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technospotatoes · 3 years

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FUNDY LORE ANALYSIS

Howdy, howdy friends! After about 6 hours of pure thinking, I have more Dream SMP brain rot-theory-analysis stuff for you! This week I’m on spring break, so unfortunately I’m not prolonging any assignments haha! Today my focus is FUNDY LORE >:) and I’ve sprinkled in a little IRL factoids for ya to enjoy!

Please lemme know your thoughts, opinions and theories-- and as always, it’s gonna be a long one!

Enjoy <3

TW/CW for brief mentions of derealization-- nothing in detail, just thought I’d let y’all know. Please be safe ily.

Fundy’s lore stream took place today, 3/30/2021. It's roughly 45 minutes, so if you have some time to kill, go watch it! It’s really well done, and his acting is incredible. I will give you a warning; it contains derealization. If you choose not to watch it, here’s a summary from Twitter! link

First, let’s talk about what we know of Fundy’s character so far.

Fundy’s story throughout the events of the SMP are quite tragic. A few key staples are...

1: the death and betrayals of both Wilbur and Schlatt, as well as the absence of Eret-- all of whom he viewed as father figures (Wilbur being his biological father, and Eret his adopted father who failed to show up at his adoption ceremony. Schlatt was a source of validation and approval for Fundy).

2: Jealousy of Tommy and Tubbo-- These two replaced Fundy’s position as Wilbur’s son during the L’Manburg eras, and Fundy became rightfully jealous towards them. He no longer felt valued by his father, and was only more negatively impacted when Wilbur made an attempt to mend that rift.

3: witnessing the rise and ultimate fall of L’Manburg-- and even assisting in its destruction with Niki.

Along with some other rocky encounters with his family members in the timeline, Fundy can be simply boiled down as a character with no stable relationships to his family, or those whom he considers family. However, he does deeply value his friends and the fun that he has with them-- which we can assume is one of his attachments (this will be important later). He takes pride in making mischief and carries a friendly persona… which makes him easily approachable.

He does carry valid reasons to instigate villainous acts-- but he instead chooses to remain neutral due to his fear of losing something else close to him.

I have a number of thoughts regarding Fundy’s character and his current lore, so enough stalling from me, and let's get into it!

Analysis of Stream:

The desert

When Fundy leaves his tower for the first time during the dream sequence, the world is no longer the SMP, but is replaced with a barren desert. From the title of the stream, we can infer that this desert represents Fundy’s Mind and contains the majority of what he thinks about. Deserts often symbolize loneliness or emptiness, and can also be synonymized with brutal honesty or survival. Fundy’s character is indeed alone (in terms of family), and has fought for his survival by being sly and mischievous through Schlatt’s reign of Manburg. Sand itself symbolizes the passage of time, or in other words, the inevitability of the future or truth. As we see in each of the 3 dream sequences, the mysterious bunker containing “truth” appears closer and closer to Fundy’s tower and also becomes more withered and worn on the inside, implying that Fundy cannot escape the coming of truth and future as time passes.

The desert itself contains a replica of the Camarvan from the old L’Manburg days-- likely a representation of Fundy’s childhood that he holds onto dearly, in spite of his past trauma. During the first dream sequence, the van even contains Wilbur-- perhaps to mock Fundy’s pain, or remind him of it. During the second sequence, Wilbur is gone, likely referencing Wilbur’s absence in Fundy’s life, or his death. During the 3rd dream sequence, the Camarvan is replaced with what looks to be a crater, or the aftermath of an explosion. This could possibly reference the ultimate destruction of L’Manburg (and the destruction of the van), or it could be foreshadowing of the destruction in the future…

Side theory, here! Tubbo just lost a nuke, and multiple people have vendettas against Dream / want him dead. The pit seemed like it was made out of black stone and obsidian, the same materials as the prison, so it is likely that this is an allusion to Dream’s possible escape.

Who is “He”?

On his 3rd visit to the odd bunker in his dream world, Fundy reads the 3rd book in the chest. Towards the end, this book warns him of a vague male character that Fundy should not join, or avoid at all costs. To quote the book…

“Do not join him. Whatever he asks of you. Do NOT join him. His plans aren’t as nice as they sound. His intentions aren’t what you think they are. He will use you. He will destroy you. Everything you ever loved, everyone you ever cared about. Do not join him.”

I bet a few characters instantly came to your mind as to who this person that Future Fundy is warning us about, and I’m going to list who I first thought it could be below:

Technoblade and the Syndicate. Now, I disagree with this option, even though Techno has the outright power to destroy anything and everything like he’s done before. However, because of the creation of the Anarchist Syndicate and their accommodating ideals, it would be out of his character or set of ideals to suddenly destroy Fundy’s attachments to purely demonstrate his power. Also, Fundy no longer represents any forms of government, so he does not pose a threat to the Syndicate.

I did theorize here that Fundy could be Harpocrates, but that would imply that he goes against the warnings of his future self. (Also not to mention the placement of this stream in the timeline would have to be much later in the past.) But the more that I think about it, the more likely it could be. It wouldn’t necessarily be out of character for Fundy to join the Syndicate and side with Techno against the warnings of his inner voice, but he has been a spy before…

BBH / the Eggpire. This is also not a likely option for our “he” character, because it is more likely that this dangerous person is not associated with a group such as the Syndicate or Eggpire-- in other words, he operates alone. The Eggpire has plenty of members and those who oppose it, even BBH tried to recruit Fundy and failed. Our “he” has not had an interaction with Fundy yet, and I don’t think that the Eggpire would make an effort to reach out to him again.

My theory is that Quackity is our “he” figure. As I’ve stated before (see my C!Sam post here), Quackity has proven himself to be an effective manipulator, and could easily persuade Fundy to join his side. Quackity has power over Dream at this time in the plot, and is using it to gain knowledge about revival. He could use his acquired learning from Dream to make a deal with Fundy through using Wilbur’s revival to appease his interest (and provide a chance at healing, given his tough past). Not to mention his cameo at the end of Fundy’s lore stream-- There’s plenty more involvement in the lore that we are going to see from Q.

The Mysterious Figure

During the final dream sequence of Fundy’s lore stream, he opens the door to his tower, only to see a dark figure, staring into the world… or rather, the absence thereof. This Figure has no other significant character details besides the black hood/cloak and no ign, so we have no evidence as to who it is. I’ve seen plenty of people theorize that this person could be BBH (because of the similarities in cloak design) or they could be the “he” Fundy’s logs are warning him about. But I disagree-- I strongly believe that this mysterious figure is neither of those options, rather, The Mysterious Figure is someone completely separate in this story. Here are a few people I think it could be:

Wilbur/Schlatt-- both of whom are dead, and could manifest inside Fundy’s mind as spirits or ghosts.

Dream-- he causes paranoia in many of the younger characters of the SMP, so I wouldn’t put it past him to haunt Fundy like he did Ranboo (the voice in his head).

Fundy-- a form of himself from the future, or a representation of his conscience (wants, desires, etc).

Or a guide/protector to Fundy’s mind-- we could see more of this figure if episodes like this stream occur in the future. A character similar to that of the Inbetween or Other Side.

It is important to note that at the end of the sequence, the Mysterious Figure chased Fundy up the tower in fear, causing him to sleep and escape the dream world. I think Fundy would only react this way if he felt directly threatened, so this figure is likely someone unknown and intimidating, or familiar and repulsive enough to cause behaviour akin to a sort of PTSD. It is possible that this figure doesn’t have malicious intent, because there was a bed placed on top of Fundy’s tower. The figure was likely supposed to guide Fundy to this bed to escape the dream world, but this encounter probably did not go according to plan, due to Fundy’s reaction.

His Internal Monologue

Through the presence of fear and doubt we can learn about the deeper parts and truths of a character. This is the case with Fundy: while he is distressed and afraid in his dream world, through the provided angst we learn about what Fundy truly wants. Fundy states that he wants this dream to end, and he wants to go back to his friends and his old life. He longs for the times where he can just have fun again and prank people, when his friends were there for him. Except, sometimes they weren’t. He states he would join parties and join groups only to watch them disappear as he started to get attached to them. Now, whenever the word “attachment” is uttered anywhere I immediately think back to Dream’s speech, perhaps Fundy is becoming more aware of what he could be endangered by.

Deja Reve

There’s no theory attached to this, just some super cool stuff I found. :)

The reveal of Fundy’s powers instantly set off a flag in my mind the second I heard it. His “powerset” or ability is one of foreshadowing, whatever he dreams about, could happen or is linked to the future. Now, the reason I bring this up is partly because I think it is cool, and it is actually a REAL thing. And I’ve experienced it. Let me introduce you to Deja Reve.

Deja Reve isn’t really a condition or illness, rather it is a “creepier” form of its more popular counterpart, Deja Vu. When translated directly from French, Deja Reve means “already dreamed.” This word is a descriptor for a specific sequence of events: you dream something, and it happens later, in real life. No, I’m not making this up, and yes, it is real. I’ve had this happen to me multiple times.

Deja Reve isn’t so simple as “i dreamt this so it will happen tomorrow”. In my case, I would have a particular dream, for example, I went to a Subway with my mom and she discussed with the manager about having my sister work at that location. The morning after I would forget the dream like any other, but many weeks later the exact event I dreamt would happen. I can remember it now, right down to the sandwich I ordered and the way my mom moved across the establishment to talk to the manager-- it was word for word, vision for vision. Each time Deja Reve occurs, I freeze, and I think I’m experiencing a second copy of life, or rewatching a movie. It's super weird, but cool. If something like this has ever happened to you, leave a comment below, I’d love to hear your experiences!

Now I bring this up because many people mistake these sorts of things as having foresight or being able to prophesize-- but it's not the same thing. Deja Reve occurs more often in the younger population, and becomes less and less active as one gets older. Because Fundy is still relatively young in the SMP timeline, I think that not only is this a cool ability set for him to have, but it makes sense for him psychologically as well. There is no clear cause or reason behind why individuals experience Deja Reve, but personally, I believe it has to do with the condition of your brain and it’s experiences to past trauma. Kids who experience trauma find elaborate ways to cope, and usually defer to their imagination. Due to the fact that most of Fundy’s trauma occurred while he was very young in the SMP lore, it is definitely plausible that his amplified, or “more woke” application of Deja Reve, is a product of his past.

Number Symbolism

I’ll keep this section short, because this post is already miles long, but similar to the previous section, this is something SUPER COOL that I noticed :]

Each book that Fundy reads has a specific number of pages… haha big whoop, Biz, that’s not weird. But did you know that some numbers have symbolism? Did you notice that the 3 books in each dream sequence each had 87 pages, which symbolize family, organization, and idealism? That number symbolizes what Fundy WANTS, but also what he’ll never get if he’s not careful. The first two times he read that book he didn’t finish it… He didn’t achieve his goal?

Did you also notice that the signed book had 22 pages? That number symbolizes redemption, intuition, emotions, duty and diplomacy-- qualities that oddly correlate to warnings. This number represents what Fundy will NEED to be, in order to survive his future. Also, a Catch 22… take that as you will ;)

Sidenote…

Ok this is the last mini section before the end, but another thing that immediately popped into my head during Fundy’s lore was the factor of derealization. Nothing major, but the other times we’ve seen this storytelling or manipulation technique used was during...

Ranboo’s Panic Room / Prison Visit-- believes derealization

Karl and escaping the In Between-- fights against derealization

Fundy’s notebooks-- questions derealization

I have a feeling that whenever derealization is being used, it’s intended to distract the character from the true evil, to prevent them from tracking their own course or fulfilling their own story… So I’ll be excited to see where Fundy takes his.

GAAAAAAAAAH IT’S DONE, FINALLY. And Congratulations! You made it to the end!! If you have any thoughts or theories, comment below, shoot me an ask or DM, I’d love to discuss with you! Follow me for more in-depth analysis content, I will be doing as many of these as I feel inspired to do in the future. :]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING <3

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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yukipri · 4 years

Text

Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Marco the Phoenix #Namur #Whitebeard Pirates #MarLu #longpost #long post #text headcanons #fic

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the7lords · 5 years

Photo

Sinful Indulgence (Part 2 of 9) Obey Me! Official Opening

First things first: they’re all so beautiful! So very, very beautiful!!

From left to right, they are seated:

Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Lucifer, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

In terms of rank:

4 - 2 - 3 - 1 - 5 - 6 - 7

Lucifer, as the eldest, strongest, and leader of the group, is placed appropriately at the center. Most interesting is how, on Lucifer’s left, they are seated down the rank 5-6-7 while on his immediate right it isn’t Mammon, 2, but rather Leviathan, 3. Leviathan is thus in the seat of highest importance to Lucifer rather than Mammon, who is considered to be, in at least one instance, Lucifer’s favorite brother.

We can also note how they are sitting when you approach:

Satan and Belphegor both sit cross-legged with an elbow on the inside armrest. They almost mirror one another like bookends, although Satan is in more of a lounge position. Belphegor sits with his hands resting on his lap while Satan touches his fingers to his chin, denoting thought or interest.

Mammon sits with legs apart and a noticeable forward lean. His elbows rest his knees and his hands touch in between. The image is blurry, but I would suggest his hands are steepled (there seems to be a triangular gap made by his fingers and thumbs) which is a very positive listening position. Out of all the brothers, he shows the most direct interest in you.

Leviathan sits with legs apart with an elbow on the armrest as he leans away from Lucifer. Same as Satan, his fingers touch his chin, showing thought or interest.

Lucifer sits like a king. He’s perfectly centered in his seat with his legs crossed and each hand on the arm rest. He gazes forward with his chin up, showing confidence and power. His shifting movements could convey anything from nervousness to restlessness to excitement.

Asmodeus takes up as little of his seat as possible compared to all his brothers. His legs are crossed and his hands rest in his lap.

Beelzebub sits with his legs apart and his arms crossed. A strong and intimidating yet also self-protective positioning.

While the opening pans out to show the brothers, we’re frequently brought back to Lucifer. His fingers drum on the armrest. He switches his crossed legs from left over right to right over left. It’s only after we’ve seen the others that we see his face up close. His straight posture and plain expression becomes a more casual, even a relaxed, lean. Now wearing a smile, he beckons you forward -- and then reaches out for your face. His hand covers your eyes and his smile does not waiver.

This is the only time we see Lucifer with red gloves in the opening. It is rather unusual as we only ever see Lucifer with red gloves when he’s in his true form:

His school uniform, which he is wearing in the opening scene, and his regular attire are always paired with black gloves:

A stylistic choice using the red to bring out his hands, most likely, especially considering Mammon has been tragically white-washed in this scene. For the gloves, it’s fun to consider it a stylistic choice that merges his two aspects into one neutral and visually appealing persona. Diavolo and Simeon still admire Lucifer as being just as beautiful as when he was called the Morning Star, but there are hints that Lucifer himself might lack pride in his demonic form.

Above the thrones, we see the flags are blank. The RAD task page (immediately below) and RAD proper (second image below, notably lightened for clarity purposes) give us animal imagery (a discussion which will be saved for another post):

Compared directly to the video:

Identical to the opening and RAD proper, the luminous moon is visible in the right windows. While the opening sequence gives us seven thrones of all equal rank, however, RAD has an additional seat positioned directly above Lucifer: a throne belonging the future ruler of all Devildom, Diavolo.

Thus it is only in the opening sequence where the seven fallen brothers are the rulers of themselves.

#my obey me #obey me #obey me shall we date #sinful indulgence series #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my screenshots #when i say rambling i mean rambling #this is a silly series but i'm just living my life lol

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bug13underscore · 4 years

Note

Transmasc Luke with nipple piercings you say? Tell me more 👀

what more would you like to know Anon? if there’s anything specific let me know!! 👀👀👀

just some of the ideas about the AU i guess (it started as being about trans Luke but then i got heavily distracted by other trains of thought so....enjoy!!! there’s a ton more under the cut)

any of the top-surgery stuff is from my vague memories of late night google searching and what I can recall from one of my IRL friends surgery, if any of this is wrong totally let me know!! i have not gone through top surgery myself, nor have i gotten nipple piercings lol

• Luke’s parents paid for him to get top surgery done, and it happened on his 17th birthday. Since they’re in about May-ish time, it’s about 3 months away from his 18th birthday and one year anniversary of this

• Despite having a piercing and tattoos of my own Im not totally sure that Reggie would’ve legally been able to sign for Luke to get the piercings but were just gonna pretend lol

• Luke playing as the bad-boy type for all of their high school increased because of the fact that everyone assumed he was a new kid, which he was more than fine with. Freshman-Reggie was definitely enamored with Freshman-Luke’s baby muscles in PE (then was very sad when he didn’t get Luke in his Sophmore gym)

• Luke’s nipple piercings are totally the ones with the little rainbow striped balls on the ends. This was 100% fueled by Reggie pointing out that Alex would be pissed upon finding out and Luke going “How can he be pissed if I’m hot and it’s gayer?”

• Luke and Carrie were definitely not friends in middle school, but after her fight on her first day he made his way into detention and slipped her an icepack for her fist. This led to them becoming a bad-kid duo (Alongside Bobby of course, Carrie didn’t just get this shit from nowhere.)

• Luke totally had one of those baby crushes on Bobby, although it was moreso wanting to be friends with him than anything romantic in this AU.

• After spending that detention with Carrie, Luke was totally dragged to the Wilson house and got to watch as Bobby dyed Carrie’s hair pink ~officially~ and when Bobby asked if Luke wanted a stripe of pink in his hair he agreed. (Although he was terrified at first though, ‘cause pink is for girls’ until Bobby was like “Nah man, pink is punk.”) (Yes I’m quoting Sacha’s instagram post, the kids totally right)

• After he got top surgery he totally anonymously donates his old binders to the local LGBT+ youth center. Not a soul knows about this, he can’t let people know he’s *good*

• Immediately after top surgery and being able to take the compression vest off he wears nothing but muscle tanks for the next 5 months, unless he can find a reason to be shirtless. This is especially tragic because his birthday is in August and so he’s only finally forced into real clothes in December after the 6th time he’s gotten sick.

• Luke and Carrie were totally joined by the other four earlier on in their senior year. Luke’s definitely not a “talk about my feelings” type of guy, so Carrie definitely has to push him to actually tell Alex and Reggie about him being trans “because you’re all so obviously, disgustingly in love that nothing you could do or say could ever change that, Luke.” Cut to him writing “My Name is Luke” in this AU rather than having a conversation and telling them. (Alex just hugs him and thanks him for telling them, for trusting them. Reggie’s just like “I thought we already knew this.” They call him a dork and drag him into the hug. If they happen to cry, nobody but the three of them knows about it.)

• Willie was extremely helpful as well. Willie is also totally trans masc in this AU, he/they Willie is the best shit. Willie is a lot more open about being trans than Luke is (Luke has since became more open) Reggie jokes that Willie is Luke’s “trans Obi-Wan”

• Part of me wants to say Luke picked his name because of Star Wars because I’m a geek but honestly he’d probably have picked the name because it was his grandfather’s name or something. He does let Reggie think he picked it because of Star Wars though

• Julie makes them all a bunch of friendship bracelets and when she gives him one with the trans flag colors he totally cries and is not at all subtle about it.

• Him and Julie are youngest-in-their-polycule groups and when the other tease them for being babies they jokingly threaten they’re gonna break up with them for each other.

#babble tag #jatp #julie and the phantoms #my writing tag #writing tag #bad kids au #trans luke is honestly good as fuck #rubs my grubby little nb hands together and looks to my favorite characters like:#gonna trans your gender now. because *I* say so

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where-s-all-blue · 4 years

Text

Self Insert AU for your chaotic crack fic needs

When you get transported into the One Piece Universe, you can't choose where you end up in nor in which time. Even your age might be jumbled up.

Depending on where you end up, your memories of your old life will disappear until the crew or group you are in is featured in canon.

If you make a joke about something, it's very likely that the universe will make it happen just to fuck you up. For reference, see C and R making up a lost island that sunk into the sea only for it to re-emergence randomly in the New World right in front of their eyes.

No matter what you do, you can't change the canon plot.

You don't have a plot armour.

Mod specific headcanons under the cut.

Onto the specific headcanons of C and R:

C ends up in the same town where Luffy meets Zoro, only days before it happens, hence her memories aren't that jumbled up, but she can't remember her real life friends. She pretty much joins them there and then.

C has the habit of saying cryptic things and accidentally revealing things beforehand, like when someone important is about to join the Strawhats whom she has joined. The crew thinks that she can see into the future.

She also tends to start crying when she meets people who are good but have tragic pasts. Luffy starts to use this as an indicator for people being nice.

During the timeskip, C ended up eating a devilfruit, her devilfruit was Neko Neko Mi, Model: Toyger ver Dwarf. This means that she is essentially a Toyger breed of a regular housecat, who happens to have dwarfism and thus will never grow up bigger than a kitten.

C uses her devilfruit to sneak around, get out of trouble and to get a free lift from her crew members. R uses his fruit power to intimidate people and to fight, he also uses it to go unnoticed while he naps in the dark corners.

The majority of people assume that she is max 14 years old due to her petite form and mischievous nature. However, when reaching Wano, she’s actually 18.

C’s outfit is modeled after a cow; she adores them as she finds them cute. She wears tiny horns on her head and a dotted over dress on top of her blue dress. Her cat form also keeps the horns on it.

Her fighting style includes using these horns to inflict damage. She also has learned how to use armament haki during her training.

She spent three months stuck in her cat form due to not knowing how to control it. She has managed to awaken her fruit powers, which doesn’t really help her much aside from giving her extra speed and durability.

During one of the early calls between C and R, they joked about her having the will of D. Later on she learned that she infact DOES have that secret name and she actually carries the will of Portgas D. Rouge. She also resembles Rouge by her looks and sometimes says things that especially got the attention of Garp as he’d last heard the woman herself say them.

C made up an island just to avoid suspicion, claiming that it sunk to the bottom of the ocean only to find out that the island did infact exist.

She also claimed that R and her are childhood friends before her family moved to the East Blue from the North Blue.

In Wano, she learns about the backstory of herself and is left speechless.

She’s actively trying to set Law and R up for her own amusement, even going as far as claiming that he suffers from chronic anxiety which can be cured by slow socialisation (to earn his trust) and cuddles, but the latter must be done by someone the red head respects. Law accepted this as a fact until his mind caught onto it about a week later.

Her favourite colours are purple and green, she often wears brown and blue.

The fake Strawhats had two sets of her; a feral kitten and a giant hulking man with cat ears. Upon seeing this, C immediately called out how they got her motif wrong.

C often takes selfies in the most inconvenient places like right in front of Katakuri, Oven and Daifuku, which she then sends over to R. She also likes to avoid fighting in favour of watching the plot unfold itself.

R ends up 10 years into the past, into the office of the Revolutionary Army where he was found by Ivankov and Dragon. He is also now a child. Until he turns 19, he doesn't have any memory problems.

Ivan looks for a cure for R's memory loss, but she doesn't have much time as she's supposed to infiltrate a prison. She quite literally drops him into the hands of Trafalgar Law, explains the situation and leaves without allowing him to protest.

Due to R's shyness, he spends the next half a year silent, making the crew think that he might be actually mute only to later on burst into a song in an attempt to soothe someone. The crew never realises this though as they're used to hearing weird sounds in the submarine.

R uses in total three names in this universe: Ren (Revolutionary Army), Eli (Heart Pirates) and Nao (C, later on the Strawhats). They joke that he has just very long name and those are parts of it.The joke later on turns into reality making R's name be Reneli Nao much to his embarrassment.

During Ivan’s search for a doctor who could cure him, R ended up accidentally eating a devil fruit. The fruit was Zoan type, Neko Neko Mi, Model: Black Jaguar. However for convenience, he refers to it as panther fruit as that way nobody can tell for sure if it was leopard, snow leopard, tiger, lion or a jaguar (Panther is the class name of each of these large cats).

R has two bounties, one as Ren and other as Eli, the latter being his "pet" bounty. Whenever the marines see him in his human form, they refer to him as revolutionary army member rather than as a pirate. Somehow they never put together the fact that Eli and Ren are the same entity.

His bounty as Eli is only around 100 beries due to the marines assuming that the black jaguar form is his real form, and thus believing that he’s a pet.

Before the timeskip, R uses black sunglasses to block out the light as he is very light sensitive, post timeskip he's seen using a cap.

During a call, C joked about him being the illegitimate son of Shanks, in Wano this is confirmed to be the case and the duo swear to never joke again.

He too claimed to be from an island which sunk, only for it to turn up on old maps.

R is an awakened Zoan user, which grands him higher speed and durability.

He also has the habit of switching into another language unconsciously when he curses or insults people. He most often calls them fools in Hebrew, which the rest of the crew assumes having been the native language of the island he’s from.

Law is the only one who knows what he is saying, which makes situations where someone assumes that they’ve earned his trust because he’s “giving them a nickname” even funnier.

He knows how to use both rapier and a katana, his old sword was a rapier which he called Shoshannah after his mother (this means lily or a rose), his current sword is named after his real life brother’s cat, Mito, which in Japanese means serene water while in Italian it can mean myth.

During Zou, the only reason why he got hurt was because of his fruit powers suddenly activated making him loose his balance.

He calls Ivankov “mom” on multiple occasions.

His denden mushi was a gift from Ivankov, however, he just can’t bring himself to decorate it claiming that he’s waiting for the moment he’ll be able to pinpoint just what would reflect him and his personality accessory wise.

His trademark colours are orange, blue and purple, which you can find from his hat and the scarf he wears around his waist to help him carry his katana.

R is a terrible liar which he tries to make up for by turning conversations overly philosophical. Most often he ends up accidentally blurting warnings to his captain and crew.

He often challenges his captain without even realising it by asking questions like “Are you sure about that?” or calling something the stupidest thing he’s ever heard right to his face.

He seems to be immune to feeling intimidated by people to the point where it’s thought that he simply doesn’t have any self preservation instinct. Despite of this, R is very careful and plans his moves to ridiculous detail, trying to take in any possible threats and any potential change in the environment.

Law has a theory that R is the reincarnation of Corazon because he seems to know things that only Corazon would know. This theory was debunked once he learned that R is only 3 years younger than he is.

Other

C and R meet one another in Sabaody, where they both start to regain their lost memories. While they're running from the marines, they quickly catch up and exchange numbers so they can keep in touch.

C and R call regularly, but have trouble when someone else picks up, they both are very shy after all. This leads to moments where C asks Usopp to ask whoever had picked up if Nao was available and vice versa.

Penguin and Shachi have a stash of photos from the time R was stuck as a jaguar cub (when they thought that he was a lot younger and that the devil fruit was just a black cat). They tend to show them to C out of spite towards R, who still doesn’t talk that much.

There’s a third person (let’s call them K), who’s sailing with Boa Hancock, C and K haven’t met one another in the OPverse, but R has made sure that the two also manage to talk by giving them each other’s denden numbers.

K likes to mess with R and Law by referring to them as brothers or “cat men”.

R reunited with K when his captain was taking care of Luffy. The latter found R’s situation hilarious.

The denden mushi of C has purple and green stripes and tiny horns, K’s radiates G A Y because of glitter. K’s denden also holds a tiny pride flag.

#self insert au #crack au #one piece au #one piece #one piece self insert #C #R #K

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verumking · 5 years

Text

⚔️ *:･ﾟ✧┆HEADCANON : RE/MIND SECRET EPISODE

We FINALLY made it folks-- RE/MIND is here and honestly I haven’t stopped screaming!! This is PART ONE of a THREE PART SERIES of HEADCANONS based around the secret episode and endings from RE/MIND. This part is the largest of the three and focuses on the CONTENT and LORE implied by the episode. The second part and third parts will be smaller, and will focus more on Yozora’s CHARACTERISATION and his FIGHTING STYLE respectively.

THIS will have a ( slight ) INFLUENCE on how I portray Yozora and his world moving FORWARD, but more notably, it links the new episode and endings to the LORE I’ve already developed. There are a few DISCREPANCIES between this and what I’ve established previously, which I will FLAG UP as and when they appear in the post.

It is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED that you either play through or watch the SECRET EPISODE AND ENDINGS before reading this post-- if you are struggling with the limit cut bosses like I am, you can WATCH the secret episode here, and the endings here and here.

( WARNING : MAJOR SPOILERS FOR RE:MIND BELOW THE CUT, INCLUDING SCREENSHOTS )

ONE. ┆ BEYOND THE CURTAIN - THE UNION OF SKY AND NIGHT

The secret episode begins in a night version of the Final World: a place where the “edges of sleep and death touch” as previously stated by Chirithy. Yozora reiterates that this “isn’t the real world”. True to section two of my analysis on Re/Mind pre-DLC, both Yozora and Sora are visiting the Final World in their sleep and death respectively. Yozora is seen to be waking up in both endings, implying that the episode and boss battle took place in his dreams. Sora, of course, being there after he ‘vanished’ from the world: and is effectively dead in the realm of the living.

Sora recognises Yozora, seeing him prior in the Verum Rex video game in Toy Box. Alas... Yozora does not recognise him. Yozora appears surprised that Sora knows him, evident in his hesitation: ( “You... know me?” ) Furthermore, he expresses further surprise when Sora states his own name: ( “Sora? You’re Sora?” ). As we come to learn, Yozora has been told to find Sora-- I’ll elaborate on this further in the post.

TWO. ┆ A STAR LOST TO THE ABYSS - THE NAMELESS STAR

Sora then mentions about ‘that girl’ telling him about Yozora: this is confirmation that the ‘Nameless Star’ is in fact the girl featured in the Verum Rex trailer. She stated that Yozora has been “changed beyond recognition”, and Yozora later affirms this ( “This isn’t what I really look like.” )

Tragically, Yozora shows absolutely no reaction to Sora mentioning the girl that knows him. The Nameless Star ending up in the Final World as a severed heart is strong evidence that she is dead, much like the other stars Sora was able to interact with. The Nameless Star states that “were he to regain his old self again, he would be distressed by ( her ) absence”, implying that Yozora has no memory of her because his heart “was replaced with another’s”. Notice how he holds his hand to his chest as he confesses the nature of his appearance.

Currently in my canon for Yozora, the operation to replace his heart with an astral core was not the cause of his memory loss, but the sheer psychological trauma he was put under at the laboratories. Moreover, he only suffered memory loss at the time of his operation in his childhood, and only suffered from physical ailments / autoimmune issues in his adulthood. That does not mean he remembers his Verum Regina. Likely he has forgotten her for reasons other than what she is speculating...

... or has left her there intentionally. Note how Yozora doesn’t even question who the girl is, simply stating “... Are you done?” passive-aggressively. You can even see his brows furrowing out of vexation, before he shuts down the conversation. Regardless of Yozora’s sentiments or lack thereof, the Nameless Star will remain lost for a long while.

THREE. ┆ A DIVINE TEST ORCHESTRATED BY FATE

"If you ARE who you say, and it was FATE that brought us here, then... my path is CLEAR.”

Yozora uses ‘fate’ as a reason for suddenly raising his crossbow against Sora. He was told to “save Sora” after “accidentally wandering into this place” and going through some “trials”. This aligns with my headcanons about the ‘Watchmen of Fate’: phantasmic creatures who serve as the auditors of the universe, ensuring that a balance is maintained.

The watchmen had approached Yozora after he had crossed into the Realm of the Dead, and discovered the true nature of his home realm: that it was the netherworld of all universes. Due to being the sole survivor of Gigas experimentation as the first ‘ascended’ human, Yozora was fit to become the god of death. To claim his crown, as the Verum Rex-- a title he had previously denied whilst under Gigas Corporation.

Yozora was convinced that he needed to claim his throne: to maintain the cycle of death and rebirth-- and thus the balance of the universe-- prevent the universe from meeting a grave fate. To prevent individuals and organisations alike acting against the cycle of reincarnation... Sora included.

But Sora was an exception. The watchmen did not tell Yozora to punish Sora... but to save him. As aforementioned in my previous analysis post, much as Yozora is the embodiment and guardian of death, Sora is his parallel: the embodiment and guardian of rebirth. Sora losing the power of waking ( and thus, his power to rebirth souls ), is catastrophic to the multiverse as we know it. The being of rebirth is dead, and ended up in Yozora’s nether-realm.

FOUR. ┆ CRYSTALLIS AD CAELUM - CRYSTAL STASIS

In the best interests of the universe, Yozora is left with no choice but to save Sora by completing the cycle of reincarnation. By stripping body from soul, and placing Sora’s lifeforce in crystal stasis-- as seen in the bad ending.

Crystal stasis, being a prominent feature of the FFXIII and Fabula Nova Crystallis universes, is the state a human undergoes when completing their ‘Focus’, or divine mission, as per the order of the gods. It holds the promise of ‘eternal life’: when recovering from crystal stasis, a human can return to life exactly as they were when they were placed in the stasis. It can be seen as a way of preserving life, or maintaining the same soul over multiple lifetimes: much like reincarnation.

Crystal stasis can be bestowed upon others by those who hold divine power. In the bad ending, we see Yozora assumedly turning Sora into a crystal after defeating him. Not only is this evidence of his celestial status, but his intention to preserve Sora’s life in an effort to reincarnate him. After crystallising Sora, Yozora is seen to touch Sora gently and declare with resolve: “I will save you.”

Under the guidance of fate itself, Yozora will not only bring Sora back to life... but ascend him as the god of rebirth to serve alongside him.

FIVE. ┆ A FIRST UNION... OR REPEATED HISTORY?

Perhaps the most question-inducing aspect of the episode is the nature of Yozora and Sora’s relationship. Despite meeting each other for the first time, they both exhibit cues of recognition and familiarity-- both in their speech and their physicality.

After Sora correctly stated Yozora’s name, the latter immediately questions: “How do you recognise me as Yozora?”, and then immediately after: “Why are you using Sora’s name?” When given the task to find Sora by the Watchmen of Fate, I speculate that Yozora was given a physical description of what Sora looks like: which is why he doesn’t recognise Sora by appearance alone, and later questions “Sora? You’re Sora?”

What does this mean? The fact that Yozora doesn’t recognise Sora at first, and that Sora shouldn’t recognise Yozora, implies that they have both previously been reincarnated into new bodies, whilst retaining the same souls.

But there is also evidence of Yozora demonstrating more familiarity towards Sora in both endings. In the bad ending, Yozora is seen to reach out and gently touch Sora’s crystallised form, whilst in the good ending, Yozora is seen to smile after Sora defeated him. Both are unusually gentle gestures from someone who so quickly ( and mercilessly ) initiated battle. Particularly in the good ending, Yozora concludes that his “powers aren’t needed yet”, and for Sora not to worry when the boy inevitably questioned him about it.

It is likely that Yozora has met Sora more than once before, and is reminiscent of their past lives together. This could explain why Yozora looks physically similar to Riku: being a friend of Sora’s in his recently departed life.

TO CONCLUDE:

1. Yozora and Sora both reside in the Final World, in their sleep and death respectively. 2. Yozora ( the embodiment of death ) was tasked by the Watchmen of Fate to save Sora ( the embodiment of rebirth ), after Sora perishes. 3. As Yozora has ascended as god of death, he plans to ascend Sora as god of rebirth to maintain the universal cycle of reincarnation. 4. They have both met before in previous incarnations, hence why there is a juxtaposition between their physicality/knowledge of each other and the fact they have only met for the first time. This also explains why Yozora is confused about both Sora’s appearance and Sora’s recognition of his own new appearance.

#kh3 remind spoilers #remind spoilers #( this is just word vomit out of my excitement tbh )#( i'll tweak and format properly later )#( tl;dr: yozora and sora are *chefs kiss* )#⚔️ *:･ﾟ✧┆a synthetic heart bled dry by the hands of fate. ❪ headcanons ❫

23 notes · View notes