply, reducing two of the soldiers into balls of flame before gaping at Loki. He kicked another off of the bridge before shrugging. 

"The last two times haven't exactly been ideal either."

Humming angrily, you turned away from him and continued your attack, intent on blocking him out. Loki clearly had other plans, inching his way forward until the two of you were practically back to back as you fought. 

"I was a war criminal, a prisoner and helping that mortal wasn't going to change anything. What sort of life was I to offer you had I stayed?" he reasoned before turning you forcibly around to face him. 

Despite the fight still raging all around you, you paused and looked at the god in front of you. You were staring each other down, your glare meeting his distressed and pleading gaze as if the two of you were the only ones in the world. 

"You expect me to believe that? That you lied to me, that you left me because you cared?" you spit out, hot tears spilling from your eyes as you spoke. Expression crumbling, Loki reached out and tried to connect your hands, but you jerked yours away before he could, your palm instantly erupting into flames. 

"You deserved better than that, better than me. You still do," he murmured. "I destroy everything, everyone around me. I couldn't bear the thought of bringing another person I care for so dearly down with me." 

You tried with every fiber of your being not to let him get to you. You reminded yourself of all the pain and misery he'd caused you -- futilely dredging up memories of all the nights you'd spent crying yourself to sleep. You squeezed your eyes shut as if not seeing his face would make it easier to resist. Your hands slowly started to extinguish as they shook, your anger fading to sadness that rolled into a tight ball in your chest that felt like it was going to suffocate you. 

"I ca-can't...you--," you blubbered incoherently. "I can't do this now." 

You turned away once more, but this time Loki stopped you by grabbing your hand desperately. The icy temperature of his skin caused what little flame was left behind to fizzle out with a small cloud of smoke. You gasped at the feeling, but didn't make any moves to remove your hand from his. 

"You asked how I could forget about you so easily, and the answer is really quite simple: I didn't," he continued breathlessly. "I couldn't. You filled my mind each and every day that we were apart, and it was only the thought of you that made the days bearable. I checked on you, often. I needed to know that you were doing alright, needed to prove myself right-- that you were, and will always be, better off without me. I know I’ve given you absolutely no reason to believe me, but if you come away from this embarrassingly honest conversation knowing only one thing, I need it to be this: I do love you, my dearest Y/N. I love you more than I can rightly express aloud, and I’ll spend the rest of my miserable existance ensuring that you never question that again if you’ll allow me. ” 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you at his admission, and the hand that wasn’t currently entwined firmly within his flew to cover your mouth. As soon as the words left his lips you felt all of your anger, all your stubborn resolve vanish from your chest in an instant, the feelings quickly replaced by a wave of love the likes of which you’d never felt before. A choked sob left you as you searched his face frantically, looking for any twinkle of mischief or the slightest indication that he could be lying. 

His expression was firm, mouth drawn in a sort of dazed smile as he gazed down at you, lovingly. Brows raised and forehead adorably wrinkled with anxiety, he waited patiently for you to respond. You searched his eyes with your own, almost getting lost in the sea of emotion that ran through them and idly wondered if yours looked the same. He looked so hopeful, so sincere, and you felt the warm feelings of your chest expand and grow at an incredible rate. 

“Y-you...you love me?” you managed to murmur, gaze still locked firmly on his face as you worked intently to memorize his features. His lips quirked into what was quite possibly the most beautiful and honest smile you’d ever seen, and his hand gently lifted to your face. Rubbing soft circles into your cheek with the pad of his thumb, he answered so quietly you almost missed it. 

“More than I ever thought possible.”

Unable to physically stand the distance between you for another second, you carelessly crashed your body into his. Arms winding their way around his shoulders to anchor themselves, you connected your mouth to his, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He responded just as quickly, both hands now cupping your face as his smooth lips worked fervently over yours. The two of you were pressed together so tightly it was almost painful, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything outside of the feeling of his kiss. After wondering for so long, the feeling of his skin on yours was indescribable. Your fingers threaded through his dark, curly locks as you struggled to pull him impossibly closer to you, and you shivered in pleasure at the low growl your actions seemed to pull from his throat. 

After an indefinite, but altogether too brief length of time, you were forced to pull away from him -- panting and working intently to catch your breath, you settled for leaning your forehead against his as he did the same. For all the time you’d spent manipulating the wind to carry you around, you swore you’d never felt more weightless than you did in this moment. You couldn’t erase the dopey smile that you were sure was stretched across your face right now, but you didn’t care. Especially once you opened your eyes to find the same, love-struck grin plastered across Loki’s handsome features. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that,” he chuckled breathlessly. His voice was lower than you’d ever heard, and he sounded so uncharacteristically shy that you couldn’t help but lift yourself on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Not sure if it really needs saying at this point, but I love y--,” 

“Oi, lovebirds!,” Valkyrie interrupted, shouting from across the bridge. “If it pleases the two of you, perhaps you could come help now?”

Loki cleared his throat, a pink tinge dusting across his cheeks as he noticed his brother and Valkyrie looking at the pair of you with teasing expressions. You couldn’t help but giggle at his evident embarrassment, gazing adoringly at his reddened-features for a split second. Threading your fingers through his confidently, you tugged him along and the two of you left to join your group for what you hoped would be the final battle. 

[raguna-blade]

So this just occurred to me to think about but shared symbols in the persona series. I’m sure there are others that I miss, especially relevant to the first two games, and right now i’m looking at just the one, but there should be SOME right?

And in this case the one i’m thinking about is glasses. So in persona 4, the glasses the characters wear are used specifically to be able to see through the fog in the other world, that is to be able to better navigate the world that is hidden and obscured right?

Heck, a critical scene in the game shows the absurd difference wearing them makes early on and Narukami hot flinging them away in the final scene is an indication of him more or less coming to fully understand the situation and having “true” sight of what’s going on around him. Which is cool!

But what’s interesting is that none of the Investigation team actually wear glasses in their day to day which is fine really. It’s as much a design thing as a story beat but what i’m getting at is going into persona 5 then, there can be this expectation that if one is wearing glasses they have a degree of special insight/ability to see things as they really are right? Not strictly, but as part of the same story family it’s not like those symbols disappear as a thing in play strictly, they just wouldn’t be emphasized because that’s not really the theme here.

So it’s interesting to me then that every single character who wears glasses normally in this game (with normal including their metaverse selves should they have one) demonstrably has special insight into the world or events going on, or else just general insight. Literally all of them, i’m not joking.

We’ll go in order here, Phantom Thieves>Allies>Foes>Maruki, and there’s probably more i could go into here but for the moment it’s kinda idle thoughts so forgive that.

Protag: So the thing to note is that his glasses are fake right so that may off the bat give you the vibe that this is wrong but well, that literally doesn’t matter for our purposes here. That Protag definitely has special insight into the world and events however is inarguable. Having been cast out of the standard safety net of society he gets a front row seat to a lot of weird things that aren’t immediately obvious. He see’s through the masks of all of the targets to some greater or lesser degree (admittedly not unique to him, but the thieves as a whole), get’s to understand to workings of the world and how it specifically fails outcasts, has inside knowledge on several of the major players (Shido, Maruki and Akechi most notably) that isn’t immediately obvious that they themselves aren’t aware of all the time, and as seen through the Confidants specifically he’s a remarkable judge of character and an expert and understanding people, something he does consistently.

That his glasses are fake actually, now that I think about it, is actually an interesting trait here. They exist solely to put him under the radar, which actually works so there’s that element of understanding appearances, but the fact that he really DOES NOT actually need the glasses to “see” the world accurately perhaps rolls back to his Designated Role as the Trickster (or at least one of them, We will get to Akechi in a second), and his ability to understand how the world works or specifically does not.

Akechi: Akechi is interesting here because in the real world he doesn’t wear glasses, as Prince!Crow he doesn’t either. So...Where does he wear glasses?

As Black Mask. And notably, they’re red tinted lenses, which actually lines up with another thing here. He does have true insight (and he’s sharp as hell we can’t possibly deny that) but he also, notably, has a crazy distorted view of things. As was kinda pointed out during his whole mental break down in the boat, he didn’t have to do like...any of the fucked up things that he did to achieve his goals. Even if he still wanted to kill his dad or just ruin his life he didn’t have to do it the way he did. He’s, one, literally seeing red, but two for all that his vision is keen it’s also more than a little distorted.

But also, as the other Trickster, the more destructive one at that, he also has keen understanding of the world and how it works, breaks down, and utterly screws over those who fall outside of it. Indeed, his insight is miles better than Our protags given he was more or less kicked out of the system from the get go due to family matters and had to actively claw his way back into the system in the first place. But of course, going back to his red lenses, as opposed to Akira who more or less rejects the system and wants to see it broken down one way or the other, Akechi desires to be part of it despite knowing intimately it’s copious failings. He has the vision and the ability to see but also fails to act on it (a thing he explicitly states more or less)

Futaba: Futaba is perhaps the most straightforward here. Does she have inside knowledge of events? Some, given her understanding of Cognitive Psience for sure, but her talents lean specifically in computer stuff, and the varying ways of getting information and such there. Of everyone here her glasses as symbol match up the cleanest with the Persona 4 use, in that her clear view vision is related to the world of cyberspace and how all of that works. That they carry over into her Rebellion outfit likely has to do with her understanding of cognitive psience as well, which while (relatively) basic is still far better than pretty much everyone else in the cast save 1 or maybe 2. It’s worth pointing out that, if I recall things correctly, she basically was the one who put together that entire escape plan for Joker to not get hot shot in the face.

Sumire: Now here’s a fun one! She doesn’t get her glasses until the very very end of the game, when she stops being Kasumi and starts being herself. Another straightforward one in two ways. One, she is able to actually accurately percieve herself as herself indicating clear and unobstructed vision for her self. Easy peasey, but also, of the group she’s the one who most understands what Maruki is doing and why. Despite having issues with his end game, she also makes it abundantly clear that if it weren’t for what he did she probably would have killed herself. It’s an understanding that the others have a little of, but they also don’t have quite as deeply for as long as it went on with her.

Ohya: Straightforward again. She’s an investigative reporter, and a damn good one. She was on her way to cracking something with Madarame, before the story even began she and her partner had some dirt on Shido (which seems on one hand easy cause Shido is kinda sloppy, but also considering the range of influence he has even getting a bit is wild), knows Kaneshiro as a mafia boss despite him not really being arrested, and yeah she just get’s it. She’s sharp.

It’s also noticeable that her glasses are also distorted, in that they’re sunglasses.That’s not “clear” vision since they shift colors. Obviously, she’s going to see things a bit off, and in her case it’s less general insight and more specific to her present circumstances. Relating to sunglasses, at the start of confidant she’s stuck working entertainment stuff which she hates and isn’t fond of, but she doesn’t feel she has other options or the ability to follow her true passions in journalism. And she’s not...really wrong actually. She does have a correct view of the situation, because if she doesn’t stick to what’s what, she’s going to lose her job, but at the same time the degree of resignation is well also wrong, as she get’s into pretty quickly. She still has options, but at the moment she couldn’t really see em.

That they are amber sunglasses and she’s seemingly a depressed drunk i’m sure has no relation.

Sojiro: Sojiro is straightforward really. He understands the world, how it works, how it breaks down, how various things look, has a keen insight into people and events in general, and has insight on the main villain specifically. He’s not exactly trying to upset things no, but he’s made the system work for him to have a peaceful life with his daughter and ward, which is perhaps super impressive given how absolutely obnoxiously petty Shido is.

Kunikazu Okumura: Very simple, he knows exactly who’s involved with the conspiracy. Also tied with that, as he’s also a member of the conspiracy, is a knowledge of how the world as it is works, for better or worse. Like...It’s fucked up, but unambiguously everything he does do actually does advance his goals. As much as it hurt people, as much as it hurt his daughter, it worked. It’s awful, but it worked.

Shido: So...Shido is interesting. He’s especially interesting in comparison to the last glasses boy Maruki, but Shido is interesting especially because well...

Shido is right? Like, his view of the world as it is is kind of unambiguously correct. People in power have the ability to manipulate and reshape the world as they please, avoid the consequences of their actions, the world really is going to shit, and he has the ability to save whoever he wants, and he has connections and power that would allow him to basically reshape things as he see’s fit.

He’s unambiguously correct in this. He understands the world and the systems at play intimately. He understands the people he works with Intimately, to the extent that not only are their cognitive forms almost indistinguishable from absolutely normal humans, but they behave in ways that don’t even necessarily benefit him even in their assigned roles in the cognitive space. I mean look at the Cleaner. He damn near let the phantom thieves walk if Yusuke would have agreed to be his personal artist, and the moment he got his ass whooped he just left.

It is, frankly, a terrifying amount of insight.

But again, his glasses are off color. His view of the situation is, in some way, incorrect, despite this insight. So where does he go wrong?

Once again, as seems to be the case with all of the tinted glasses now that i think about it, the issue lies in self reflection. His view of the outside world and such is correct, but where he makes his biggest mistake lies in both his view of himself as untouchable (he’s not) and that his method of salvation is at all the only one available, or even perhaps tenable.

The second point is perhaps the more critical one. Had Shido used his connections, insight and knowledge for good he could very easily change the situation that was leading to the disaster that he saw himself saving others from. He could make things better if he wanted to, if he thought to, but his failing is that he didn’t and perhaps couldn’t. And critically, his belief that he and his would be able to be safe on that ship for any period of time when the world around it has been utterly devastated is well...short sighted.

Maruki: Last but not least, Maruki. While his insight isn’t perhaps as broad about things, what he knows and what he talks about is...Well. It’s another version of Salvation for sure, but it’s one that the phantom thieves and I think the players have to argue with. Maruki says it extremely clear, it’s better for you to overcome your hardships yourself, it’s better to face your problems head on and fix them that way....But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you really just cannot do it, you cannot surmount the challenge no matter how much you may need or want to, sometimes you’re just going to be broken and hurt and in incalculable pain and that’s extremely fucked up.And if that’s the case, if that’s how the world is, shouldn’t it change? If the system is broken, if the way the world is is wrong, shouldn’t it be changed?

It’s not unlike the phantom thieves, although the direction and end goal are different.

[quil12]

Wandavision Episode 8 Questions and Theories

Okay, so I just finished watching Wandavision episode 8 and my brain is just going insane with questions and theories, so I’m just going to write them out. This is kind of long, but it’s all the theories and stuff that I have after watching the episode. Obviously, there are spoilers for episode 8

So, first of all, Agatha is probably still evil, but not as much as we might have previously thought. It seems as though her main motivation was to try and just figure out how exactly Wanda created the Hex. It’s probably because she wants to use that power to do something that we don’t necessarily know about yet. She’s using Billy and Tommy as an incentive to get to the bottom of it. She’s also now probably going to use them to try and manipulate Wanda into doing what she wants. 

The scene with Agatha in Salem kind of cements the fact that she is evil in some way or another - whatever she was doing made her own mother sure in the fact that she couldn’t ever be good. I’m also assuming that the reason she’s lived so long is that she absorbed the life forces of all of those other witches in that scene seeing as their bodies seemed completely drained. 

It also made me wonder what’s going on with this version of Pietro. She said that she wasn’t able to create life and that she couldn’t bring him back using necromancy. So did she pull him from another universe? Is he just some sort of illusion or maybe a transmutation like she did with the bug.

I also really like that we got an explanation as to why the show presented itself as a sitcom. One of their first meaningful moments was while watching a sitcom, so it had meaning to them to live in one. There’s still yet to be an explanation as to why it created a show to begin with though. (Also, was there some sort of magic in place that kept everyone from noticing the studio?)

The scene in the Hydra base with the mind stone was also really interesting to me. Obviously, she saw some version of Scarlet Witch within it. I’m assuming that that must have been an alternate universe version of her. Whatever the case, I think that’s what made her survive that whole thing. I’m also curious how Pietro survived seeing as they said everyone else had died - we see what saved Wanda, but what exactly saved Pietro?

The other question I had after that scene was why the Hydra people didn’t know that there was something inside the scepter. In Age of Ultron, Ultron is the one who pulls the mind stone out of it. The mind stone came and presented itself to Wanda. It came out of the container it was in. The video of that happening was wiped, presumably by Wanda subconsciously or by that alternate version of her that she saw, but there were people there who actually saw it happen. Were they memory wiped of the event? This could just be me reading too far into something, but I don’t know.

Then, the biggest thing of all - why did Hayward lie about everything? We saw the true events of Wanda “storming SWORD headquarters”. She was invited in and didn’t take Vision’s body with her. And, as we saw in the post credits scene, the Hex didn’t like pull his dead body into it as a template for the Vision inside. Hayward has Vision’s body, but he lied about it to everyone. I’m going to talk about Vision’s body later, but that’s on a different train of thought. 

What did he accomplish by lying? He was trying to demonize Wanda for some reason. He has Vision’s body - which is what everyone was presuming he wanted to get back, so what’s his end game? He has the opportunity to create a weapon (or weapons) out of his body, so why is he so concerned about Wanda and the Hex? I guess maybe he’s concerned about the people inside, but he only seemed concerned about killing Wanda. He could have just told everyone that she came and saw his body to say goodbye - that wouldn’t be a lie, and I think everyone would just assume that it was her grief after seeing him that had caused it - but instead, he said that she had stolen it. He is deliberately trying to make Wanda look bad, and for what ends? (Also, how were they tracking the signal of “decaying vibranium” in the Hex if that wasn’t actually Vision’s body?)

He also for some reason lied about the timeline of when the Hex appeared. He said that it was 9 days after she stole Vision’s body, but, it was the same day she visited SWORD. You can tell that there wasn’t a time skip because she’s wearing the same outfit. Why did he lie about that? Maybe to have the time to reassemble Vision’s body? It seemed like it was fully ready, but they needed Wanda’s power to get him back. So why did he try to kill her? He needed her power to bring him back, yet he tried to shoot her. I guess he might have known that she would destroy the drone, but it still seems kind of weird. 

Overall, Hayward is lying about a lot and it seems kind of fishy to me.

As a side note, Wanda definitely wanted to bury Vision’s body at the site of the house in Westview. She had the map with her when she went in to go and try to get it back, so it seems like that’s where she was going to go.

Now, onto Vision’s body in the end credits scene. I think that this version of Vision is going to end up being who they fight in the last episode. From the trailer, it’s clear that there’s going to be a fight at the end. I think it’s trying to make you think that that will be with Agatha, but I think it’s going to be with the Vision that Hayward created. 

We can start off with the obvious thing - This version of Vision doesn’t have the same color scheme as the Vision that we know. This doesn’t necessarily indicate anything, but it is a bit weird. 

This version of Vision was also created by Hayward - and you know how I feel about Hayward. He is extremely sketchy and has demonstrated a want to kill Wanda.

The thing that really makes me think this though is that when she went to go see his body, Wanda put her hand on his head and said “I can’t feel you”. His consciousness is completely gone from his body. Maybe that’s what Wanda pulled to create the Vision that we’ve been seeing for the past 8 episodes. That means that this version of Vision is just the AI and not actually Vision. That also means that Hayward is free to do with him what he likes. He should be able to put almost any idea in his head, including to kill Wanda and everyone inside the Hex. 

If the Vision in the show is just Vision’s consciousness put into a fake body created by Wanda - maybe he actually can’t leave the Hex. The show might end with them defeating this “fake” Vision and letting the real Vision’s consciousness go into his real body, therefore allowing him to leave the Hex. 

I think that’s all I want to write for now - when I finished the episode, I had so many questions and theories and have just been writing this for the past hour just to get them out of my head. I’m probably going to have more once I watch the episode again or probably sleep. I would love to hear other people’s thoughts on this because I’m antsy for the next episode!

[write-it-good-imagines]

The Masked Ghost - Jackson Wang AU

HELLO FOLKS, HERE COMES YOUR ADORABLE AUTHOR AFTER HARSH WINTERS OF WAITING!!! Ahem, well, I took my time, but this is one of the stories I really am proud of. It originally started as inspiration from the ‘100 ways’ MV and song but you know me; I love myself a good read. I hope you all enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it~ I hope the details are historically accurate, I tried documenting myself first so it would make the experience more real.

Synopsis: The heavy burden of the crown will soon become Prince Jackson’s responsibility. He wants to be a good ruler to his people and correct the mistakes of his ancestors. He seeks the help of a famous rebel among his people to guide him through the process. The urban legend is, however, an old friend of the Prince.

15.6k words, Emperor AU, somewhat soulmate au too, Historical inspiration, crime, explicit violence, love

“My dear son, there will be a time when the feeling of love won’t be a fleeting breeze, but a fulfilling storm and it shall last as long as your heart keeps on beating.  “

“How will I know it, Mama?”

“Oh, Jackson, you will feel it battling so violently in your chest, it’s an unmistakable feeling. You will just know.”

 Prince Jackson opened his eyes abruptly, the light of dawn bathing the room through the beautifully embroidered drapes of his royal chamber. He let out a low groan of displeasure and stood up to adjust to the low lighting. A lazy hand was brought up to rub at his eyes. He woke up a little earlier than usual, he figured. His servants weren’t swarmed around him to make sure he was offered everything he needed from the moment he opened his eyes.

He crawled out of bed and tightened the bead of his robe as he walked to the side door of his chamber so he could breathe in the fresh air of the morning. The garden was stretching vastly outside his porch and he took a couple of barefooted steps outside, the grass tickling his feet. His days of being a crown prince were rapidly coming to an end, along with the freedom he previously enjoyed. His father was ready to retire and let him inherit all the heavy responsibilities of the throne. Jackson let out a sigh and looked up at the sky. The bold rays of the sun engulfed the garden and he sheltered his face with the back of his hand.

“Your majesty! What are you doing outside? You aren’t even dressed!”

Jackson closed his eyes momentarily, his moment of peace quickly falling to pieces. He turned his body to the source of the voice, greeting the old gardener with a warm smile. He was the only one actively serving Jackson at his age; he had always felt like a grandfather to him.

“Did the servants cause you displeasure?”

“Not at all,” Jackson replied with a chuckle. “I woke up a tad earlier and I figured I’d enjoy the calm—“

The frail door of his chamber was opened once again, the loud sound indicating the rush and panic of the servants who failed to find him in his bed.

“While it lasted, your majesty?” the old man laughed, patting Jackson’s arm lightly.

The young girls bowed their heads stiffly and waited as the lead servant and tailor approached Jackson with a look of disapproval on their features. “Your majesty, you should not walk so hastily around, especially without your shoes! What if you hurt yourself, your majesty?”

Jackson nodded imperceptibly and dipped his head towards the old man before walking ahead of his two most worried servants. “What could possibly happen to me? Step on a rock?”

He heard the young girls giggle at his remark and were immediately scolded by the senior servant. “You should take this more seriously, your majesty! You will be emperor soon! What will everyone make of you if you show yourself so carelessly?”

Jackson extended his arms to allow his tailor to dress him into his appropriate clothes. His room became crowded in an instant with people who were either making his bed or arranging his table with the necessary tools for the morning routine. He turned his back to the young girls during the time of his fitting, trying to ease some of their embarrassment.

“Your majesty, are you sure you do not want anyone to come and shave you?”

Jackson shook his head, bringing his hands to his waist to tie the golden sash over the black chest piece. His fingers lingered over the small embroidered details which formed an elegant pattern on top of the charcoal silk. He was among the few men at the palace who opted for trousers which often rose eyebrows for the lack of elegance. His outfit was completed by the gauntlets adorning his forearms. The tailor took a good look at his prince. “I have never seen anyone who suits black and gold more than your majesty does. Although your palette is rather poor in terms of colors.”

Jackson laughed and buttoned his collar. “Thank you for your sincerity. My father would have had you beheaded for this.”

The man bowed his head in terror, so Jackson placed a hand on his shoulder.  

“Maybe you should follow his example, your majesty!” The head servant folded her arms over her chest. She was one of the few seniors in the palace who disagreed with the friendlier approach Jackson had with all of the servants. He was known for being kind and humble, someone who tried treating everyone with respect, no matter their job or title. Everyone adored him for being such a sympathetic royal and there were many who competed for being assigned to him. Although those part of the older generation questioned his extended kindness. They did not see it fit for a future king. Especially since it attracted greedy females around him.

“How can I abuse my power? These people are my servants, not my slaves.” Jackson sat down at the table and took the blade in between his fingers to get rid of his facial hair.

“Prince, forgive my ignorant outburst.” She bowed to Jackson. “I wouldn’t want people to take advantage of your otherwise bright nature—“

“Are they, though?”

Jackson smirked at the voice of his best friend and closest advisor, Guiren, who leaned against the doorframe. The girls formed a line to bow to him and steal some glances.

“I wouldn’t recommend mistaking his majesty’s kindness for weakness.”

“Ah Guiren, weren’t we supposed to meet for breakfast?” Jackson wiped his face clean with a white piece of cloth, sewed with the same sophisticated design. “You came here to shadow my popularity among the servants?”

The girls blushed at Jackson’s words and were ushered outside by the lead servant. “We’ll leave you to master Guiren, your majesty. The breakfast is ready to be served in the main backyard, as you requested.”

“Then that would be all, thank you. I would like us to be alone at this time.”

The seniors bowed to Jackson before retreating out of his chamber. Guiren approached his best friend with a smug expression imprinted on his features. “As much as I want to, I cannot top you, Jackson. The queue of females desiring to climb in your bed is long enough to circle the empire twice. It beats me how you simply refuse to summon any to your chamber.”

Jackson waved his hand dismissively. “That is of no concern to me now. You showing up so eagerly means you took care of what I asked.”

“I have some interesting things to share with you, indeed. The soldiers are full of gossip.”

The two of them walked to where the breakfast was served, avoiding the topic on their way there. One of the first lessons Jackson’s father taught him was that walls have ears and people’s trust is as fray as a cherry blossom flower in late spring. And he knew himself how many people were executed because of betrayal or plotting against the empire over trivial interests such as riches.

Guiren was the right hand of the military general and was regarded highly in their ranks. He had been too young to participate in the last big war but was otherwise trusted with many little revolts scattered across the empire and had an immeasurable amount of talent in swordsmanship. And Jackson’s mentor in the art.

“Before I tell you about it though, why do you seek their help? What are you afraid is going to happen?”

Jackson took the chopsticks in between his fingers. “One of the many advantages of the royals is that they are rarely revealed to the wider public and that gave me the possibility to go among our people. I’ve heard some worrying words that a new war is boiling.”

Guiren followed his example. “That was before the public ceremony last month. You were introduced as our new king, though.”

Thanks to his endeavors among the people of the empire and his occasional help with the field works, Jackson was enthusiastically received as their new monarch. He knew how important it was for people to put their trust in their king and how necessary it was for them to believe the king can serve them accordingly. It was a steady path toward peace. However, he did not help people just for the sake of it. He really enjoyed putting a smile on their faces and easing their hardships in however manner he could. He was deeply saddened to see how much misery the upper class poured upon them. And the people loved him in return.

“So who keeps you informed?”

“The old gardener, remember him? His granddaughter runs a bathhouse.”

Guiren chuckled. “Well, figures you would put your looks to good use. That’s smart, though. A bathhouse is a commonplace for fresh information.”

Jackson agreed and put his bowl of rice down. “Your turn.”

“Well, what do you want me to begin with?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The beginning.”

Guiren scratched at his nape and clicked his tongue. “Okay. But make sure you chew the food before I tell you.”

“Ah come on, just say it.”

“The Masked Ghost is supposed to be a woman.”

Jackson choked on his food. Guiren quirked his eyebrow at him, handing him his cup of tea.

“Told you.”

“That’s impossible.” Jackson shook his head and took a sip from his tea. “Thirty officials killed over the past month, countless other thieves and criminals mysteriously dead and you tell me she’s a woman?”

“She’s certainly been building her reputation in the empire, but believe me when I say she is worshipped by common folk because she brings them the justice us royals fail to. My sources cannot be wrong about this.”

Jackson took his chin in between his thumb and index. “My father showed me some of the bodies. Those were clean cuts of the jugular.”

Guiren nodded. “I suppose his majesty only told you the bright part of the story. Some of the officials she killed were applying the tax law too harshly on farmers and often overworked them for an extra coin. But the others that she killed were known for their abusive behavior towards women and their violent outbursts that led to innocent girls being murdered in the process. One of your cousins was her target for a short while. It looked like he was innocent so he was spared.”

Jackson winced. He knew the King tried his best to reduce the abuse rate in the country because history taught him it comes with drastic consequences, but he could only do so little about his officials. There was no written law that women were not meant to be toys of the thirsty wolves.

“There’s more. They say the Masked Ghost entered a fight with 10 of our trained palace guards because she was caught beating a thief to literal death. Word has it she was so skilled with a sword that they couldn’t even scrape her. She’s been regarded as a highly wanted murderer ever since.”

Jackson tilted his head toward a group of birds playing around the pond in the yard.

“That being said,” Guiren continued after having finished his plate. “I won’t let you meet The Ghost.”

“No.”

“Jackson, are you insane? She’s shown no remorse toward any of her victims. Do you think she’ll spare you because you’re set to become King? She was so close to killing your cousin, a royal by blood.”

Jackson looked back at Guiren with a determined look in his eyes. “I need the ghost to teach me how to wield a sword and how to fight.”

“I do plenty of that.”

“You don’t. Because they don’t allow you to. What am I supposed to do if an actual war comes, Guiren? Sit pretty on my throne and watch you sacrifice yourselves for me?”

Guiren let out a scoff. “That is our duty, your majesty.”  

Jackson shook his head and looked away. “I cannot put my life in the hand of my subjects. Even if I trust you with my life Guiren, I refuse to be helpless. And honestly, now that I’ve heard the whole story, I kind of understand her reasons.”

Guiren blinked in surprise. “Killing high government officials because she doesn’t like the law?”

“The Ghost might take the law in her hands. But it is just, however wrong. She does what we cannot.”

Guiren acknowledged Jackson’s words, despite the fact that he hated how much truth resided in them. He was a dedicated follower of the written law even if he did not completely agree with it because it was the right thing to do. And Jackson knew, too. Rules are meant to keep a society in order and are meant to be obeyed, no matter the personal beliefs. That was what a monarch did. What Jackson soon had to do.

“Listen, Jackson.” Guiren sighed. “I know you will be a great ruler especially because you are not a tyrant. But don’t succumb to your own heart. It will bring much disorder. And you alone cannot turn around habits that all of us inherited for ages. It’s how your father and his predecessors kept this empire flourishing. By abiding to the customs and to the law.”

“I am aware of that.” Jackson said, defeated.

“But that doesn’t make you change your mind, now does it?”

The two of them laughed and Guiren gave his friend a tiny bit of paper. “I need a skilled person in the field. I need to keep track of everything so I can reduce the violence and the blood, no matter how little.”

  After his evening duties finished, a whole lesson taught by his father and his advisors about politics and economics, Jackson was sent back to his chamber for the night. He waited for the servants to exit his room and whistled in a distinctive tone to let an awaiting Guren know he would be thus unsupervised. He was given common clothes and a cape to mask his silhouette from the curios eyes and then swiftly sneaked out of the palace thanks to his friend’s authority and his secret routes.

The night was in full bloom, the darkness thick even with the torches lit around the capital to provide some light. There weren’t many people walking the streets and it made it even easier for him to move around. Jackson checked the writing on the bit of paper and was still perplexed by how vague it was. Guiren did not give him an exact location in the clue so he strolled around the back alleys, trying to find something for guidance. His feet stopped abruptly and dug into the dirt when the unexpected cold of a blade made contact with the skin of his neck.

“If it isn’t Prince Wang taking a night walk on my turf. Or should I say King Wang?”

Jackson felt a cold shiver traverse his spine. The voice belonged to a woman indeed, but the harshness of it told him there would be but a wrong word to his end.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

Jackson gulped and felt the tip of the blade tracing a vein in his neck. He knew you would have killed him long ago if you felt like it. “I wish to speak with you.”

He heard you chuckle and, in spite of the rather crucial situation he found himself in, thought it was a beautiful sound. “Oh? I knew I was famous in the palace, but I did not expect a royal coming down here with a speech prepared for me. Speak quickly before I change my mind.”

Jackson couldn’t afford to hesitate. He went there to convince The Ghost to be his partner. “I want you to teach me how to wield a sword.”

If he hadn’t had a blade dangling at his throat, he would have allowed himself to be entranced by your beautiful laugh. You stepped lightly from behind him, your blade now lowered to your hand and you started playing with it as you kept on laughing.

“You know, the lady who sells rice cakes mentioned you are an entertainer but I didn’t expect you to amuse me this much!”

Jackson took a good look at you as you placed yourself before him. Your face was covered entirely by the impressive porcelain mask so as not to leave any clue of your facial traits and the dragon pattern painted on it was majestically executed. You certainly were taller than he expected you to be, matching him evenly, and your body was covered in a thoroughly crafted crimson leather armor, with black and brown assortments. The only thing he could only catch a glimpse of in the endearing moonlight was your ebony hair, braided in a style he did not recognize. It must have been one of the foreign treats he had read in the papers brought to the palace by the naval officers.

“I did not intend to humor you. My reputation precedes me, yet now I am but serious.”

You turned your back to him. “Go home, Prince. This is not a place for you flimsy royals.”

“I beg of you. I want to be a King worthy of his people, capable of shielding them from danger. And as I am now, I am incompetent.”

You stopped in your tracks and tilted your head towards him. You were taken by surprise; never in your life have you heard of any royal who walked among the commoners, let alone beg one of the nation criminals to teach him how to better himself. You heard rumors about him and spied on his activities when he was out in the empire but it was never enough to convince you he was any different from his predecessors. He came out of the same cocoon after all.

“This empire has never had a King worthy of his people, your majesty.”  Jackson could hear how acid his title was in your mouth. “You royals are born with a silver spoon in your mouth and you think the world belongs to you. What do you know about what these people are going through to keep your filthy egos in place and your stomachs full? Just so they could live to see the morning sky another day. Pathetic.”

Jackson could not see your face but he could feel your anger boiling inside of you. You were more than justified to spit at him and mock him; he was well aware all you said was the truth. Almost everything.

“Don’t you fight for what you believe in to make a change?”

You knitted your eyebrows. Your silence was an indicator to continue. “I want to help these people make a change. I want to at least try. And there is no use in telling you the masters and politicians at our court do not teach us how to forge a change. But I am not stupid to overlook it.”

“Your father failed in doing so. What makes you different?”

“My father did not try to understand your people.”

You turned completely to him and took your first look at him. Women all over the country fawned over his good looks and in all honesty, you were a woman too. All of the royals were refined, still, and you did not allow yourself to be enraptured by it. The stern look in his eyes made you question his intentions. You fought for a leader who would lead his people for the people, not for himself. Even if the King was not a bad ruler, he failed to serve his people. You actually wondered if his son was any different.

You took your sword out from the scabbard and threw it at him. Much to your surprise, he caught it by the hilt. Jackson looked at the exquisite sword and wondered if it was slightly lighter than the ones at the palace.

“If you manage to touch me with that sword, I’ll consider.”

You sensed the hesitation. “I am a woman but I could kill you easily if I felt like, your majesty. I thought you treated me as an equal.”

Jackson nodded. You were right, he came to you for help because you were the skilled one. No matter how many crimes you had under your belt, he felt the strong sense of righteousness oozing from you. He was convinced it was not easy for you.

He dashed over to you in a leap, swinging his sword in mid-air. You deflected the sword with your knife, taking a step back to steady yourself. You certainly did not expect such a well-placed swing. Jackson seized the momentum to bring his other foot to the front and glide the sword through the air. You countered it with the back of your knife, his eyes making direct contact with yours.

“It would seem like they did teach you something, your majesty.”

Jackson took a cross-step to the back, the sound of metal scraping on metal echoing in the night air. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

You smirked at his words and anticipated his next move. Jackson twirled the sword in his hand as he walked toward you, taking a full swing from above. You lowered your body to the ground in a lunge and then quickly jolted up to disarm him. Jackson barely dodged to the side. You pushed forward and he leaned backward, using the support of his hands to do a backflip. He rested on the ground for a second.

“You are so intense, Ghost.”

“Too bad you are never going to see that for yourself, Prince.”

Jackson’s eyes widened in shock at your remark and that cost him his loss. He was left wide open and you threw your knife accurately, inches to the side of his head, to force him to lose balance then rushed forward, pushing him to the ground. Your knee was placed on the fuller as you straddled him, one of your hands grabbing jokingly at his throat. “It is my victory, your majesty.”

You leaned over him to grab your knife from the ground and then sprung up. Jackson was at a loss for words. It was not that he did not expect you to beat him, he certainly lost his chance because of your rather vulgar words, followed by your indecent position atop of him. He draped an arm over his eyes and laughed under his breath. “It is.”

You sheathed your sword and watched him as he stood back up. He parted his lips to say something but reconsidered it, bowing his head to you instead. “I lost fairly but is there something I could do to change your mind about this?”

You walked over to him, raising his chin up with the back of your knife before twirling it in your hand to offer it to him. Jackson was not a stranger to weapons and close combat and his agility and quick reflexes with a sword certainly served for a pleasant surprise. You decided to play along.

“I feel generous tonight.”

Jackson took the knife from your hand and stole another glance at your eyes before you turned to walk away. It was a scorching shade of amber.

 “So, how did it go last night?”

Guiren countered Jackson’s punch and went in for a high kick. Jackson put his arms together to absorb the impact.

“She is really skilled. She might have laughed at me at first though.”

Guiren chuckled. “What did you say? Teach me your ways?”

Jackson jumped back and wiped the sweat traversing his forehead. “Something like that. She threw me her sword and said that if I hit her once, she’d teach me.”

“Oh?” Guiren smirked and unbuttoned the collar of his uniform. “What then?”

“I lost, of course. But she gave me this knife as a gift so I figure I might see her again.”

Guiren examined the knife and let out a whistle. “This is a perfect hunting knife with a wide blade. I wonder where she gets these from.”

“Her sword was lighter than the ones we use here, too. I think she might have ties to the European weapon merchants.”

“So what you are telling me is that she put you to shame with a mere knife that she also offered you and deliberately agreed to teach you swordsmanship? Did you take her to bed?”

Jackson thought back to the part of the story he omitted to tell Guiren. Under no circumstance should he find out he might have fantasized a little. “Uhm, no, colonel, cease this nonsense at once. “

“I hate it when you bring out the aristocracy on me, your majesty.” Guiren laughed and resumed his fighting stance. “But in all seriousness, you should be careful. You might be playing right into her hand.”

Jackson nodded and put up his guard, bracing himself for another brawling with Guiren. He knew The Ghost was most likely entertaining herself and must have had other plans for him. Seeing you in action motivated him even more; he had to win your trust somehow and make you regain your faith in the crown. It was the best-case scenario for the both of you and for the empire. He could use your intel and your skills and, in exchange, you would benefit from a fair ruling. Even more so as Guiren hinted at military tensions between the empire and other states. He had to make a bold move before his coronation.

 “Lady Y/n, how do you read this word?” one of the little children seated by your side pointed at the book, his curious eyes eliciting a bright smile from your lips.

“This?” You wrapped your free arm around him, pulling him on your lap. The other children protested collectively and crawled all over you. “This is justice, little one.”

“Justice?” another girl perked up at you. “What does it mean?”

You took a deep breath and tried to mask the heavy feelings you were carrying in your chest. You couldn’t show those children what disappointment was before their lives had even started.

“Hmm, well, justice means treating people fairly around you. It also means I am equal to you and you are equal to me.”

“So like how Prince Jackson treats us?”

You opened your arms and the children rushed into your embrace. You wanted to trust the Prince more than anyone but it was never an easy task. Monarchs had failed your country countlessly and it was hard to believe it would all come to an abrupt end.

“Okay children, leave our Lady Y/n be. Time is up.”

You giggled at their whines and gave each a hug as they went their way. You stood up and straightened the material of your skirt, fitting the sash after. “You were mean, Uncle! You know no one reads to the children.”

“I cannot wait to see the day when your own little dwarfs will cling to your side.” Your uncle offered you some freshly baked sweets which you took gratefully. “Do you truly dislike every man in the country?”

You giggled. “There will be a long and impossible road to my marriage, Uncle. No one deserves to carry the heavy burdens of The Ghost.”

“Speaking of which,” he began as he started walking among the cheerful people in the streets “I started investigating the Small Treasurer. It shan’t be long before we uncover his treacheries. But I understand there is another reason you sent word to the guild?”

You nodded your head. “Prince Wang came looking for me last night. I was surprised to find him wandering so close to our secondary post.”

“So what did he want?”

“This is the unthinkable part, Uncle. He wanted me to mentor him in swordsmanship.”

Your uncle took his chin in between his fingers. “It must have been that young Colonel, Guren. His web weaves vast into the empire. We have had trouble in the past accessing bits of information because of his own informants.”

You brought your hands to your hair to tie it loosely at the base of your neck. It was an unusually sunny day for the season. “He is a cunning one but I understand he would rather die than betray his Prince.”

“That is correct. What will you do, then? You know the Guild has been supporting the Prince from the shadows. It seems he will be a mighty ruler.”

“Certainly he is talented.” You nodded your head and your attention was captivated by a group of young boys waving to your direction. You smiled at them and returned the gesture. Your popularity among the other folk was a suitable cover for the day and it also served for cheap gossip. “I have decided to keep in touch with him for the time being.”

“Good. Perhaps you might take advantage of his loose tongue. Have you thought about going to the banquet? We can secure an invitation for you and for all one knows, you could have fun.”

Your hand caressed a piece of yellow silk resting on the table of one of the street vendors. You asked politely for it and paid the merchant in coin. As much as you loved your perfectly fitting armor, you adored sewing your own dresses, or offering them to the girls who were unable to afford them.

“Uncle, you know my opinion about these unnecessary feasts. It is a complete waste of coin. But I shall go if I see fit.”

Many times did you wonder about the infamous feasts of the palace. You had never gone to one before but had often heard impressive tales of the spectacle and of the people attending from all over the world; it was a true cultural asset. Although you wished some of the coin spent would go to improve the life of the citizens, you couldn’t help but desire to go to one.

“I would not mind if a foreign Prince asked for my niece’s hand in marriage, too.”

You laughed and livened up at his words. “Who would do such a thing, Uncle?”

“You ought to not underestimate yourself!” He scolded you with a bright glint in his eyes. “You are beautiful and smart and young. Should they marry you, they will be blessed!”

“Ah, I do not know how to obey a man. They would not stand me.”

 The rest of the day was spent helping around the animal farm, alas without your full focus. Your mind kept darting back and forth to your previous encounter with the Prince. The serious look in his eyes when he spoke about dedicating his crown to the people deeply bothered you. After your parents had died at the hands of cowardly officials who only knew the art of squeezing coin out of people’s pockets, you had spent your adolescence years training and absorbing knowledge so you’d be able to fight their mistreatment. You wouldn’t allow yourself to believe in any of their descendants. Yet Prince Jackson managed to ignite a spark in your beliefs.

You were meditating when he made his appearance in the same back alley you had clashed the night before. You heard his light steps as he approached, not daring to interrupt you.

“You came, your majesty.” You opened your eyes and jumped up. You noticed a sword resting at his side and the eagerness on his face.

“Could you not mock me any further? If you dislike my title, then do not use it at all.” He whined as he pushed back the hood from his face. You folded your arms over your chest and chuckled.

“Should I not address you at all?”

“My name is Jackson.”

“I thought you beheaded people for not using your royal titles.”

It was his turn to laugh. “I don’t think I could ever behead you no matter how hard I tried.”

You also noticed he dropped his aristocratic pattern of speech and that he relaxed his stance in your presence. You couldn’t understand how he was so trusting in a stranger. In a murderer.

“Well, Jackson, shall we begin?”

A thing you appreciated about him from the get-go was his diligence. He was a quick study, undoubtedly blessed with both natural talent and perseverance. He was following your every move, executing it gracefully and it was easy to guess he would, someday, surpass your abilities if you kept on mentoring him. He was one of the few royals by blood who had the genes of a warrior. So you saw no problem in pushing his physical limits from the start.

Jackson had good stamina. He understood you’d push his buttons in a somewhat sadistic manner but he was determined to keep up with you and prove his worth. He was fascinated by your even breath throughout the training and his respect for you grew. Not only did you have endurance but your moves were swift and elegant, not making any unnecessary motions. You looked like a feather, waltzing with the wind.

Jackson knew his own sword swings were becoming sloppier with each heavier breath taken. You had to step by his side, trailing your hand over his arm to correct his posture. You felt his muscles easing under your touch. “You always have to keep your sword pointed to your enemy. This way, he won’t be able to sway your defense so easily.”

Jackson nodded and straightened his arm. He was convinced your breath would have fanned over his neck had the mask not covered your face. He was getting distracted.

“We shall stop for the night. I don’t want your body to be sore in the morning without any logical explanation to your servants.”

Your fingers slid down his forearm slowly, igniting an unknown flare in his veins. He was definitely getting distracted.

“Thank you.” He muttered quietly, clearing his throat. “Say, uhm,…Ghost.”

“I won’t tell you my name.” you stated, sheathing your sword.

“I didn’t mean to ask that, although I am slightly disappointed.” He laughed and you found yourself staring a little longer at the way his eyes curved into crescents. “Could you maybe teach me about other things as well?”

“Oh? Such as?”

He walked over to you, his hands resting on his hips as he managed to even his breathing. “I want to learn about the outer world. You look like you could teach me about its wonders.”

You didn’t know if it was his ruffled hair glowing in the moonlight or the way his defined chest rose every time his lungs filled with air but there was something about him that softened The Ghost. Before you could put your guard up, you agreed.

“I am unaware of how good of a teacher I am.”

Jackson smiled brightly; it made you look away. “I am sure you are a great one.”

“You should go back to the palace.” You said dismissively, trying to shake off the disturbance. Jackson sighed and took his cloak from the ground, glancing at you with the corner of his eye. He wished to stay a little while longer. He threw the black fabric over his shoulders; you were gone before he had his chance to say goodbye.

 The next morning came too fast. Jackson opened his eyes and a rough groan evaded his chest at how heavy his body felt. He somehow managed to drape his arm over his eyes, putting in an inhumane amount of effort to ignore the pain in his muscles.

“Your majesty, are you not feeling well?” The head servant inquired, evident worry sketched all over her face. Jackson wanted to curse.

“Prepare a hot bath for me. I feel like I could die.”

The girls exchanged concerned looks among them before rushing out to express the Prince’s wish.

“There is an ominous flu in the air, your majesty. It might make your body weaker.” The head servant rushed to his side, helping him prompt himself up. “It is curious how you contacted it. Was it cold in your chamber last night, your majesty?”

A certain vicious female put me through Hell. “It was fine. I guess the season is to blame.”

“Should I send for your advisors to reschedule your day?”

Jackson pushed himself out of bed, adopting a funny stance as he stood. “No, I should be fine after the bath. I have a lot to do today and I cannot possibly afford to cancel it.”

One thing he managed to do best during that day was to attract the curious looks of servants and high officials alike as he was unable to walk properly. The young girls started chatting amongst themselves and it embarrassed the Prince to his core. Guiren was certainly aggravating the situation by involving himself with them and adding fuel to the fire. He made a mental note to punch Guiren as soon as he could. Even his brain felt atrophied. He couldn’t sit in the usual lotus position during his final lessons and some of the teachers had trouble containing their amusement at his struggles.

It lasted a couple of days until his body gradually got used to the effort. The first time you saw him walking with a cane to support his numb limbs, you nearly died of laughter. Jackson had never been that ashamed in his life. However, he got to enjoy the serene song of your laughter. He stole glances at the way your eyes would crinkle whenever you’d smile too wide and he had thought it unable to be jealous of a mask until then. He could not see your face but he was convinced you were beautiful.

After you had your fair share of laughter, you showed him a couple of exercises that would ease the tension in his muscles, guiding him closely throughout the process. He joked it was only fair to give him a massage and it took him a couple of moments to peel himself off the ground after a not so gentle push you gave him.

However, his inability to perform taxing battle stances meant you’d have more time to uncover tales about the world. It wasn’t a particular chronological order in which you told your tales; it was rather up to Jackson himself to decide what he was curious about. That night, you began unraveling the wonders of Greek Mythology because he only got vague answers from the adults at the court. It was a long and mighty history, so you took your time to travel through it, emphasizing some facts here and there, exaggerating others.

You had a mysterious way with words. Jackson found himself hypnotized by the way you’d express the universal history so carefully, yet so vividly he could extend his hand and brush his fingers over the events. Even as you resumed your battle training, you’d keep on telling which made it easier for him to grow accustomed to the art as he tried to put himself in the shoes of all the huge figures that came before him. And he could not get enough of your unique voice and the way it would liven up every otherwise dull word.

The nights started passing alarmingly faster and the expectation of seeing you again growing ardently. He was attracted to you like a moth to the flame, dangerously and all at once. Every minute that he spent in your company melted in the spiral of time so curiously that it felt like an eternity and a fleeting second all at once. What was more, he was convinced in his heart that the Ghost was only a sturdy façade of your true self. You weren’t what people made you to be: violent, barbaric, always lusting for blood. But you were so carefully hidden in the shell of the Ghost that it was almost impossible to tear yourself out of it.

Ironically, Jackson became eager to finish his duties at the palace successfully and speedily so he could gain some extra time to rest. Traversing back and forth between his royal assignments and the night rendezvous he had with you was demanding. The ministers and other highly ranked officials were extremely pleased with his hard work and started looking forward to having another dedicated King. Jackson couldn’t fathom what his father was thinking. For the time being, he kept his needed distance, doing his best not to give out any reason for doubt.

 Three days before the royal banquet, you decided to bring Jackson a gift for his dedication. It seemed unlikely you would grow accustomed to your nightly meetings but you started looking forward to them. You wouldn’t admit it to yourself, but you underestimated him dearly. He was not a transparent person as you made him be; he truly was dedicated and trusting in the good nature of people. He had a subtle sense of humor and a fine eye for details that topped all of your expectations of him. He still was a Prince and the future King of the empire but he couldn’t be more human in your eyes. Before you knew it, you started respecting him. The small something he ignited in your chest was burning zealously and it was more and more difficult to tear your mind off him. You thought you found a friend in him.

That night, he was the first one to arrive. The sound of air slashed by the metal of his sword guided you to him and you smiled to him, even if would never see it.

“I see you were eager to start your training, your majesty.”

At first, using his title was meant to bring disrespect to him but it gradually developed into one of the ways you’d tease him.

“Hello to you too, Ghost.” Jackson chuckled and turned to you. “This was meant to wake me up. I had a full day and I guessed I would fall asleep waiting for you.”

“I think I am on time?” you approached him and unveiled the present. Jackson’s eyes widened at the new type of sword he was shown. With a significantly thin but sharp blade and a guard over the handle, it was an impeccable type of weapon he had never seen before.

“This is called a sabre and is of Spanish origins. Only knights and the cavalry use these in Europe. Gentlemen and nobles in France, Italy, and Spain are taught how to fight with these swords from a frail age.”

“It… it is beautiful. Where did you get this?”

“I wouldn’t be the Ghost if I didn’t have connections. Only a handful have been brought on the continent and I am one of the owners. Or I will have been. It’s yours if you want it.”

Jackson darted a hopeful look at you. He was moved. “You cannot be serious.”

“Those hefty swords that soldiers use might work for you, but they do not bring out your true potential. The sabre is not meant for brute force but rather for swift approaches and agile attacks. You’re quick on your feet and you mostly defend your body from attacks through dodges. It should work for you.”

“But if only a couple… I cannot take it from you.”

You shook your head and extended your gloved hand to place on his shoulder. “It’s my good luck present for you, your majesty. I can teach you how to make use of it.”

Jackson was very conflicted at the time. You had kept a steady distance from him, merely acting as a teacher to him, and he thought it foolish to bring his hopes of getting to know you up. He started nurturing the selfish desire that you’d soon take off your mask and show yourself to him so he could make sense of the disturbing feelings whirled in his chest. And he considered doing it himself if he ran out of patience. You giving him such a masterpiece to guard had an irreversible effect on him that he’d make sense of at a later and unexpected time.

“But not tonight.”

Jackson’s forehead wrinkled. “Why.”

“That… is not your concern, unfortunately. I cannot stay. Should you wish to learn how to maneuver it, I will be waiting tomorrow night.”

The night engulfed you in its darkness and an oppressing feeling of disappointment nested in Jackson’s stomach as you disappeared.

 “You’re late, Y/n.”

You clicked your tongue and took out your mask, throwing it on the guild table. All of the other seven members of the council were gathered around, waiting collectively for you.

“Where were you?” the oldest and founding member questioned as you checked your braided hair. “Where’s the sabre?”

Out of the many arts they taught you, developing a persuasive nature, and the ability to lie without any smallest twitch in the muscles of your face were the ones you mastered best.

“I took a detour to bring it home, hence my late appearance.”

The co-founder grabbed at the bridge of his nose. “You knew we were discussing important matters tonight. May it not repeat again.”

“Sir.” You nodded and shifted your weight from one leg to the other. “The plans are in order I presume?”

“Complications have appeared.” Your uncle spoke sternly, handing you a set of papers. “This is the incriminatory proof that the treasurer has been abusing his power to fill his pockets. However, his authority wasn’t the only thing he managed to abuse.”

You skimmed through the papers, getting a general idea of the issue. It was pretty clear what you had to do. “Continue?”

“This man has been shielding assassins in his house.” Your master chimed in. “He has plotted the public death of both the King and Prince Wang on the night of the banquet.”

Your eyes widened and you looked up hurriedly at him. The founder continued.

“It’s the perfect cover. Various royals from all over the continent are bringing their daughters to win over Prince Wang’s heart and those who will not be chosen will be set up as murderers driven by revenge. It is not so unusual for assassins to sneak into such large public events.”

You clenched your fist, folding the papers in your hand in the process. “How did we not see this?”

“That snake has skilled confidants. It was very hard to obtain this bit of information because his guards are swarming around him all day long and his associates are, partly, royals who wished to overthrow the Prince but couldn’t due to their extended lineage.”

“This cannot happen.” You stated bluntly, raising the curiosity of all who were present. “Prince Wang is our only chance at correcting this empire. If he dies, there won’t be any shortcuts.”

You were taken aback by the words coming so effortlessly out of your mouth. You never cared for royals and had always despised them from the core of your existence. Why were you so protective over Jackson then?

“It will not happen.” The founder spoke through the silence, his eyes examining you thoroughly. “You are going to the banquet and so is your master. You are to prevent this from happening and extract the Treasurer silently from the event. Without any major events.”

Your uncle tilted his head to look at you. He was getting suspicious of your involvement with the Prince.

“What can you tell us about the Prince, Lady Y/n?” the cofounder challenged you and you had to bite into the plush of your cheek to hold back a rude remark.

“What about him?”

“We know you’ve been faithfully seeing him every night for the past 20 days. You have been mentoring him in swordsmanship and close combat. Why?”

A dark smirk crept on your lips. The low light of the candle lit in the middle of the wooden table brought a ghastly picture on your face. “Did you not want a competent King? I am making sure of that.”

“You’re playing with fire, little Lady. Are you sure he hasn’t charmed his way into your skirt?”

“Enough!” the founder rose his voice before you got the chance to curse at the other man for his irresponsible accusations. Although it assuredly made you ponder over the fact that you were bothered by the whole meaning of the banquet. “Does the royal family suspect anything?”

“No.” You turned abruptly to the founder. “They are concerned over outer military conflicts and eventual riots of the peasantry but they are not aware of the fact their lives are threatened.”

“And it shall stay like this,” your master concluded. “We cannot execute our mission without full discretion. I trust Y/n enough to dismiss your words, co-founder. We will carry our duty.”

The meeting ended with a final revision of the plan and the older men retreated to their respective homes. You were prepared to follow their examples and wanted to put the mask over your face again when your uncle grabbed you by the wrist. “You gave him the saber, didn’t you?”

Your gaze was fixated to the grand door of the hall, your back turned to him. You didn’t answer.

“Y/n, my darling, do you have feelings for the Prince?”

“No.” you answered too fast for your own liking. “And I didn’t reveal my identity to him either, Uncle. I don’t trust him.”

Except you did trust him. And it was the first lie you weren’t convinced to say. Your uncle let go of your hand and you put back your mask.

“Out of all men, why does it have to be the Prince, Y/n? You can never have him.”

You pushed the door open and gulped down a burdensome sentiment. “I know.”

 The way back to the palace had never felt so lonely. Jackson managed to sneak back in successfully but he couldn’t shake off the disappointment eating at him. Just when he thought he was so close to laying the last brick, you crushed all his efforts yet again. Did he truly mean nothing to you? What was he lacking that he could not improve? What was missing from him so important that you kept yourself hidden so far away from his grasp?

Jackson hid the sabre neatly in the small space he dug into the floor, among his many other treasured possessions.  Frustration was getting the best of him. Even the trivial task of undressing himself proved to be difficult as his fingers trembled with silent anger. The door to his chamber opened unexpectedly made him lash out his resentments.

“Who gave you permission to enter my room—“

Jackson froze at the sight of his father coming in. He rushed to bow to him, keeping his eyes focused on the colored carpets.

“So you are back, my son.”

He was ruined. The beating he would receive was one thing but explaining his situation with The Masked Ghost was a whole other matter. He had to come up with something. He remembered you telling him that panic was never a good solution to problems and that he should always analyze his situation before acting.

“Father, I was not expecting you at this hour.”

“You would have known I came by earlier had you been in your chamber.”

Jackson straightened his body and watched his father hide his hands in the large sleeves of his night attire. His face did not dictate anger.

“I know you have been sneaking out for a while, Jackson. You know we have moved up the ceremony of ascension the day after the banquet and you still waste your nights irresponsibly in town. I thought we have cleared it already.”

“My apologies, father. “ Jackson dipped his head in a bow, his hands brought together. No words would be able to save the situation.

“Is it a woman, my son? Why do you not bring her to court so she could properly become your consort?”

Jackson looked away, failing to provide an answer. It was not an easy question his father asked but it appeared he did not know why he was sneaking out; that settled most of his concerns.

“No mind, you would have, had she desired so.��� He nodded his head softly. “But it has to end, boy.”

The King walked closer to Jackson and placed his hands on Jackson’s shoulders. “You will pick a woman fit to be your consort in just a few days and you will not have the need to satisfy your desires in secrecy. Kings do not lower themselves like that, Jackson.”

“Yes, father.” He pursed his lips. Jackson knew he pushed his luck doing what he was. “What did you wish to see me about?”

“Ah, I almost forgot.” The King pulled back and snaked his hand into his robe to pull out a beautifully carved wooden box. Jackson opened it and saw a handmade brooch, adorned with precious stones in an elegant foreign design. It was a piece of dazzling jewelry.

“You should gift it to your future woman.”

Jackson forced a smile. He disliked the whole masquerade that tradition was and the very thought of it made him sick in the stomach.

“I don’t want you going out anymore, understood? I shall grant you tomorrow night to say whatever you wish to say and that is it. I have high expectations of you. Do not make me change my mind about you, not after you’ve worked so hard.”

Jackson bowed to the King as he walked out of his chamber and let out a heavy sigh. He threw the little box on the bed and plopped down in the comfort of the blankets. He fell asleep thinking how much you’d love the brooch.

 “You’re dead silent today, your majesty.” Guiren pointed out as he munched on his breakfast. “I figured you would teach me more of those impressive techniques the Ghost showed you! Those are dandy.”

Jackson threw his chopsticks on the table, the mention of you making him lose his appetite. “Father found out I was sneaking out.”

Guiren quirked a brow. “I apologize. How bad is it?”

“Not extensively bad. He does not know I have been seeing the Ghost but he made it very clear to stop.”

“Of course you should. You will soon choose a wife, of course, you should focus your attention on her. Women are so picky and need a lot of pampering, especially daughters of rich royals—“

“This is wrong, Guiren.” Jackson sighed exasperatedly. “All of this is so wrong. I just…I can’t.”

Guiren clicked his tongue. “Is it wrong because it is not the woman you want?”

Jackson placed his hand over his eyes, rubbing at his temples. He didn’t know what to think anymore, what was the truth and what was not. He disagreed with it from the beginning but the idea grew more and more gruesome by the second. Jackson figured what Guiren was implying but he was so confused himself that he could not provide a valid answer.

“Tell me, Jackson. What is it so special about The Masked Ghost? She is just a criminal.”

“It’s not about her, Guiren. And she is not just a criminal. This woman is more intelligent than all of the teachers in the palace combined. “

And a very good listener, too. “She is bad news, Jackson. Little does it matter that she is skilled or intelligent or whatnot. She is a criminal at the end of the day. And people don’t change. Give up on her before it comes back haunting you. That is one thing I am unable to save you from.”

 Jackson’s steps were weighty as he walked to your meeting place. An abundance of feelings was pressing relentlessly over his shoulders, an unknown territory he did not have the knowledge to explore. Guren’s words were reverberating in his ears. He had to let you remain a ghost in spite of the caustic cravings in his chest.

He hoped to have a leisure last conversation with you so he could work on letting you go with peace of mind. When he saw you did not have your sword either he smiled to himself sadly. You read each other’s minds.

“I was worried you might scold me.” Jackson began in a melancholic tone. “But I won’t have to worry about that.”

Your body remained motionless at his words. “Follow me.”

Jackson let you take the lead and followed you to a nearby open plain that uncovered the beauty of the night sky. The dark horizon was embellished with glowing stars, the moon ruling over the world all mighty. You seated yourself on the grass and pat the spot beside you so Jackson would do the same.

“You never cease to amaze me.” Jackson commented, the vibrant light of the moon mirrored in his eyes.

You looked at him and found him ethereal, a work of art of all the known and unknown deities of the world. He was truly a handsome creature.

“Neither do you” you replied, although more to yourself.

Jackson chuckled lightly, his eyes focused on the nocturnal view. “I cannot see you anymore.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, relieved the sentence came out of his mouth and not yours. It felt a little less painful if he said so, although it didn’t ease the storm in your stomach. It was fine like that. You did not want him to hate you. He had to forget you and to forget, he couldn’t nurture hate for you because it would be engraved upon his heart. You knew that whatever one wished to forget, must not be preceded by hate. The memory you wanted him to have of you had to be a cherished one, not one of an obscene criminal.

“I understand.” You replied after a short while, a chilly breeze carrying your unsaid confession to the horizon. “How does it feel to know you’ll have the finest women on the continent battling for a place in your heart?”

“I…I don’t want any of it.” Jackson leaned on his back, extending his arm to the infinity of the stars. “It is wrong to make a draft and pick a woman as simply as you’d pick your attire for the day. Then drag them to bed to convince them they are acknowledged by the royal lineage. I want…”

Jackson’s voice trailed off and he let his arm fall to the ground. “…to love someone.”

Another endearing breeze masked a gasp that escaped your lips and you tilted your head to look at him. His face was painted with an old sadness of a soul that traversed the galaxy in search of a missing love and returned to the Earth to find it.

You clutched your chest in a desperate attempt to dissipate the suffocating air in your ribcage. You couldn’t stay. The longer you stayed by his side, the more you’d get pulled toward his existence and it was painful as flesh on shattered glass. You rose hastily to your feet, walking a couple of steps away from him.

Jackson waited a few moments in the grass, resisting the urge to stand up and follow after you. He tilted his head to the side and noticed your silhouette defying the peace of the landscape. He had to sit up to make sure he saw it right; your hair was let down, unbraided, the waves in your strands resembling the unsettling waves of the sea. Your mask was in your hand. He was incapable to catch a glimpse of your face as your back was turned to him and your hair was guarding your identity faithfully. It was the most distinctive shade of ebony his eyes had ever witnessed.

“I pray that you find the love you deserve someday, your majesty.”

Jackson reached out to you but was powerless to stop you as you melted into the night, your voice a distant echo.

  “I did not anticipate so many people coming to the palace.”

Your eyes struggled to comprehend the multitude of things happening all at once. As soon as the guards allowed you to pass through, you were met by a sea of people swarming all over the place, competing against one another through the diversity of their outfits and appearance. The plaited decorations dangling from the rafters were coming alive in the beams of light shed by the lanterns. The small origami figures resembled flowers blooming from the twigs and the bold aroma of traditional food invited you to lose yourself in the unparalleled tableau.

You felt your master’s hand on top of your head and blushed as you snapped back to reality. “I know it is beautiful. I wish from the bottom of my heart you could enjoy it as you saw fit.”

You nodded and straightened your hand-made dress. You made good use of the bright yellow silk you bought from the street merchant the other day, making a dress befitting your silhouette. Your uncle praised you on the sewn floral details on the lapel and the elegant choice of bringing a white embroidery over the color. You had a small knife hidden in the golden sash tied in a ribbon around your waist. You also let your hair fall charmingly over your shoulders, trembling with each little step you took. The hair accessory holding part of your locks behind your ear was a daring gift from your Uncle. The single emerald on it complimented your attire perfectly.

“I know, Master. But we’re here to do our jobs. We should split up to cover more ground. The palace is indeed humongous.”

“You remember the blueprints?”

“I know where to bring them.”

A large amount of people was both an advantage and a disadvantage. You could blend easily in the crowd and hide your tracks but there were many guards supervising the area. And you had to concentrate your attention in many places at once. It was the hardest when you stepped inside the grand hall of the palace thanks to the forged papers from the guild. It was supposed to be a restricted area for the royals only but the air was suffocating with so many humans gathered in one place.

According to tradition, the Prince was allowed to roam free among the public, to greet them and receive their prayers before midnight. He also enjoyed the liberty of immersing himself in the traditional dances, alas was only in the restricted space to ensure his involvement with royal women. You decided it nearly impossible for the Prince to spot you amidst such mass of people so you took the liberty to examine the situation for any suspicious figures you were instructed about. The thrones in the far end of the room were empty which offered an extension of time.

It was, however, easier said than done. You recognized some of the lords but most of them remained unidentified to you and you weren’t exactly aware of what you were looking for either. You sneaked to the side of the room, trying to get a better angle.

“I do not recognize you, my Lady.”

You turned your body toward the source of the voice and met Colonel Guiren, his eyes studying you curiously. You smiled in response, thinking of ways to subtly extract bits of information about the people present. “Ah, Master, I beg your pardon, I am but another face in the crowd.”

The smirk shaping on Guiren’s face suggested you successfully captured him with your words. “I might be mistaken but there is no one around resembling your pulchritude.”

You couldn’t help but let out a giggle. He wasn’t as talented in speech as the Prince but he was a charmer himself. “You are exaggerating, Master. I cannot help but feel lacking in comparison to some of the women here such as—“

You turned your attention to the crowd, hoping to draw a quick response from the Colonel when the words froze and pulverize on your lips. You saw Prince Jackson distinctively staring at you through the many females gathered around him.

 “Oh, Jackson, you will feel it battling so violently in your chest, it’s an unmistakable feeling. You will just know.”

It was a beautiful war raging inside of him. The moment he laid eyes on the beautiful creature on the other side of the room, he knew it was you. The surreal shade of ebony of your hair confirmed his suspicions. And the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes crinkled ever so familiarly as you spoke were the same outstanding lines he repeatedly saw nights in a row. But your sublime features and lines in your face and skin were breathtaking. What was he doing before he met you? What did his heart do, with all the love?

Jackson’s eyes locked with your amber ones for a fading second before your sudden rush to leave meddled with his intentions of rushing over to you. He remembered his mother’s words faithfully and the hammering heart in his chest urged him to follow after you. He wouldn’t let you go again. He now made sense of the hesitation that chained him three nights prior; he was meant to meet you in your entirety and not in the dim space between mask and shadows.

Jackson chased after you, his eyes never peeling off your silhouette, pushing people out of his way. You must have realized he figured out your identity with just a glance and he wondered if you regretted your decision of showing yourself to him if you ran so fast to avid him. He barely made it in time to catch you by the wrist and held on tighter as you tried to rip yourself from his grasp. All eyes were fixated on the two of you as the tune of another melody started and Jackson pulled you into himself, forcing you to dance with him to hide you from the crowd.

“It’s you.” He barely managed to whisper, your hands in his setting fire to his fingertips. You swayed your body to the tune, forcing yourself to remain composed. Little did he know your body was reacting just as violently as his, thunder and rain cracking your insides little by little.

“You are destroying my cover, Prince.” You leaned over to him to whisper in his ear then backed away, making a pirouette. Jackson extended his arm and placed his hand on your exposed forearm, causing a fire to erupt in your veins.

“How are you here?”

His eyes were smoldering as he memorized even the tiniest characteristic of your face. You suddenly felt so small under his gaze and could only hope your cheeks weren’t turning red. His touch on your arm was magnetic.

“Do not mistake my intentions, your majesty.” You hissed, stripping yourself of him. You dug your teeth into your tongue, biting down a whine from the painful lack of contact. “I am not here for you.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Jackson grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him once again, his eyes never leaving yours. “How are you here?”

You looked to the side for a second and noticed the suspicious movements of two men chatting with your target not far from where you stood. You leaned up and brushed your cheek over his, your lips speaking sharply in his ear. “Your life is in danger, Jackson. You need to leave and you need to do it now.”

“What?” He meant to look at you but you cupped his cheek to keep him in place. Those unknown men left their positions while you spoke.

“Don’t move. I lost sight of them.”

You brought your other hand to your sash, fingers resting on the knife. You felt Jackson’s body stiffen. “What is going on? You are scaring me—“

You pushed Jackson away and placed yourself in the way of a throwing knife that penetrated your shoulder, a dangerous miss from the collarbone. The aim was not as steady as the culprit wished it would be but you didn’t hesitate with yours and made a clear throw which stabbed him in the throat. You clicked your tongue. He was dressed in an expensive robe; you knew it would not be plausible he tried to take the Prince’s life.

The panicked crowd started screaming and running around to get away from the horrific incident as rapidly as possible. Two other masked assassins appeared on the scene, facing you from either side. You removed the knife from your shoulder and tore your overcoat to grant yourself some extended movement. A timid stream of blood started flowing out.

“You need to get away from here.” You ordered Jackson.

“No. I am staying here to fight—“

Guiren grabbed Jackson by the arm and dragged him away despite his fervent protests. “The Ghost is right, your majesty. We need to get you to safety.”

You dipped your head to Guiren and offered Jackson a sliver of a smile in hopes of easing his worried stance. You turned your full attention to your opponents who had already drawn their swords and made a quick analysis of the situation. It was highly unlikely you would come off victorious.

You braced yourself for your attackers, managing to swiftly dodge the first swing of a sword. You twirled your body from between them and leaned to the side to parry the other sword with your knife. You kicked the attacker’s hand and threw him off balance. The sword flew out of his hand and you knelt down to grab it, scarcely escaping a deadly blow that still cut deeply into your thigh. You sloppily threw your knife to one of them and he caught it in his hand because of thick layered armor.

The rowdy noise of the guards coming made the assassins give up on your fight and run away. You didn’t have enough time to follow their example and were surrounded by the soldiers. The sword made a sharp sound as it bounced off the ground, your hands raised to either side of your head to signal your surrender. One of the guards stepped on the fresh wound in your thigh and a horrid screech evaded from the depth of your chest. You were prompted up forcefully, your master watching the scene helplessly. You signaled him silently to walk away as they dragged you to their prison.

 The dungeon was hauntingly silent as Jackson dashed through the murky hallways to where Guiren told him you were brought. The Colonel was following close behind him to supervise his actions and put a halt to any premature decisions. Hope flickered in his heart at the silence, wishing they hadn’t started torturing you. Jackson was stupefied to see your standing body tied in rusty chains by either wrist, your skin colored purple from the hits you took and various fresh cuts dug into your flesh.

At a closer look, the Treasurer had a dagger in his hand, your blood dripping relentlessly from its blade. The King and another two soldiers were watching intently and the Treasurer forced the dagger into your collarbone, eliciting a mere groan from you. Your lack of displayed discomfort irritated him.

“This is for my brother, you bitch!” He took a full swing at your stomach and you spat the pool of blood in your mouth on his clothes in response. Guiren had to hold Jackson with both hands to restrain him.

The King rose his hand in the air to stop his Treasurer from sticking the blade into your throat. The King stepped closer to you and one of the soldiers grabbed you by the hair to force you to look at him. The pain was rapidly getting unbearable and you felt lightheaded. It took every ounce of effort to keep yourself awake.

“Are you The Masked Ghost, child?”

You remained silent at his question and the same soldier kicked you in the small of your back. You let go of the chains you had been holding on and felt your body leaning forward. “Answer the King!”

You lifted your eyes and caught Jackson’s frame staring at you with his mouth slightly agape and his fists clenched. The look of despair on his face would be etched in your senses for as long as you had left to live. You wanted him to rush out of there.

“I will show you what it means to threaten the royal council and its King.”

The Treasurer took off his overcoat and moved quickly to remove his sash and overskirt. The next thing that would follow would be him raping you and you hoped from the bottom of your heart Jackson would walk away before it was too late.

“Is this the kind of King you want to be, your majesty?” you groaned in a weak tone, your eyes fixated on Jackson’s numb frame. The King turned to his son with interest imprinted on his features.

But you were right. Jackson was set to become King of the Empire in a matter of hours and having his prisoners abused without a proper trial was only a fraction of the laws everyone was so casually stepping upon. Seeing you so stubbornly refusing to satisfy their desires of hearing you beg and cry for your life after they butchered your body so carelessly broke Jackson’s heart. But more than anything, it showed him how much of a coward he was.

“Stop.” Jackson stepped forward, much to the disapproval of the Treasurer.

“Prince? Allow me to teach this whore a lesson—“

“I think I told you to stop. Did I stutter?”

You had never thought Jackson capable of owning such a caustic glint in his eyes. You noticed his breathing was uneven as if he was struggling to contain himself. “Walk away from the prisoner at once. She thought she saved my life; should I not be the one to offer my gratitude?”

The Treasurer bowed his head and stepped back, dressing himself. The King noticed the change of behavior and pondered over its meaning. Earlier that day, he had received a set of papers anonymously, incriminating the Treasurer and his family for high treason. It didn’t seem too credible back then.

“Guards, take the Treasurer to a cell in the upper level. Make sure he gets comfortable.”

The guards did not hesitate to take the man away in a torrent of questions and pleadings.

“The girl shall be executed tomorrow as an offering to the new King.”

Jackson turned to his father abruptly. “Father—“

The King stopped by Jackson’s side, his eyes facing forward. “This decision belongs to me. It is up to you however you choose to carry it or not. If this girl here is the Ghost and you had been seeing her, this is a difficult decision you have to make. But she stays in the cell and that is not debatable. Guiren, please make sure the Prince does not make any hasty decisions.”

Guiren bowed to the King and then came closer to see you. “Nice to finally meet you, Ghost.”

“Don’t make me spit in your face too.” You moaned, taking a harsh hold of the chains. You assumed you had a couple of broken ribs and most likely damaged kidneys from the kick in your back. “Leave me be.”

Jackson couldn’t bear to look at you. He fantasized about holding the love of his life in his protective arms, worshipping her body with every tender touch ghosting over her skin, not chained up like a wild animal, carved open barbarically. You were so divinely beautiful but so devilishly destroyed by the primitive hands of men. Someone like you was meant to be glorified. And those eyes, those amber eyes that gnawed at Jackson’s existence.

“Let us go, Colonel.” Jackson spoke absentmindedly and you watched his back as he walked away. You could finally let out the sobs and the tears welling up in your eyes.

 The next morning you were brought to the inside yard of the palace where the ceremony of ascension would take place. You were forced back into your senses after a bucket of icy water was thrown on your numb body; it washed some of the dirt on your figure but you were sure you looked beyond pitiful. You were dragged in front of the officials who took your time to spit on you and address you pieces of their minds. You were thrown to the middle of the area, on your knees, and were tied mercilessly like the lowest scum on Earth. You laughed to yourself. You had never foreseen such a pathetic ending for the Ghost. And you knew no one was foolish enough to come for you. The security was too tight.

The ceremony was beautiful. A zealous round of applause welcomed Prince Jackson as he stepped among his followers. You lifted your head to look at him. He was dressed in a carefully crafted traditional attire, befitting of a King. The details embroidered on the silk were unlike any you had ever seen, complementing the colors in an imposing image. Jackson’s face was implacable and his every gesture was calm and accentuated. You smiled and looked up to the sky. It was painted a serene blue.

You felt your conscience slowly drifting away. Everything surrounding you became a vibrant buzzing. You didn’t know when the religious part of the ceremony passed, or when Jackson made his oath as King, but you didn’t need to. Getting to know Jackson over the past month would seem a trivial matter, yet you felt as if you had known him forever ago. You regretted having so little time to spend with him. You wondered how he saw you beyond your shell, how he saw you talking with your body and with your words. You wondered if he could read all of the truth in your nature. You wondered if you were the only one knowing that your soul and his soul have met many years ago and have been old friends.

A tear traversed your cheek. It was the first time you envied the Gods for their immortality. But wasn’t that the crimson beauty of a human life? Would you ask to be anything else? Would you rather suffer losing everything you loved best in the world day after day rather than having it slip from your fingers once and then never again?

You felt powerful arms lifting you from the ground. It must have been time for your sentence.

You rose your head from the ground and saw Jackson walking over to you in a slow, agonizing manner. The crown on his head suited him well. You were shoved to the side, near what you figured would be your execution spot. Jackson stopped a couple of steps away from you and you made eye contact with him. You couldn’t read him.

“This woman shall not be executed today, not ever. No one dares lay a finger on her without my permission.”

One of the Ministers questioned King Jackson’s words. “Your Majesty, she killed a high official last night! She deserves to die.”

“Do you defy my words?” Jackson didn’t even bother glancing in his direction.

“Your Majesty, we have reports she might be The Masked Ghost, cold-blooded murderer of the royals and high clerks—“

Jackson made a dismissive gesture with his hand and the courageous minster was brought forth. “Behead him.”

“Your Majesty—“

You couldn’t believe your ears. It was clear you weren’t in your right mind and you must have died in the dungeon, your body probably rotting in a canal. You dug your nails into the palm of your hand to identify if your sensorial perception was still functioning. You were convinced of it when the former Minister’s head rolled on the concrete at your feet. Jackson didn’t even flinch.

“And while we are discussing the matter, there is no available proof that this woman is the Ghost.”

The Treasurer stepped out of line. “Your Majesty, she killed my brother! You cannot let her live.”

“Bring the Treasurer over here too. His punishment will be death by a hundred cuts.”

The crowd started murmuring among themselves. Jackson took out a piece of paper from his robe and showed it to the public. It was the report your guild sent to the previous King, signed and approved while he was in active duty. “You are hereby charged with high treason for abuse of power and threatening the life of the King.”

The Treasurer was taken away under the terrified eyes of the crowd. You looked over to the previous King and you could swear you detected pride on his features.

“Let this be a lesson for anyone who dares to cross me. Starting with this moment, every high ranked official and clerk will be under my strict supervision and any form of breaking the law, no matter how mild and no matter the position in the country will be punished by death.”

Jackson extended his hand to run his thumb over your bruised cheek. “Excepting her. She is my woman.”

Silence fell over the yard before it burst in a storm of cheers. ‘Long live the King’ resounded deep into the Empire. You heard Jackson giving instructions to his servants to bring you to his room and summon all the talented healers of the Empire to check on your condition. He gave you one last soft look before he left to salute the people of the empire outside of the palace court.

You were untied and you would have fallen to the ground if a pair of gentle arms hadn’t caught you. You opened your eyes to see Guiren supporting your weight before lifting you in his arms to carry you inside the palace.

“Guiren…”

“Don’t worry. You will be okay…” he paused and pursed his lips in a cheeky smirk “Your Majesty.”

“What just happened?” you let out a low groan, every cut in your body burning. “Shouldn’t you follow him?”

“See, I do not know what happened because this is a side of Jackson I had never seen before, but one I greatly look forward to.”

You noticed Guiren did not talk hollowly, addressing Jackson as a royal, but rather with a never-ending amount of respect as a confidant, a friend and as King. “He explicitly ordered me to stay by your side and make sure you are offered whatever you need. He would have made sure of that himself but you know, duty cannot wait.”

Guiren put you down on a stool outside what you gathered to be the bath. He talked indistinctively with an old servant, instructing her on how to clean your wounds and what kind of ointment to use as a first-aid measure. He then knelt down to your level.

“I will be outside should there be anything you dislike or want. Don’t hesitate to call me, your majesty.”

“Stop calling me that.” You nodded your head at him and allowed yourself to be carried by the young women inside the bath. Guiren laughed. “I wouldn’t if I knew your name.”

 You had never been so pampered in your entire life. There were at least a dozen women constantly crowding around you, taking turns to provide any comfort necessary. Five young servants attended to your body, along with the head servant, who helped clean you thoroughly, after which she followed Guiren’s instructions devotedly. None of them said any words to you and you stayed in a mortifying silence. You took some initiatives to do things yourself but every time you did, you were met by an oppressive stare from the head servant.

The young girls dried your body with soft linen and the senior made a gesture for the tailors to come in with a large selection of fine dresses. Your ears were red from embarrassment but as you saw no window for escape, you chose a simple burgundy one, in case your wounds might open up again. After that, you were carried to King Jackson’s royal chamber and tucked in his bed successfully. You let out a long moan at the softness of the bed and you witnessed the servants panic collectively.

“It is fine.” You assured them and turned to the head servant. “Would it be possible to leave me rest for the time being? I am very tired.”

She looked at you and sighed. “If that is your wish, your majesty. I shall call the healers at a later time, then.”

You would have protested at the tittle everyone nonchalantly addressed you by. You hated being treated as a superior human being, just as you heard the title so carelessly abused in the past by the upper class. However, your eyelids were heavy and you couldn’t explore the subjects any further as you fell into a deep slumber.

 You had no idea how much time passed while you slept. You wrinkled your forehead and opened your eyes, an unknown source of warmth enveloping your hand. You tilted your head on the pillow and found Jackson sitting on the edge of the bed, both his hands holding your small one. He was not dressed in his distinctive royal attire anymore but in a casual black and golden outfit.

“How much did I sleep?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

You sighed and tried sitting up. Jackson rushed to help you and put all the existing pillows to your back to support your body. Your damaged shoulder was still stinging in pain.

“I understand the healers have yet to examine you.” Jackson spoke softly, worried by the unpleasant expression on your face. “Should I summon them?”

You were taught by your guild how to determine the condition of your body after a fight and you normally would not need any help in doing so. The torture you underwent left you with a big question mark in your mind, however. You nodded your head and Jackson called for the healers. Most of your own predictions were accurate. You had three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone, but your kidneys did not show any sign of failure for the time being and your wounds were skillfully mended to before they infected. All of them commented on the excellent build of your body and estimated a speedy recovery.

One of the healers handed Jackson a list of herbs and ointments you would have to use, along with a proper diet to ensure the building of anatomic tissue. You thanked all of them kindly as they went their way then turned to Jackson who visibly relaxed.

“Thank God.” He sighed. “Should I call for a meal? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t think I can eat.” You shook your head and looked at him. “Why did you spare my life? You should have let me die.”

There was a grim feeling that engulfed Jackson’s entire body at your words. He looked at you with the softest eyes you had ever seen and sighed deeply. “Stop saying such hurtful things.”

“It’s the truth. I am The Ghost—“

“I love you.”

You were perplexed by his words. The heart in your chest reacted instantly, hammering so uncontrollably fierce. “I knew ever since our first encounter that I’ve loved you, dear hell, even before that I am sure. I just knew. You captivated me with every little thing that you would do. I would have traded my life to know the real you that you refused so adamantly to show me. It was especially hard that night on the plain. I chose to respect your wish that you just might not want me the way I desired you.”

Tears were threatening to fall from Jackson’s eyes. “You appeared at the banquet and I swear I could have never mistaken you. And you were just…just perfect. I wanted you to be my Queen. It had to be you and no one else. It occurred to me I had been waiting for you my entire life and now I know why. The entire Universe conspired to help me find you.”

You started crying before you knew it. You were sobbing quietly, the droplets falling from your eyes with comfortable ease. Jackson was smiling through his own tears as well, taking your face in his hands to wipe away your sadness. “I knew you were lying to me. These beautiful amber eyes sold you out.”

Jackson wrapped his arms around you protectively, ever so gentle as to not hurt you. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and cried peacefully. Every tear shed felt like medicine; you were so content with not having to hide anymore that you could not stop until you had no more tears left to cry.

“I am so sorry, Jackson. I am sorry. I love you too, so much.”

Jackson caressed your hair, curling his fingers through its softness. He pulled back to kiss the crown of your head. “I fell in love with a woman whose name I do not know. And I greatly wish to call you by your name.”

You nodded softly and leaned into his chest. The sound of his heart beating was so calm. “Y/n. Y/n, L/n. Also professionally known as The Masked Ghost.”

“Y/n…” he repeated quietly and all of a sudden your heart calmed down to Jackson’s own rhythm. Him calling your name felt immensely right, a harmonious sound that no other living creature could reproduce. You realized what was missing from you; it was the same person you kept on denying, the only one who was worthy of calling you by your name. It came as a revelation that you and Jackson have been destined to find each other, destined to do great things together.

“Say, Jackson.” He pulled back, placing you down gently back on the pillows. “Why is everyone calling me ‘your majesty’?”

“Oh, that.” Jackson chuckled and got out of bed to put out some of the candles. “I think that because I endearingly called you ‘my woman’…things happened.”

You blinked a couple of times to accommodate yourself to the lack of light. “I might need some time to adjust to that.”

Jackson climbed in beside you pulling the covers over you. You felt him hesitate. “What do you mean by that?”

“Am I not your woman?”

You couldn’t see him but you knew he breathed in a smile. “Does that mean you will stay?”

Jackson helped you lower your body to the mattress and shifted on his side to face you. He was fighting a difficult battle with his urge to pull you to him and kiss every part of your body but he settled to just listening to your voice. For your own sake.

“I wish to continue my activity as the Ghost. Even if you reform the aristocratic class, there will still be criminals and thieves on the loose. People cannot conquer them on their own.”

Jackson agreed. “I figured you would say this. There is no one in the Empire besides me and Guiren who know you are the Ghost. I told a very convincing story to the Council.”

“So you do not want me to cease my activity?”

“How could I forbid you a part of who you are?”

Your hand found his and gave it a small squeeze. Jackson brought your hand to his lips to place a kiss to the back of it. “I need the Ghost to lead the Empire. I need her knowledge and her skills and the faith she gives people. I originally wanted to convince the Ghost to be my partner, until she decided it willingly. And I know better than to anger you.”

You giggled. “I promise I will teach you everything I know. I think I still have a duty to pay with the sabre.”

“Oh, talking about gifts, I almost forgot.”

You watched Jackson curiously as he draped his arm to the table by the bed, pulling its drawer. He took out a small wooden box. “Open it.”

You took the box in your hands and opened it to reveal a refined brooch. You recognized the design; you wanted to buy it personally from the foreign merchant but it had been promised to the royal family. You smiled widely. “Thank you, Jackson. I actually wanted to have it for myself and I was so disappointed to hear it was a lost cause.”

“My father gave it to me saying I should give it to the woman I picked at the banquet. I think that woman picked me, instead.”

Jackson smiled at the sight of the pink hue on your cheeks. He put the box back into the drawer and nested himself beside you, not letting go of your hand. “Tell me another story.”

You hummed and relaxed your body. His hand in yours was anchoring you to reality. A heavenly reality. You would have to learn to adapt to the royal life but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for those you swore to protect when you put on the mask. You would have to settle your affairs with the guild and show them the new path you were forging, reassure them and the folk The Masked Ghost was still a servant of the people. But you had a good partner walking by your side every step of the way.

“Allow me to tell your majesty the tale of The Masked Ghost.”

[carnistcervine]

Cyberpunk Avatar RPG

Wouldn’t it be cool if there was a cyberpunk Avatar RPG?

[Image Description- A logo that says “AVATAR Neon Lights in the Eternal Night” “AVATAR” is done in a classic 80′s chrome style, and “Neon Lights” and “Eternal Night” are done like neon lights. Raava’s diamond dots the “i” in lights, and Vaatu’s diamond dots the “i” in night. The phrase is set over a starry night sky.]

[Video Description/Transcript-

A woman pants a few times, out of breath. She pauses, and hesitantly turns around. Behind her is an ominous tree with a creepy glowing orange object in it looking like an eye. We cut back to the woman who has turned around and is facing the tree.

Next we cut to a simple game scene where the woman and the tree face each other. There is some simple game gui displayed on the screen. A dialogue box is open.

“A strange tree in the middle of the room regards you carefully. You stare back into a glowing object in the tree’s hollow that you can only assume to be it’s eye. you become transfixed, gazing deep into the strange hollow as the soft hum of neon lights and the strange, heartbeat-like ticking fade into the background.

Suddenly, a voice emanates from somewhere. It is low, but commanding. It calls to you...”

Another dialogue box with a portrait of the tree and labeled “???”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? You seem... different from the usual humans that bother me. Yes, you don’t wear that hideous outfit and you seem to carry yourself differently...”

Another dialogue box

“...

That tremor in your mortal core...

...

You aren’t supposed to be here, are you?”

Another dialogue box but with the woman and the label “Ember”

“...”

Another dialogue box for “???”

“Do not worry, I am not going to raise any alarms. Quite the opposite, actually. You see, I require your assistance. I have been imprisoned here for well over 10,000 years, and if that wasn’t bad enough, in the past few hundred years humans have come across my prison and decided to exploit me for their own gain. They’ve been draining me for hundreds of years. Please. If you consider yourself an ally of spirits, HELP ME.”

Dialogue options for Ember

“>[Ominous] “I don’t know...”

[Accepting] “Sure...”

[Mean] “Not my problem...”

[Silence] “...””

The ominous option is chosen and this dialogue box from Ember appears.

“I dunno, you seem pretty ominous to me.”

Another dialogue box from “???”

“So, I don’t deserve your assistance because you find me scary??

I deserve to be in pain then.

Wow.”

Ember responds

“That’s not what I said.”

??? replies

“It was implied.

Ember’s dialogue box:

“No it- Look. I don’t even know your name.”

??? now known as Vaatu replies.

“My name is Vaatu. I am an eternal spirit. I have watched the sun’s violent birth, and will be here for it’s burning end. I have existed before time began, and have played role in the shaping of the very universe itself.

My counterpart trapped me in here so she could shape the world without my input. The humans are draining me of my power and I’ve been in agony for centuries. Is that good enough for you?”

Ember’s dialogue options:

“[Kind] “You poor thing...”

>[Accepting] “Sure...”

[Mean] “Not my problem...”

[Silence] “...””

Accepting is chosen.

“Sure. Why not.”

Vaatu replies,

“So, you’ll help me?”

Ember’s options:

“[Accept Quest] “Of course.”

[Deny Quest] “No.”

>[Inquire] “What about me?”

[Silence] “...””

Inquire is chosen.

“That depends... What’s in it for me?”

Vaatu responds:

“Hmm... What’s that you mortals are always prattling on about? Morality?

Do it because it’s “the right thing to do” or something...”

Ember’s dialogue options:

“[Accept Quest] “Fair.”

[Deny Quest] “No thanks.”

>[Assuming] “Bold of you...”

[Silence] “...””

Assuming option is chosen.

“Bold of you to assume I care about doing the right thing.”

Another narrating dialogue box appears.

“There is a silence. Annoyance rolls off of Vaatu in waves. You almost expect the tree hollow to narrow at you.

But instead he replies:”

Vaatu’s reply-

“Fair enough. Help me, and you will be rewarded... quite handsomely.

Do you find these terms agreeable?”

Ember’s dialogue options:

“>[Accept Quest] “Sure.”

[Deny Quest] “Not good enough.”

[Tease Him] “I dunno...”

[Silence] “...””

The quest is accepted.

“Sure. Why not?”

The dialogue box closes and a pop up appears. Saying that the quest log has been updated.

Another dialogue option appears indicating that the player has chosen to interact with Vaatu again.

“Soo, how exactly am I supposed to free you?”

Vaatu replies:

“Well, ending the drain of my energy would be a great start.

Occasionally humans will come in here and check these strange electrical vines for anomalies. Sometimes talking about a “system overload.” It seems this would take their whole set up down. Maybe look into that.”

The dialgue box closes and the characters continue their idle animations for a few more seconds as the video ends.]

Like, that’d be pretty sweet huh?

Anyway, here’s a thing I’ve been working on for past couple weeks. It’s gonna be a long one, so lots of concept art, vids, and descriptions below the cut.

So, anyway, I kind of got this idea for a cyberpunk Avatar RPG fangame and did some concepts and mockups for it. :D

A working title I came up for it was Avatar: Neon Lights in the Eternal Night. The main idea/driving force of the plot is that humans are exploiting Vaatu/The Tree of Time as a sort of infinite clean energy source. And well, while the energy gotten doesn’t cause runaway greenhouse effects that would devastate the planet’s climate, it has upset the spirits, and caused major metropolitan areas to be cloaked in eternal darkness. Also, over the past few hundred years, the physical realm and spirit world have been drifting further and further apart, creating a void/rift realm between the two. And if that weren’t bad enough, the world governments are corrupted and run by big business, and their iron will is enforced by the corrupted police systems.

So you’d have to deal with dark/corrupted spirits, bad cops, evil corporations, and uncaring governments. :’D

My idea for the main game is that you can either choose a preset character or create your own character from scratch. You can choose your gender, bending ability(including being a nonbender!), national alliance(which determines where you start), your appearance, starting stats(make your character as balanced or min-maxed as you want) among other things.

Here’s a GUI mockup I made for the character creator, it’s very basic, only a first draft but it gets the basic idea across. I hope. :’D

[Image Description- A simple gui mockup for an RPG game. It shows the options for naming, gender, ability, choosing an alignment to a particular nation. It also has unshown tabs for looks and stats. There is a window for finalizing the character open, asking “Is this your true form?” A yes or no option is given.]

I’m not 100% on this look/design, but what I was thinking was that the character creator could be split into three tabs- Bio, Looks, and Stats.

Bio would be your name, gender, bending ability(you can choose nonbender!), and which nation you align with. There’s also an option to be unaligned(the yin-yang like symbol), and you’d be offered some info about your ability/nation combo. Like information about the Fire Nation if you choose to be a Fire Nation firebender, or even info about nonbenders in whatever faction you choose, or how people of other bending types exist/are treated by your chosen faction. Like how waterbenders live in the Fire Nation, or firebenders live in the Water Tribes.

I am considering adding the swamp tribe and splitting the Water Tribe into the Northern and Southern variants, but again, this gui thing is just a first draft. :’D

For looks, you’d choose your characters skin color, hair color and style, eye color, as well as from a few small cybernetic options. Of course, you could have a character with no cybernetics as well.

With stats, you’d choose your starting stat distributions. I’m thinking that I’d have stats like strength, bending, speed, agility, and maybe even stats like charisma or spirituality. Charisma would effect your character’s ability to interact with others, and spirituality would affect their ability to interact with spirits or connect to their patron deity.

Someone who isn’t very spiritual wouldn’t have much of a connection to their deity and isn’t likely to be blessed by them however they’re more resistant to the effects of negative spirit energy and dark spirits. Meanwhile, someone who is highly spiritual would receive buffs and bonuses from their patron deity, but would also be much more vulnerable to dark spirits.

Also yes, the character creation screen is absolutely your character standing there as Vaatu ominously stares at you in the background.

Also here’s how I picture the character creator minus the GUI-

[Video Description- A short video of a character standing in front of the Tree of Time, doing an idle animation. The video looks very reminiscent of PSx style rendering.]

Here are some character models I’ve done thus far~ (They’d probably end up as preset characters)

[Video/Image descriptions- A simple idle animation of a woman swaying slightly from side to side. After that are a series of screenshots to show off her design. She has brown skin and dark turquoise eyes. Her hair is a slightly darker brown than her skin. She wears a dark purple hazmat/wetsuit type deal. She has dark blue gloves and boots with cyan tops. The boots also have a stripe going down the front. The wetsuit has a cyan collar and a design on the front that looks a little like a fishbone or a pelvic bone with a few vertebra. She has cyan water symbols on her shoulders, and has a water tank on her back. The water tank also has a water symbol on it. She has a dark purple gasmask with white markings over the eyes and nose, cyan filters, and fancy-looking lenses.]

I don’t really have a name for her, I just made the design on the fly, and called her “Cyber Water”. :p I really ended up loving her design though, and her idle. Like it’s just a simple sway/shift weight from foot to foot, but I quite like how fluid she looks, and the way here ponytail swings so nicely~

For her design I kind of got this idea of a hazmat/wetsuit type thing. While, unintentional, I do really like how the marking on her front kind of looks like a fishbone/pelvis and spine. I feel like it kind of adds to the hazmat type effect. Also, I meant for the white on her gasmask to be shine, but it ended up looking like snow/markings, and well, I actually really like the effect it gives actually! She also has a tank of water on her, so she also has some element to use. I haven’t decided whether the water should be tainted so it poisons the people she attacks or purified so she can drink/heal with it should the need arise.

I also really like her face, I feel like I’m getting better at texturing faces. My only regret is that I keep forgetting to add some hair around the edges of her face so her hairline isn’t so awkward/abrupt.

Also yes, I did make her hair danglies droplet shaped on purpose. I couldn’t help myself. :3

[Video and Image Descriptions- A young woman sways slightly once, and taps her foot impatiently twice. Next are a series of screenshots showing off her design. She has lightly tanned skin, dark hair with green highlights, neon green eyelashes, her left eye is normal and dark green, her right eye is cybernetic and looks like it’s made from a smoothed emerald. Her face is dotted with neon green crystal freckles, she has a silver nosering and snakebites, as well as earring with the same crystals that make up her freckles. She wears a dark green tunic with a gold collar, and golden Earth Kingdom symbols as accents down the front. The bottom is lined with neon green symbols. The symbols don’t mean anything, they just look cool. Her hands are robotic, and she has brown pants that are tucked into bluish-green boots.]

LORD. I had WAY too much fun with this one! Her idle is by far my favorite! That little foot tap. I just, it’s such a small thing but it adds so much character. <3 Also it’s just cute as hell~

Her face is also my favorite. Like, I love her creepy, crystal eye, her nose ring, crystal freckles, even just the way her face turned out. <3 <3 Like, I’m gushing but I’m super proud of her~ Like my idea for her is that she kind of takes body mods to the next level and has crystals implanted into her face, giving her crystal freckles.

Also she got robot arms/hands.

I have more characters, but I’ve reached my video limit, so rip.

I mean, I’ll just make a second post with the other three I’ve made, no big deal.

butsneakpeek

[Image Description- A screenshot preview of five cyberpunk style benders.]

I’ve made three levels/environments so far~

The Tree of Time-

Once a part of the sacred balance of the realms and a keystone holding the two worlds together, as well as a prison to keep Vaatu from reeking havoc upon the world, this place has since been exploited by an enterprising group of humans who decided to use the tree and it’s hapless occupant to power the world and it’s vanities. Hundreds of years later, both the tree and Vaatu remain as a source of infinite energy for mankind, with the cost being the slow spread of eternal darkness and chaos. While Vaatu isn’t happy about his predicament, he is an eternal being. He bides his time, waiting for his inevitable freedom...

[Image Description- Multiple screenshots of a cyberpunk take on the Tree of Time. The first two are rendered in unreal with dark purple lighting and some PSX shaders for some good old PSX crunch. The last three are screenshots from Maya with neutral lighting. The level’s ceiling is a downward pointing cone of many black cables/wires connecting into the top of the tree. The tree itself is also covered in black wires with red lights. Vaatu peeks out from the tree’s hollow. With the way the model is designed, the tree hollow looks like an eye that follows the person looking at it.

Because it is.

The tree sits on a red platform with it’s roots entangled in wires coming up from the floor. Tall, grey metal walls surround the tree, they are all adorned with the symbols of the elements along with a symbol for light and a symbol for dark.

Ember is also there because Vaatu needs an emotional support firebender and Zuko wasn’t available.]

The Jasmine Dragon-

The Jasmine Dragon is a teashop opened and ran by everyone’s favorite proverb giving, tea drinking, fire-breathing Uncle. It sits comfortably in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se, many patrons describing the tea served there as divine, and something to experience at least once before you die. Being an old retired general and ex-crown prince of the Fire Nation, Uncle knows how to lay low in the public eye and hide his cards well. Which is why, despite not appearing on the radar of the Dai Li, Uncle has managed to create safe space for those rebelling against Ba Sing Se’s authoritarian regime.

[Image Description- Multiple images of a more modern take on The Jasmine Dragon from ATLA. The first two are renders from Unreal, with that good ol’ PSX crunch. The rest are screenshots from Maya, which is why they’re actually legible. The walls are a beige color, there are many cream colored tables surrounded by green chairs. There are two rectangular windows at the front with a long table and sofas for customers who want to look outside as they drink. There are also two sets of two smaller hexagonal windows on either side of the restaurant. Down the center isleway there is a green rug with a dragon design on it. The walls are also adorned with many deep green posters, depicting earth symbols or dragons. In the employee’s only backroom there is a counter with a table and a few shelves as well as a couch for employees(Zuko) to rest while on break. There are red posters in the back room and a red backdoor for emergency exits. The Earthbender girl is featured in the first two screenshots. Ember can be seen in the Maya screenshots. She likes the boba tea.

Here’s what all the posters would say if Carnist wasn’t poop at writing Chinese.

-Earth is strong

-Jasmine Dragon

- It is better to go for three days without food than one day without tea.

-Fire

-Fire is fierce

-Exit

-The world [all under heaven] is guided by one.

-Fuck the police.]

Convexity-

As the rift between the material and spiritual planes widens, an airlock of sorts has been created. A void between worlds, created by the imbalance, and shifting of spiritual energy and physical matter.

Yes this place was inspired by convexity from The Legend of Spyro. :’D

[Image Description- Multiple screenshots of dark hexagonal stones with purple/pinkish energy flowing through them. The stones appear to be floating in an empty void, however once one looks down, a spiraling galaxy or maybe a quasar can be spotted.

Also Ember is there.

She really gets around.]

Finally, here’s a bunch of concept sketches-

[Image Description- Several concept sketches depicting a cyberpunk Gaang, the Krew, and even the best Avatar: Wan.]

One last thing I feel I should mention- I wasn’t planing on making a fangame, but if this post gets 150 notes or the video at the top of the post gets 150 likes, or both, I’ll make a functional demo and make the project open source with my assets and such also available for download.

I’m making the game, lol.

Credits-

Character models were made from Jugapugz’s lowpoly base

Aight, I desperately need sleep, so I’ll post the other three characters tomorrow. And I’ll update this post a better description for the concept sketches. Until then, thanks for checking this out~

[guardiantempest]

Learning With Manga: Riyo’s Udon Servants

Y’know, for a gag manga, Riyo has put in a lot of thought obscuring his Servant’s identities and giving out only hints throughout the comic’s run. The first three Servants (Rider, Assassin and Berserker) had their biographies spelled out in the print bookbut not their actual names (not that it’s needed, the hints were big enough).

I’m saying Udon Servants because they were apparently made by mixing Udon dough with Grail mud.

Due to the ridiculous amount of images, I’ve added a cut.

EDIT: I posted this without the cut. Oops. EDIT 2: Changed some wordings

Rider

Okay, pastel-colored bunnygirl. No specific identity tied to a rabbit (that I know of) so her appearance is a red herring. Could be anyone at this point.

Passion for filmmaking. There are a lot of influential movie people throughout history from old to new. At least the set equipment implies a director.

Severe hatred of Thomas Edison? Well, I guess that narrows it down to more old-timey directors. Back in his time he screwed over a lot of people, including many foreign filmmakers by plagiarizing their works.

A Trip to the Moon? There’s only one director who has that in his repertoire and that is Georges Méliès. That probably explains her outfit as a the rather-tangential nod to moon rabbits. Her Noble Phantasm is apparently a loooot of her film reels...made out of very volatile nitrate (which destroys Chaldea in the process). She also references older films like Purple Noon when chatting with Olga.

Assassin

Okay, woman with a gun, presumably with lingerie? Perhaps she’s a secret agent, or a modernized take on those assassin seductresses. Throughout the comic she’s shown to be adept with information gathering.

Definitely affiliated with spycraft. I don’t know any woman involved in such line of work (the one female secret agent I know is Nancy Wake, who isn’t). However this is Fate and genderswaps can be a thing. That O&C provides a pretty big hint to her identity. According to Google, it can stand for “Official and Confidential” affiliated with the one and only J. Edgar Hoover. Y’know, now that her identity is revealed in that tweet above, the comic’s art style makes it vague whether she’s really a genderswap or just crossdressing. Yes, the FBI did have a brief history of crossdressing to catch perps. Too bad her Noble Phantasm is practically useless to those who don’t care about keeping secrets.

It’s kinda funny how Riyo gives all his Servants personality quirks, like Melies’ seething hatred to Edison and occasional lapses to violent solutions. I guess this quirk is meant to be more “gap moe”, kinda like that Yakuza househusband? It’s really endearing. Still, I think Olga scored a keeper. In a standard Grail War she can be pretty useful if deployed correctly (and maybe easier to work with than Mata Hari).

I like her suit, I hope it’s one of her ascensions.

Berserker

Woah, she big. There are a lot of significant giants in mythology, and her modernized appearance provides less hints than expected. She ate Nursery Rhyme several pages later and becomes a mainstay in the Children’s Kingdom.

Keep in mind this is before All the Statesmen event on JP, but that blue ox(?) is a clear indicator to who she is: Paul Bunyan, North American folklore figure. This doesn’t come off as a surprise to us since we already had said event spelling it out for us. Unlike her murderous portrayal in the comic though, in-game she’s a total sweetheart who just wants to help...by terraforming any wild terrain in the name of civilization.

Lancer

We first see Lancer impaling Gudako in a comic. The folks in the livestream joked that she’s genderswapped Van Helsing. It seems to make sense, showing that spike. But they clarified that it was a joke so that’s out of the window.

Something of value? She’s referring to fossils. What about the lightning? It’s a reference to her real life counterpart who survived a lightning strike. That’s right, this woman is Mary Anning! A servant who’s not a genderbend this time!

Totally a raging lesbian. I’m not sure if that’s historical, a reference to a recent biopic, or merely a personality quirk. Maybe it’s an extrapolation to her network of women. One of her skills (Sea Lily Charisma) does let her attract women to help her out. Her canine companion is very cute, at least.

She does have a point. As a Lancer she wields giant prehistoric fish. From the speculation I saw on Reddit, I think it might be a reference to a manga/doujin of her being a mage and can summon living counterparts of her fossil. Her Noble Phantasm wasn’t showed because she got tag-teamed by two Sabers before she got to use it.

Archer

A cowgirl! There are quite a few notable wild west legends like Billy the Kid. This one looks like she has animal ears, or just really weird hair. Using a rope and lasso is indicative of “generic cowgirl”, for a Heroic Spirit to wield it means she must be known for using it.

Coyotes, huh? That pretty confirms it: this cowgirl Archer is Pecos Bill, raised by coyotes and most famous for lassoing a tornado (then riding it). According to the print book, one of her personal skills is Rodeo, which allows her to ride something and not fall off (but it’s in no way similar to the Riding skill). Yeah, being raised by coyotes pretty much translates to coyote animal ears...and feral instincts.

I remember reading on Reddit that one of Bill’s feats is shooting down stars, so that might be why she’s an Archer. Riyo sure is drawing from a lot of western influences.

Saber

Well this is a curveball. The very distinct attire should narrow it down though I don’t know which culture seems most appropriate. While there are more than a few pregnant women in mythologies, the comic clarifies that the real Servant is the unborn baby and the mother is just tagging along.

Well, that’s certainly something. I remember reading somewhere that back in the old ages, saunas are used instead of hospitals for childbirth in snowy regions of Europe. The unborn Servant has a Courtship skill that causes him to hit on almost every female he comes across.

There are a lot of guesses for his identity, one of which is Väinämöinen. A demigod who spent a very long time in the womb, can speak while in there, and was born an old man. The evidence feels shaky and debate rages on.

Caster

Jesus Christ, Jeanne, what are you doing?! I just added this page because it’s hilarious.

Mouse maids! A miracle that they survived getting chopped up into bits! It’s rather vague on who they are, guesses include the Rolling Riceball (which is just Benienma’s story) and Ratatouille, funnily enough. Most of their appearances so far is just pandering for Gudako (giving Onigiri, enabling the WiFi, providing Dakimakuras) as an effect of one of their Personal Skills (Servitude).

Their profile says that this isn’t their true form (maybe as a consequence of getting turned to noodles). Their Territory Creation should allow them to make a dreamland and provide anything, but for now all they can make is a good-enough kitchen and onigiri.

Another Personal Skill is Reproduction, which allows them to rapidly increase their numbers when left alone. Nonstop. This can get out of hand fast. People in the comment section were speculating various rat-related myths, primarily ones with a swarm theme.

Although it seems the rats are up to something.

Well that’s terrifying. A guy on Reddit assumed that the mice is connected to Raigo, the accursed monk. I thought it was a very dark take on a folklore/fairy tale, something about mice fattening up someone to eat them.

Okay, the mallet and the sack is definitely a clue. Apparently that represents Daikokuten, who is frequently portrayed with mice near him. I understand what they were trying to do. All this time they were trying to build up for their true power. A god of good fortune and/or prosperity is not to be messed with, especially if he’s currently incarnating RIyo Gudako as a pseudo-servant.

I think their Modus Operandi is pretty horrifying, yet also makes sense. A Master cannot simply summon a god under normal circumstances but summoning its herald(s) who, in turn, will make way for their patron deity seems totally fair.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

99, 37, 38? Ahkmenrah smut maybe? Little spice? Possible interruption?

I’ve gotten a few requests for a more dom!Ahk, so I’m gonna try that with this request—hope you like it bc I had a friggin’ blast writing it!

Warning: Lotta smut! Def NSFW!

* * * * *

“You’re just soadorable—ah!” you growled out in frustration. “I need to just … bite you,” you said as you lifted Ahkmenrah’s hand to your mouth and gently bit down on his knuckle, his eyes widening a little but his mouth pulling into a smile.

You were settled on the sofa in the break room at the museum, the TV chattering in the background while you sat, playfully perched, on your boyfriend’s thighs.

“Because your feelings overwhelm you, you must bite me?” Ahk asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.  

You laughed, kissing his knuckles before letting his hand return to its place on your hip.

“You’re just so cute, Ahk. Do you know that feeling, like when you see a kitten and you just want to hug it and squeeze it because you are so overwhelmed by its cuteness?”

“Um, I am not sure I—”

You rolled your eyes but still held your smile.

“It’s a thing, I swear. And it’s called cute aggression. Something, or in your case, someone, is so cute you just wanna squish them until you can’t squish them anymore.”

Ahkmenrah continued to puzzle through your explanation.

“So, I inspire the same feelings within you as when you see a kitten?”

“Yes!” you shouted, proud Ahk made the connection, but as you began to babble on about the cuteness of kittens, you were oblivious to the shift that overcame your boyfriend. His body began to tense as he straightened and his face smoothed out to be expressionless, his mouth drawing into a thin line.

“Y/N, I would like to go to your place,” Ahkmenrah interrupted, his tone steady and serious.

You raised your eyebrows and shrugged your shoulders. This wasn’t an uncommon request when Ahkmenrah felt stifled by the museum and wanted a change of scenery or if he wanted to spend the night having slow, lazy sex with you instead of just engaging in a quick one-off somewhere around the museum.  

“Alright. And Aliyah is out for the night if you’re feeling so inclined,” you said, giving Ahk a wink as you slid off his lap while silently thanking your roommate for being such an extrovert that she was hardly ever around on the weekends.

“Let me go grab your change of clothes—"

“That will not be necessary,” Ahk cut you off as he stood and started for the exit. “Come.”

“Uhh, Ahk, are you sure you—”

But he was already gone, the door that led to the backstreet behind the museum banging shut, leaving you curious as to what caused his sudden shift in behavior.

Once you caught up with him, you tried to ask him if something was wrong, but he shrugged you off until you just stopped asking.

Even though you didn’t live far from the museum, the distance you travelled was enough for the two of you to get a fair share of chuckles and snaps of pictures, but this was New York City after all. Someone dressed in something unconventional wasn’t exactly newsworthy.

You let Ahk into your apartment and when you turned around, his body was in something you could only describe as a power stance. His legs were spread to match the width of his shoulders, his arms were crossed, and his face was an unreadable mask.

It was unbearably sexy to see him looking so … regal. The energy radiating from him made it seem as if the word were his for the taking, as if this tiny New York City apartment could barely contain him.

When he spoke, you jumped, startled from your thoughts.

“Approach me.”

The deep, powerful tone of Ahkmenrah’s command shot straight between your thighs.

You were familiar with ancient Egyptian life, having done your research once you and Ahk grew close, and it occurred to you that perhaps for the first time, you were seeing the man once revered as a god before you. Right now, thisman was not your soft and kitteny sweetheart. This was the man who was once the king of the greatest civilization in the world.

“Kneel,” Ahkmenrah commanded once you were nearly toe-to-toe.

You dropped to your knees and you became aware of your increased heartbeat as you were now face to face with Ahk’s pelvis, and at the thought of what was beneath his shendyt, your breaths became shallow and your cheeks colored with a flush of desire.

“Remove my belt.”

Your fingers acted of their own accord, unclasping the ornamental buckle and gathering the fabric as it slid from his hips.

“Untie my shendyt.”

You willed your hands to remain steady as you reached up to undo the knot. It felt like you were about to see his cock for the first time and you almost chuckled at your own nervousness.

As Ahkmenrah’s shendyt fell to the floor, you looked first at his soft cock, then up and into his eyes. His face was still an unreadable mask, but you shivered when his lips spoke the next command.

“Take me in your mouth.”

You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and another rush of warm arousal flooded you as you took his soft cock in your mouth. There was something about pressing your face into the coarse hair at the base of him, something about fitting all of him in your mouth as you sucked and swirled your tongue around his cock that made you feel powerful, desirable.

You felt Ahkmenrah tap the side of your cheek and you looked up.

“Open. I want to watch myself harden on your tongue.”

Another wave of arousal crashed over you as the image of you on your knees while Ahk’s cock swelled in your mouth flashed through your mind at his command.

You continued to bob your head, your mouth open as you slid his cock between your lips until it soon became too much for you to take his entire length as he swelled against your tongue.

When he was hard, you began to suck his cock in earnest, teasing him with your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, and bringing your hand up to grip his base. Ahkmenrah made no noise, the salty trail of precum leaking from his tip was your only indication of his continued pleasure.

Before either of you could register the noise of the key in the lock, Aliyah flung open the door and stood stock still in the doorway as she took in the sight before her.

Ahkmenrah closed his cape over the both of you, stuttering, “Th-This is not what it looks like.”

Aliyah laughed as she stepped in from the hallway and crossed to the little end table by the couch, scooping up her charger.

“I’m pretty fucking sure this is … exactly what it looks like. Nice outfit, by the way.”

“Well, this is awkward,” you mumbled from under Ahkmenrah’s golden cape.

Aliyah laughed again as she headed out the door, turning back to say, “I’ll stay at Nikko’s tonight. Carry on, lovers!”

This time, you heard the door latch and the turn of Aliyah’s key as she locked the deadbolt. Ahkmenrah opened his cape and looked down at you. Even though his cheeks were still tinged with a flush of embarrassment or maybe it was just from the surprise, his gaze still radiated the same powerful, determined energy as prior to your interruption.

You were just about to return your mouth to his cock when he gathered up a handful of your hair and tugged you back.

“Go to the bedroom. Undress. Wait for me.”

“Yes, my king,” you said, looking up at him as you tested out the submissive phrase.

Ahkmenrah’s cock had softened a little after Aliyah’s interruption, but at your words, he hardened again.

You slowly stood, careful not to touch him, and you shot him a searing look before you stepped around him and walked to the bedroom.

As you undressed, you thought about what could have brought out this side of Ahkmenrah. You certainly were not complaining, but it was gnawing at your curiosity. And then, the realization hit you so suddenly you had to suppress a giggle. You had called him cute! Or maybe it was that comparison to a kitten?

You laid down on the bed, settling against some pillows as you decided you would test your theory when Ahk eventually came back to the bedroom. Speaking of which, it felt like an eternity passed before a naked Ahkmenrah finally appeared in your doorway.

Ahk looked you over, head to toe, and you felt a blush creep up under his predatory gaze. He leaned against the doorway and slowly pumped his cock, his own thumb sliding over the bit of precum that had gathered.

All illusions of the control you thought you gained back by figuring out his trigger vanished as you watched his hand and thumb work. He kept his eyes on you, clearly letting you know you were the cause of his lust, but he still didn’t move into the room.

Your eyes unabashedly raked over his body, taking in his messy curls, tousled from removing his crown, and traveling across his beautiful face that housed a jawline erotic enough to make a conservative clutch their pearls. You reveled in the tone of his brown skin and the way it darkened around his nipples.

Your eyes travelled to the line of dark hair that began just a little below his belly button and you took in his flat abdomen and the taught little muscles that shifted as he continued to lazily work his cock.

Your gaze continued to travel over his lean legs, the dark hair on them the same color as that little trail below his belly button, all the way down to the perfect slant of his Egyptian toes.

“You are so sexy,” you breathed, your own hand finding its way between your legs as you continued to gaze at Ahkmenrah.  

He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, finally pushing off the frame of the door and walking toward you. He grabbed the wrist of your hand that had made its way to your wet sex and brought the fingers of that hand to his lips.

You actually stopped breathing as he spread your fingers and dipped each one into his mouth, sucking off any wetness that he found.

“What was that?” he asked. “I am not sure I heard you.”

“S-s-sexy,” you stuttered. “You are so fucking sexy, Ahk.”

“What happened to, ‘my king’?” Ahkmenrah asked with a wicked gleam in his eye as he moved his hand between your legs, lazily spreading your folds and sliding his fingers up and down your soaked center.

You were damn near delirious with the need to come when Ahk began to press into your clit, his thumb moving in a subtle circle.

“I asked you a question,” he said, that same steady strength from earlier still in his voice.

You opened your mouth to answer but a moan escaped your throat instead. You shook your head and tried again, your hips pressing upward into Ahk’s hand.

“My king,” you groaned, your eyes shut, your hands fisted into the sheets, as you felt your orgasm building, fit to erupt with only a little bit more pressure. “Please, please, my king. Let me come.”

“You are so damn cutelike this,” Ahkmenrah said as he pulled his hand away.

You blinked your eyes open, shocked and panting, your pussy clenched in anticipation of the orgasm that was just ready to wash over it.

Ahkmenrah laughed at the expression on your face, and he grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed, lining your entrance up with his cock.

“I will never … call you cute … again,” you said slowly, your voice weak and hesitant.

Ahkmenrah shook his head no, indicating that it wasn’t calling him cute that bothered him.

“I must be certain my queen does not think me to be meek, kittenish, if you will,” he said, his eyes flickering from your face to the tip of his poised cock.

“I can assure you, I think you are the boldest, sexiest man I have ever met.”

“Then be sure to scream my name when I make you come,” he breathed as he entered you in one hard thrust.

And scream his name, over and over again, you did.

[thiscrimsonsoul]

{i am the caretaker of souls} Bit of a random rant below the read more about the headcanon question... what if Wanda developed psychosomatic colorblindness following DSMoM and could no longer see red?

So the 1994 movie Color of Night was on the other night and I hadn’t seen it in a very long time. I’ve always liked that movie, even though I know a lot of people have little good to say about it because of its sexual explicitness, uncomfortable discussions about childhood abuse, assault, and trauma, and its questionable portrayal of DID, but if you can look past the triggering content and exploitative feel at times, the plot was always one that interested me. I genuinely enjoyed it, although the ending is... emotionally rough. Jane March is an actress I feel has been so drastically underrated over the years too, because she’s great at expressing an array of harrowing emotions as well as vulnerability that somehow doesn’t come across as damsel-in-distress-ish. The combination of vulnerability and agency in her character in this movie is refreshing. If you like murder mysteries with a sexually-charged noir type feel in its unfolding, then check it out. But be warned of the potentially-triggering material I mentioned above.

The plot. Basically, a psychiatrist takes over running group therapy sessions from a colleague who was murdered, and in addition to trying to continue the patients’ therapy, he also tries to figure out who killed his friend. Around the same time he starts getting threatened himself by an unknown stalker, he meets and falls in love with an enigmatic woman who seems to not want him to know too much about herself. Plots and people and pasts become intertwined after that, and I don’t want to say any more because there’s a pretty significant twist at the end.

My point in mentioning it here is something that the psychiatrist experienced during the movie... psychosomatic colorblindness. He had suffered a previous trauma that had caused him to no longer be able to see the color red. Instead, everything that was supposed to be red was now a muted gray. Blood, for example, looked like gray paint to him. I haven’t seen the movie since I started watching MCU movies in 2018, so this time when watching it I thought to myself... what if Wanda suffered something similar post-DSMoM?

Imagine if the trauma of everything after the temple on Wundagore collapsed, everything she’d done, everyone she’d lost, and just the horrid truth of knowing she’d failed her boys and everyone else who believed in her... had caused Wanda to stop seeing the color red? As part of her brain’s response to all that trauma building up and then exploding, she wakes up after Wundagore (because we all know she’s not dead, come on, haha) and her outfit looks gray. She uses her powers... and her magic looks gray. It looks like smoke to her. Imagine how disconcerting and alarming that would be for her, because it’s been a part of her for so many years, and to see its color change to a dull gray, along with everything else that’s supposed to be red, would be alarming but also I’m guessing kindof depressing. 

I know this is such a random thing to latch onto, but because the color that was muted in the movie was red, it just automatically made me think of Wanda, because so much about her and that she does is associated with red. And just imagine... the Scarlet Witch... being unable to see the color red... *shrugs* I don’t know, it was just an idea that hit me and I kindof want to add it in, only because I think it would help punctuate this new stage of trauma she’s going through now, like... it would be an indicator of just how much the events of DSMoM affected her, that she would develop this psychosomatic ailment. It would also be poetically poignant and fitting, if Wanda wakes up disgusted with herself and her powers, depressed by the monster her boys in 838 looked at her as, if she then couldn’t see red. It’d almost be as if she is mentally, in a subconscious manner, rejecting her own magic and title by wiping the color red from her vision.

And the solution to it would be so nebulous because psychosomatic ailments can clear up in a few days, months, years... or never. And what “heals” them is different for everyone, because the damage is in the brain, in the mind, not in the body. There would be nothing wrong with Wanda’s eyes or vision, but rather it would be how her brain is interpreting signals from her eyes that would be affected. It’s a psychological ailment, not a physical one, and those can be very difficult to alleviate. So there would be no telling when, or if, Wanda would regain her ability to see red.

*shrugs again* No point to this rant other than that it’s something I found interesting that made me think of Wanda and what the implications of it would be for her. If anybody wants to do a thread on this or wants me to add this condition to an existing thread for Wanda, let me know. It would be something interesting to explore as far as how she reacts to it and how it affect her and her magic going forward.