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{ OOC: I’m unsure if anyone on here is still active, but just in case, I will be picking Kamui back up as a muse. He’s been moved to this Fire Emblem multi-muse blog where I’ve put all of my past FE muses and a few new ones! }

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Hello! I am unsure if anyone I follow is still active, but I thought I would give it a shot as I would love to reconnect with all of you! I am finally out of my busy schedule, and would like to start role-playing again! I, sadly, won’t be picking Kamui back up for the time being as I want to try out something new, but you can find me here!  I would love to get back in touch with all of you, so feel free to contact me over there, too! 

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{ I’ve been meaning to post this for a while now, (and it’s likely rather clear at this point) but I’m placing this blog on an indefinite hiatus. I do not know when/if I will return to this blog. I simply do not have the time or motivation to role-play anymore, and while I would love to get back into, it’s not really an option for me at the moment. My work/life balance abilities are pretty terrible, and what time I don’t spend at my day job is spent sewing as it’s con season again and I’m doing a show every two to one month now, and as a plush artist it is incredibly difficult and demanding to restock after every show when you have so little time between them. I have a lot on my plate right now, and my jobs take priority. I really adored having the chance to get back into this fandom, and write with everyone, and I hope all of you have a wonderful time!  Thank you for writing with me, or simply allowing me to be a part of your dash while I was here!}

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{ I’m so sorry for all of my ooc (and lack of actual writing, my depression hit me hard recently, and I’m still digging my writing muse out from the depths of it), but I’m freaking out so much right now, I somehow magically managed to get into Anime North, and I don’t really like posting things completely unrelated to role-playing, but this year has been so bad, and I’m so happy right now. My second job is freelance artwork, and I do a lot of conventions, and last year I got into every con I applied to, but this year I only managed to get into three so far (where by this time last year I had already sold at three cons. I think I did like 6-7 last year), and this is just such good news to me both financially and just in general and I’m crying and I’m so sorry I’m just so happy because I was starting to get really discouraged. }

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{ So, I’m not getting a new laptop apparently. I purchased one, came home, realized it wasn’t the model I had been told we had bought, so I went back out. Long story short, the person who sold me the laptop was severely (severely) misinformed about the model she told us she was selling us (and the model she reassured she was the correct when I brought up concerns about it), and ended up selling us on older model that was completely different from the one she claimed we were buying, and when I went back about it they were fairly rude about the entire thing when we told them what happened, so I returned it (because gosh darn it I work in customer service and have a degree in Public Relations, so boy howdy I did not have the tolerance to put up with the way they were treating us and the entire situation). Heck, we also paid about 80% of the price in cash, and they tried to return the entire cost onto my credit card, so we had to argue with them about that (we had the receipt to prove what he paid for in cash, too). I’m not even really mad, just vaguely frustrated. So, no new laptop for me. } 

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I will stay gentle no matter what I endure, I am so much more.

Tyler Knott Gregson  (via wordsnquotes)

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{ Like this if you want Kamui to come to your askbox to give your muse something for Valentine’s day! }

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Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following for my muse to respond to...

♔ : Finding your muse wearing their clothes

♕: Holding hands

♖: Having their hair washed by your muse

♗: Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.

♘: Cuddling in a blanket fort

♙: Sharing a bed

♚: Head scratches

♛: Sharing a dessert

♜: Shoulder rubs

♝: Reading a book together

♞: Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which)

♟: Patching up a wound

♤: Taking a bath together

♧: Your muse playing with their hair

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses

♠: Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

♣: Back scratches

♥: Your muse crying about something

♦: Slow dancing

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riivoltella:

     This much had been expected on his part as it had been so common for some time now. Still, the efforts of both Joker himself and his liege’s siblings had yet to dwindle. In truth, he almost couldn’t remember the last time they’d all been even the slightest bit amicable with one another. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t something he missed. What more could a dutiful servant ask for than to see the smiles upon the faces of their masters? Was it selfish of him to wish those times would return?

     “ Ah, forgive me Lord Kamui. It’s become the work of habit, I’m afraid. It might yet take some time still to come out of it. ” Though in obvious truth, it wasn’t as if he made much attempt to remedy this. Yet another crime he was guilty of. “ Worry not for my rest. My duties continue to keep me busy throughout the day. Though it’s something I’ve long been used to. ”

     A pause as he thought a moment. In the time taken to form his next lines, his eyes took in the state of the room. Anyone could see how busy the male had kept himself, yet to Joker it was also telling of little rest. An all too familiar sight– reminding him of the early days of the fortress. No matter the insistence of carrying on with his life, it was these scenes that kept him rooted.

     “ If I may, Lord Kamui, I’m certain you know I would still choose to serve you. I’ve no interest in indulging my personal life right now. It’s also clear to me that you haven’t taken much care of yourself. I insist you take a moment to at least have a small portion of meal. ”

  He frowns at the other man’s response despite having expected it; Joker has done too much for him, remained by his side no matter the scorn he faced, and yet he still insists on addressing him with such a cold (ugly) title. Kamui doesn’t bother to hide his distaste; he wears his heart on his sleeve, and is well aware of how his face contorts at even the slightest hint of emotion. And Joker has cared for him too long to not pick on even the smallest of signs; on every moment of weakness that crosses the young prince’s face when he tries to hide them.  

         “I will always forgive you, Joker, you do not need to ask for it. I know it             must be difficult for you. I wish you would not grow used to over-working          yourself. If you don’t take a moment to yourself, I will begin to worry about           your health.”  

   He admits; he is not selfish enough to make it an order, nor is he cruel enough to openly disclose how much it pains him that Joker may never drop the title from his name. Regardless, he will continue to view the other man as a friend rather than a butler. The thought doesn’t linger long, not before Joker so ruthlessly points out the clumsy mess scattered throughout the prince’s cluttered room; the very tips of his pointed ears turning red in embarrassment from being called out for his bad habits.

        “I’m grateful, Joker, even if I cannot understand your reasoning, but should            something ever come up to make you question your choice, you are free to act          upon it. And I’m afraid I have no talent for caring for myself, you should know           that by now. As for the meal, if it will please you, I will accept, but only if you join me.”

    He smiles; it’s a ghost of one, but it’s there. He’s not as upbeat and pleasant as he has once been, but he wants nothing more than for the people around him to be happy, even if he believes he can never be close to them as a result (the same is true for his siblings, who he has pushed away since the end of the war).     

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{ Hello! This is a new multi-muse blog for original characters based on the games Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, and Fates. I always have a difficult time finding other role-players, so if you would be so incredibly kind as to give this a like or a reblog if you would be willing to interact, I would be grateful (and I’ll be sure to check out your blog)! Thank you, and I hope you have a fantastic day! }

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latrocinari:

He gave a playful, exasperated sigh at that fact Kamui said he would thank him as many times as he could, the playfulness shown from the smirk on his face. Perhaps in his old life, he’d take advantage of such kindness, but not in this life. He had no desire to hurt Kamui. The prince had gained his trust, somehow and someway. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease him now and again! He likes to think Kamui enjoyed Zero’s attention.

His lack of self-awareness was pretty noticeable to most people, Zero especially. At first, he figured Kamui was just being humble, but today certainly made him look at Kamui in a different light. There was no humbleness; he just didn’t like himself as much as he should. A shame, Zero thought to himself; the noble was pretty likable to the right people.

It’s strange, that he’s the one to give him comfort in a time of need. Maybe, in a way, the other male was tired of people constantly praising him and never giving him any real advice. Zero knew he would grow tired of it; it all sounded hollow and fake. He wondered how Kamui put up with it constantly.

At his words, he laughed once more, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. It would be pretty funny to teach him a few of his dirty words, but he’d get lectured by Leon and hunted down by both Marx and Camilla. Elise wouldn’t understand, but he’s pretty sure Elfie would go off and join the manhunt for indirectly exposing the princess to such words.

     “Always eager to learn, Lord Kamui. It’s pretty cute, you know. Maybe      we can make a date out of it. I can teach you all sorts of pretty words.      Maybe you can teach me something in return too.”

He has no idea what he could learn from him. He was mostly just playing around, yet he’s sure Kamui would find something that interested him to share with the outlaw.

    A timid laugh graces the air; it’s a light airy thing that fades out before it really has time to survive, but the smile that sinks onto the prince’s lips is proof that it lived. He can’t help but find Zero’s over-dramatic sigh a bit humorous; at least after the conversation they’ve just had. And, truthfully, Kamui has every desire to thank the man again; give voice to the thoughts that linger in his mind because for once he isn’t so terribly focused on his own sorrow and hatred, but he chooses to ignore those as well, he doubts the outlaw would be willing to endure another series of thank you’s without giving the young lord another sharp flick to the forehead.  

   A flick; however, would be better than the constant stream of hesitant words and false praise that fluttered through his ears too often for his liking. He’s aware that the time he spent in the keep did little to breed his poor social skills, but he can’t help the bitter taste that lingers on his tongue whenever one of his siblings reassures him or one of the soldiers claims he’s done something useful. He’s too critical; he knows this as well, and he’s measuring himself against impossible standards, but he hated how they lied to him; hated how they pretended he had any value to this army, and hated how many times he had failed to protect those who needed him. But he won’t let the thoughts linger; not when he’s already in Zero’s debt as it is.  

   Pointed ears twitch at the laugh, and a frown briefly crosses the prince’s features at the man’s words, but it doesn’t remain for long. He’s, perhaps too much so, always valued the advice his siblings have given him, and Marx would never forgive him for turning down the chance to better himself through learning from others (though Kamui has the sinking suspicion this isn’t exactly what his older brother had in mind).   

        “Ah - well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.” 

    He admits before allowing his gaze to shift back down to the grass. He has nothing to offer in return, though; no talent that Zero himself doesn’t posses and no confidence in his own skills to claim they have any worth to anyone but himself.

        “I’m afraid I don’t know what I could teach you in return, but          I believe I can come up with something, if you will allow me.”

     He offers Zero a rather weak smile, but he digs through his mind for ideas regardless of his concerns.  

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kazealous: 

風: If only they had met under more favorable circumstances… perhaps their time together would be longer. Kaze was very happy with the progress they had made already, however… he could not have asked for more. 「No, thank you, Lord Kamui,」 he answered, his words accompanying a Hoshidan bow, deep in its customs. He could finally start repaying his debts…

He let go, collecting a bandage from the pouch he had discarded; Kaze had come prepared for this very event. Even though his hand continued to bleed, he would care for his new liege’s wounds before his own. That was the life he had chosen with the words of that ritual. He was certain Kamui would object, but Kaze would have none of that. He quickly glanced over the hand, identifying the wounds and considering the causes– his nails, apparently– with a nursing gaze. He began to apply the bandage to the wound: although it happened slowly with only his left hand, it moved as if it were his right. A tight knot secured the bandage, though it seemed that Kaze was too cautious with his new liege: 「Is this satisfactory?」

Afterward, he began to gingerly wrap his own hand with the cloth, taking care to seal the wound properly. The hand would hardly be usable for the following week, but that is what Nohrian tradition dictated. He finished the wrapping with a tight knot as well before allowing himself to collect the weapons he had dropped, placing them back in their original concealed positions.

「…Please allow me to accompany you back to the campgrounds.」

    The draconic prince wrinkles his nose in poorly concealed distaste at the thank you that leaves the other man’s throat. He’s in no way deserving of those words, especially when they come from Kaze; someone who has done nothing but aid him. But he doesn’t argue; instead he swallows what ever urge he would have to protest, and musters up a gentle smile in return. The action leaves a rather bitter flavor upon his tongue, but he’s already been cause for enough grief to even dare claim it an inconvenience.  

     When Kaze’s hand slips from his; he can already feel the sting of the small incisions as the cold chips away at his palm, but he ignored the tiny wounds. Gaze fixing itself rather harshly on the other man’s back when he moves to collect a bandage from the bag he had discarded what feels like centuries ago to Kamui, whose hip feels awkward and useless without Yato’s weight pressing against it. And it was that fleeting thought that allowed a moment of distraction to settle in just long enough for Kaze to direction his attention to Kamui’s wounds first.

            “Kaze - “

      Is the weak protest he manages to get in before the other man proceeds to wrap the bandage, too carefully and too slowly, about his hand. Pursing his lips, his gaze falls to the spotty blotches of blood smeared along Kaze’s hand, and dripping down his fingers. He’s never been one to put too much faith in customs or traditions, and with his eyes fixed on the wound, he’s fairly certain he’s come to hate them now. The bandage is loose when it’s tied and his attention is brought back to it by Kaze’s words, Kamui takes notice, but chooses not to press the issue.

             “It’s fine.“          

       He’s far more concerned with Kaze’s wound than his own to begin with. Kamui has always had a terrible habit of dismissing his own health for the sake of those around him; it’s a nasty one that would do better buried than it does at the surface, but he’s too stubborn of a person to admit that his willingness to ignore his own injuries often ends up causing more trouble for others in the long run.

        Crimson hues flicker downwards to the discarded blade once Kaze speaks, having already collected his own weapons. He supposes Yato deserves a bit more than a mouth-full of grass and a hilt-full of mud, but he’s never understand the divine’s blade place at his side. Still he gathers Yato from the dirt to slide it back into place at his side.

           “You do not need to ask for my permission, Kaze, but I would be             grateful for your company regardless.”

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nesufuratu:

Veles had found himself taking refuge within a nearby village, run down and now the base of a petty band of ruffians– easy prey for a man like himself. Veles was rarely a man who discriminated against those he chose to feed on, yet bandits were never something he was fond of– the lowest of men, who pillaged and murdered only for their own gain and sick sense pleasure. Perhaps, in many ways, he too was a hypocrite, yet the man still had a sense of honor that remained from his days as a nobleman and human.

He is engrossed in the sweet, metallic taste of fresh blood of the man he had easily taken down without so much as lifting a single finger, senses clouded from such a pleasurable indulgence when the familiar sound of footsteps resound in his ears, bringing him back to the present reality.

It is as if by instinct that he hisses, shrill and harsh as it cuts through an otherwise silent night– head jerking towards the intruder that had managed to wordlessly sneak up upon him as he preyed upon his meal. The vampire’s lips too curled back to reveal pointed fangs that had previously been sunken in flesh, still glistening with fresh blood as it dribbles almost dangerously down the man’s chin, the moonlight through the cracked window of the end making it almost appear to shine. Surely such a sight was something own known to myths and long forgotten stories written in text an passed by mouth; yet here it stood, a creature neither living nor completely dead.

He is hunched over the man he had been preying upon, and appears that in any second’s notice he could lunge without so much as a warning, much like a feline poised to attack its vulnerable prey– but instead he makes no movement whatsoever, narrow slits of eyes widening upon realization of just who the identity of this unexpected disturbance was.

Prince Kamui. Second Prince of Nohr.

The words ring loud and clear in his ears. At first he believes it a hoax, for what reason would such a prince need to travel to such a broken place in the backwaters of Nohr? But upon seeing the younger man and the intensity that glows in crimson orbs, even the faint pulse of draconic blood that pumps through veins, he knows that it is the truth. The other exudes an aura becoming of royalty, and perhaps something more… something utterly animalistic that Veles too knows all too well for a man of his nature.

“I intend to do you no harm whatsoever,” He finally says, voice initially cracking due to his prior activity before he makes to clear his throat. “I must apologize, my Lord,” He proceeds to stand and bow deeply, dipping to his knees. It is almost humiliating to be in the presence of royalty in such a state, mouth caked with blood and appearing to be quite the mess, something otherwise utterly unbecoming of the man who took utmost pride in his appearance. But it had not been often that the man was ever caught in the middle of feasting upon his prey in the dead night (and gods, how he loathed when it happened), and least of all he did not expect the Prince of Nohr (of all people) to grace his presence.

   Keen ears almost flinch at the shrill, ghastly hiss that slices through the frigid silence of the night, but his stern expression doesn’t betray his budding curiosity. Drenched in the dim moonlight that seeps through cracks in the walls and windows far older than the draconic prince could ever hope to be, the other man looks more akin to a monster than a human being, but Kamui has grown used to such unsightly beings (he counts himself amongst them from time to time, after all). But the potent stench of blood is enough to make his acute nose curl ever so slightly in disgust, and pull his lips back just a further in a display of rather open hostility. Ideally, he would prefer not to engage with the stranger if a fight could be avoided, but his toes flexed against the frozen concrete in anticipation.

   Calloused fingers wrapped slightly about Yato’s hilt dig claw-like nails into the blade’s hard metal, but he does not move to strike. The man’s appearance is unnerving at best; hunched over the body of the stranger he had been…feeding on, and Kamui, despite his patience, can only hold such a position for so long before instinct takes over and whatever wayward mercy he has committed himself to is tossed to the chill of the night air.

   But Kamui is no saint; he can’t look at man crouched like some sort of carnivore and dripping with blood, and hold his tongue or claim he could claim he would fully trust this stranger should he claim himself anything but a threat. As a child he had memorized almost every legend and tall tale he could get his hands in the solitude of the fortress, but he had never stumbled upon anything even resembling this stranger before, and, even if he had, he doesn’t have the time to waste digging through his head for useless stories that would no better prepare him for this than his own instincts would.    

   It isn’t; however, a fight he finds himself in when the stranger finally speaks, but the grip he holds on Yato doesn’t ease, even when the man uncurls his spine only to bend it into a deep bow. The way his voice cracks isn’t lost on Kamui, but he’s too focused on what the other man is saying to pay it much mind. He shouldn’t be surprised when the other recognizes, or even when he takes the time to properly address him, but there is a certain spark that glitters in his red eyes for just the briefest of moments he allows it to settle in for.   

      “You need not apologize to me, nor do you need to be so formal.        That aside, if you are an ally to this country, may I ask for your name        and for any information you may have regarding bandits in this area?”

   Though he has a rather sinking suspicion when he allows his gaze to shift for a moment to the ugly heap of tangled, gangly limbs that are so pale and contorted that even Kamui’s rather sharp vision can barely recognize the stranger’s discarded corpse for what it is. He does; however, perhaps even against his better judgment, dislodge his pointed nails from metal, and unwraps his fingers from about Yato’s hilt. If this man is willing to offer him respect, Kamui is willing to extend what flimsy trust he can muster up given the circumstances of their meeting.   

        “There have been several attacks on the nearby villages by a group           of bandits will ill-intent towards my lord brother. It is believed that they are          using this area as a base in order to plan these attacks. As a prince of this           kingdom, it is my job to ensure the safety of those who call it home.”  

     He explains, realizing his initial approach had left our rather vital details to explain his presence here, as well as justify his questions to the stranger.  

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riivoltella:

     It remained ever unquestionable, the loyalty with which he served. Even with the war ended Joker continued to remain by his master’s side. Never mind the change he’d underwent that at first showed in little bouts here and there. In his mind it was at first something easy to overlook, but through the course of time it grew increasingly more apparent. His watchful eye had caught enough glimpses that by the time it’d come to show, there was little surprise to be had. Yet this failed to sway the ever obedient servant. It would take more than that to force him away.

     However, if there were one thing he couldn’t do quite so easily, it was to drop the manner in which he regarded Kamui. For all his years spent in the fortress alongside the male, it was second nature to treat him as a prince. From how he spoke to him to how he called him– it came without thought. It would take time, perhaps another few months, before this would change. As it were, he still came to check on his liege. Always ready to comply.

     “ Lord Kamui, will you be dining with your siblings today? I can have a plate prepared if you wish to dine alone. ”

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   Crimson hues flutter upwards from the cluttered, aged documents being wrinkled beneath the pressure of his calloused palm to settle upon the other man. It takes a moment for Kamui to actually register both Joker’s face and voice; eyes and ears both slow to adjust to the sudden interruption, but a weary smile eventually weaves its way onto his chapped lips the moment they do. The deep crevasses; etched into porcelain skin from too little sleep, tucked away beneath his bright eyes crack every so slightly with the simple motion. The room is poorly lit despite the time of day, obscuring the view of the messy text sprawled out over the papers, but Kamui can see better than most (though if one squinted, they would be able to pick out the detailed reports the prince has done pertaining to hostile activity in Nohr since the war’s conclusion).     

         “Joker, you do not need to be so formal with me anymore. As           for the meal, I am grateful for your diligence, but I am afraid I            do not have the time for it at the moment. I hope; however, that           you have taken a moment to relax today.” 

    His voice is a touch hoarse when it’s peeled from his throat; like he’s spent entirely too much time compiling this information and acting upon it for his own good. But it’s hardly a secret (at least to those who pay attention) that Kamui has been terribly restless since the war’s end. He does not mesh well a peaceful society, and he has rejected the attempts his siblings have made to draw him back to their warmth once again (he’s too much of a beast now, he believes, to involve himself with them outside of protecting them).   

        “And - I am sure you know this, but you are not obligated to care           for me anymore either, though I am thankful for your company.           I do not wish to prevent you from enjoying your life now that we           no longer have to fight.”  

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drawing his armour makes me cry but I really wanted some chibimuis

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armsthriift:​

[ ♡ ] ——– It had already been such a long day, and there could only be more to follow. Preparation for any kind of party was hellacious—not to mention the amount of duty and chores that needed to be done beforehand–before all the guests started arriving. Hustle and bustle, hardly anyone had the chance to take a break. Furniture being moved, glassware being set and numerous amounts of tables, counting them would have been endless. This was supposed to be one of the biggest parties the kingdom of Nohr had seen in a long time.

      Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, its been made to be an order than no armor be worn today–a peace arrangement and a party alike is no place for those invited to feel like they need to be protected. Wearing armor and bearing swords, dressed in their usual garbs was deemed unacceptable on this day. Silver bangs pushed back in a sleek style, his whole face better seen this way, and some had even commented on how much it flattered him to have all of that hair out of his face. He’d planned on getting it cut, but events had kept him from visiting any sort of barber. As of now, it didn’t seem to matter.

      Helping Pieri tie her ribbons, then moving to help Elise pick out a party dress, stopped by Camilla to hear his most endearing compliments and by Leo to simply tell him that he had better be hard at work. Laslow had too much to do and yet there seemed to be countless things in the way of it. Put in charge of escorting guests, sealing small envelopes of thank yous and writing so many names among table placement cards that it made his wrist cramp. He had nearly seen every single castle inhabitant in the last hour with how far around the castle he’d walked.

      Passing by the grand staircase to make way into the ballroom, his pace is hustled, small legs working to keep pace with himself to get there before noon struck. Ears tuned into the sound of rolling, only actually glancing over when his name is called in haste. The shatter of glassware, pieces scattering across the floor nearly to the pillars. A heavy sigh could be heard from him, pressing finger tips into his temple before glancing upward to the top of that stairs to the prince that stood in all of his dumbfounded being.

      Nothing more than an accident, he supposed. With how hurriedly Kamui had bounded down the steps to chase after the platters, Laslow could draw no other explanation. Even though a small trifle in the day, accidents were bound to happen–though he expected them moreso to come from Felicia, not him.

      ❝ Looks like we’ve quit the mess to clean up, don’t we ? I hadn’t expected to see you here so early, milord. ❞ Or causing a mess this early, adding yet another thing to the list of tasks that afternoon.  

   Kamui isn’t a clumsy person - under most circumstances. Today, apparently, falls under one of those rare moments of sleep-deprived and an overly self-conscious pair of two left feet with penchant for breaking the castle’s one-of-kind (not the mention painfully expensive dinnerware. He would have been completely mortified if he hadn’t been too busy flinging himself over the stairs in a pitiful and entirely pointless attempt to rescue any of the runaway plates while trying to come up with some elaborate lie to tell Marx to save his own skin before Joker would inevitably learn of this disaster and put him out of his misery. Instead of his nails gracing the smooth surface of china, though, they plunge into the velvet carpet; their tips more like claws than actual nails, most certainly piercing through the soft fabric of rugs that are probably only half as expensive as the shattered plates but still worth infinitely more than Kamui’s life.  

    Pointed ears lower and plaster against his head; the horrible sound of the plates shattering still ringing in them as crimson hues take in the image of the unsightly mess he’s created. His gaze only manages to tear itself away when the sound of Laslow’s voice slowly creeps into his vibrating ears; creased and crinkled features lifting up from the intricate threads of the rug he’s kneeling on to look up at the other man. He’s knees throb, and it’s only just then that he realizes he had actually slammed them against the ground in his haste (better his body than more plates, though).    

   A sheepish smile tugs at his deflated expression as a fuzzy mixture of reds and pinks paints his entire face. It had been months since he had last stepped foot in the castle, and, somehow, he’s found a way to ruin his first visit in that time. 

          “Err - well,”

     He swallows in an attempt to drown his worry before dislodging his nails from the abused rug in order to smooth out the hem of his shirt, and dust off chunks of cardboard from his pants. He would be the first to admit that he feels bare without the weight of Yato clinging to his hips, or the sharp pull of slender armor covering the scattered bits of rigid scales that dot his skin; the way he’s dressed now, one move and he has no choice but to expose a fraction of silver and blue plates where human flesh should be. But Marx had insisted that no one harbor a weapon, or dress in armor (in the back of Kamui’s mind, though, he reminds himself that he is a weapon and can never obey Marx’s request as a result). With a sigh, he pushes himself back onto bare feet (because some things never change).

         “I’m grateful for the offer, Laslow, but you do not need to assist me.            I‘m at fault for all of this, and I would hate to waste your time on           helping me clean when I’m certain my lord brother has already asked           too much of you.”

     He makes his way over to the ugly remains of the plates; flashing the other man a reassuring smile before beginning to pick up the pieces within his reach. The sharper fractions dig into the calloused skin of his palms, but he doesn’t mind the mild sting that pours through his hands; it serves as a reminder that he should have been more careful with the dinnerware in the first place. 

[warfxre-blog]

aeoelu:

  @warfxre   | starter call

❛ well, to be frank, i have absolutely no idea why father still seems so keen on the idea of keeping you here in the fortress. ❜ leon is aware of the reason why (mostly because marx had made an attempt to discuss it with their father when he was in their presence.) but by now any attempt to keeping them there seems like a waste of time and potential. at least that’s how leon sees it. ❛ as you are probably well aware the fortress enhances the strength of anyone that resides in it. considering the amount of time you’ve resided here, you should theoretically speaking in the very least be a demi-god by now. though i don’t see that being the case considering you have yet to defeat marx ❜ and last time he checked marx was not a war god, although it would not surprise him if he were. 

with hands resting behind his back, he turns to look at his older brother.  ❛ father made the rules quite clear, defeat marx and you are free to go. although we both know that’s easier said than done and victory is nearly impossible without marx going easy on you ❜ the prince was never one for much sugarcoating. still, he is here to help,  ❛ yet that does not mean it is completely impossible. if we are able to turn your weaknesses into strengths you should be one step closer to victory, ❜ gazing at the dummy leon speaks once more. ❛ show me your stance ❜

   The silent click of his tongue against the backs of sharp fangs; always carefully tucked beneath a well-crafted smile or feigned frustration reminds him to dig his nails (that are too sharp and hard to be human) into the wood of his training sword as pointed ears (tucked and pinned beneath silver locks) vibrate as Leon speaks. Blood colored hues betray nothing; they’ve grown used to dulling with sham ignorance that makes the prince look meek and incapable compared to the siblings that visit him. But Kamui is not the blissfully compassionate or incapable person he masquerades as. The rigid scales that are scattered about his skin (hidden beneath layers upon layers of clothing, but growing more numerous each day) are proof that he is not human; has never been human (fortress be damned). But they’re not as painful a one as the truly savage way he’s capable of fighting, or how the stench of blood threatens to turn him animalistic whenever it seeps into his overly keen nostrils. He does not know what he is, but a demi-god has never been on his list. No, he is far more a monster than any god could be.

    But he suffers in silence; pretends he has no talent with a weapon when blades feel like home when set in his palm, and continues to smile because it’s all he has that ensures he will get to his siblings like this. And Kamui craves their acceptance and affection above all else, even if he must destroy himself to earn it. It is easier to love an innocent, talentless  fool than a monster with a taste for blood and violence in his veins. Hus greatest fear always been slipping up; reveal who he is to these people he holds so dear, and facing the rejection he knows will follow. So he brushes off Leon’s remarks. He will never defeat Marx; has no intention of even trying, because if he does he risks losing the relationship he has with his siblings. And he doesn’t trust himself to truthfully engage with his brother; he won’t admit that this monster won’t hurt Marx in the heat of battle, and that’s not a risk he’s willing to take.        

       “Lord Marx’s skilled is unrivaled, surely my being unable to defeat         him should not come as a surprise to you, lord brother.”

   He admits without hesitation.

       “But I am grateful for your assistance, and will heed your advice.” 

    Kamui positions himself sloppily. He knows his elbows are bent too far inward, and his feet are stuck too close together. He knows everything about the way he holds the wooden blade in his hand is wrong, but he doesn’t want to be right. He’s terrified of being right; he has both everything and nothing to lose, but this awkward gamble is all he knows.